  Upon the return of the squadron to Syracuse, preparations went on vigorously for the attempt upon the Philadelphia. Decatur’s first plan, which he held to eagerly, of going in boldly and cutting out the frigate, was flatly forbidden by Commodore Preble as being too rash. Decatur’s second plan—going in with the ketch, disguised, and destroying the frigate—was approved of by Commodore Preble, who had, in fact, first suggested the idea to Decatur. He and “Old Pepper” spent many long hours in the cabin of the Constitution perfecting the details of this glorious but hazardous expedition, and the commodore’s respect for his “schoolboy captains” increased every day that they served under him. Particularly was he gratified at the spirit of instant acquiescence they showed when, after the keenest rivalry among them all for the honor of supporting Decatur, the privilege was accorded Captain Stewart, in the Siren, which was the fastest and most weatherly of the brigs and schooners. Somers felt the deepest disappointment, but, with his usual calm good sense, he allowed no impatient word to escape him. On the day that the use of the ketch was determined upon, Commodore Preble said to Decatur: “And now, Captain Decatur, what shall be the name of this craft?” “The Intrepid, sir,” answered Decatur promptly. “Good!” was the commodore’s instant reply. When Decatur and Somers were together that night—for no day passed without their seeing each other—Decatur spoke of the name of the ketch. “Do you know,” said Somers, thoughtfully, “that was the very name that occurred to me?—and as I, too, long for a chance for glory, when you have returned in her I shall ask for her to carry out a plan of mine. I will not tell you of it until you come back—and you will come back, that I feel; but then you must give me all your time and abilities to help me with my scheme.” “I will,” answered Decatur, “and I warrant it is something ten times more difficult, more desperate, than what I shall attempt; for, when it comes to taking chances, I know of no man who takes such odds as you, Dick Somers, for all your long face and continual preaching to me.” The ships were to remain at Syracuse all winter. Meanwhile every effort was made to communicate with Captain Bainbridge and his officers imprisoned at Tripoli. A large reward was offered for the conveyance of letters to and from the prisoners, and two letters were thus conveyed to Captain Bainbridge, and answers received. One afternoon, as Decatur and Somers were strolling along a mountain path that led to the famed fountain of Cyane, above the city, a man wearing the costume of a Sicilian peasant came up to them, and, touching his cap, said, in the lingua franca which both Somers and Decatur understood: “Signors, are you not American naval officers?” “Yes,” answered Decatur, while Somers eyed the man closely. “Then I have a communication for you from the American captain now held at Tripoli.” “Give it to us, then,” said Decatur. “It is not here,” answered the man, with a sly look. “But if you will come to-night, at nine o’clock, to the tavern of the Three Doves, up a little higher beyond the fountain of Cyane, I will introduce you to a pilot, brother of Salvatore Catalano, who is employed by the American squadron. This other Catalano is a pilot too, and, wishing to oblige the Americans, as you have taken his brother into your service, he managed to communicate with the American captain. He has a letter for you, from him, and he will bring it to the Three Doves to-night, at eight. Shall I tell him you will be there?” “Certainly, without fail!” replied Decatur. The Sicilian then touched his cap again, and disappeared in a path by the side of the mountain road. “Do you know,” said Somers, who had taken no part in the colloquy, “that I have much doubt whether such a person as Catalano’s brother exists? and I am perfectly certain that our peasant friend is really a sailor.” “Why?” asked Decatur, surprised. “First—well, I can only say, as the sailors do, ‘by the cut of his jib.’ Besides, he did not bow, as these peasants do here; and the way he touched his cap was very like a salute. And you perceive he made no demand for money. Now, that is the only thing that would induce these people to take the risk of communicating with Captain Bainbridge.” Decatur stopped in his walk, much struck by what Somers said. “And did you notice,” continued Somers, “that although he was dark and had black eyes, like the Sicilians, he was of altogether different build? He was larger and stouter, and his features were aquiline. His eyes were of a sleepy black, like a Turk’s—not soft and bright, like these handsome peasants about here.” “At all events,” said Decatur, “we can not refuse to keep our appointment, for it is possible that these suspicions may be only suspicions after all, and we could not lose the chance of hearing from Captain Bainbridge.” They determined, however, to seek out the pilot, Catalano, and ask if he had a brother such as the Sicilian described. But on inquiry they found that the pilot had got a few days’ leave, and had gone into the country to visit his family. Somers and Decatur, however, concluded that it would be only prudent to go armed upon such an expedition, as Sicily was then much infested with brigands. About seven o’clock they started. The evening was warm and murky, and a fine mist shrouded the town and the water. They could only see the Constitution looming up like a great black shadow in the harbor, while the smaller vessels were mere patches of darkness. As they were making their way, in the gloomy half-light, up the rocky path that led through a straggling wood of ilex trees, they suddenly came upon Macdonough and Pickle Israel, coming down the mountain from the little tavern for which Decatur and Somers were bound. It was a resort of the better kind, and not much frequented by seafaring men of the Salvatore Catalano class. Somers stopped the two young midshipmen and made some inquiries, mentioning at the same time that they were in hopes of getting news of Captain Bainbridge. After parting with them, Decatur looked back and saw the midshipmen following them at a respectful distance. “Look at those two fellows!” said Decatur to Somers, laughing. “They are afraid we will get into mischief, and they are following us—to protect us, I suppose!” Somers, too, could not help laughing at the idea of little Pickle, who was not much more than four feet high, imagining he could protect anything. Macdonough was, indeed, a stalwart fellow, and might be of service. Somers called out, half joking: “So you young gentlemen are dogging our footsteps, so as to take care of us.” Macdonough did not know what to say, but Pickle, coming up the path at a run, answered in his shrill boyish treble: “Yes, sir. We thought something might happen——” “And you’d be there with that brawny arm of yours to help us out, eh?” asked Decatur. “Very kind of you, I’m sure; so come along. After we get the letters at the tavern we will have some supper, and will get on board ship before ‘lights out.’” As they were toiling up the slippery path Decatur remarked to Somers: “This seems like a safe enough sort of business, but yet I wish I had brought my dirk with me instead of my sword.” Somers said nothing, but in his heart he echoed the wish. He, too, was only armed with his sword. “I’m a prudent fellow, I am,” cried little Pickle, wagging his head triumphantly. “I brought my dirk; I always wear it, Captain Somers, and here it is.” Pickle took out his midshipman’s dirk and flourished it around. “Hide that thing,” said Somers. “I hope we sha’n’t have to murder anybody on this expedition.” They were still some distance away from the tavern, from whose low windows, half a mile higher up, they could see a faint gleam, and the two young midshipmen who had fallen behind were concealed by a turn of the path, when some one stepped out of the bushes, and said quietly: “You are the Americanos, are you not?” Both Somers and Decatur recognized their acquaintance of that afternoon. “Yes,” answered Somers, “and we have come to receive the letter from the American officers at Tripoli that Catalano, the pilot, has brought.” In the meantime four men had approached silently and surrounded the two American officers. Somers, coolly putting his back to a stone wall that ran along the path, said: “Where is Catalano?” “One moment,” said the supposed Sicilian with a wolfish smile. “Have you ever heard of Mahomet Rous?” “Yes,” answered Decatur—“the Tripolitan captain who hauled his colors down three times and then threw them overboard.” “And when he got back to Tripoli the Bashaw rode him through the town on a jackass and gave him the bastinado,” added Somers. Scarcely were the words out of the young captain’s mouth before the supposed Sicilian made a dash at him, and, as in a flash, both Somers and Decatur realized that they were caught in a trap. Decatur, whose powerful frame made him a match for two ordinary men, turned and grappled with Mahomet Rous, and the two men rolled over, fighting together on the ground. Somers, with his back to the wall, was set upon by the three; but at that moment the two young midshipmen, hearing the clash of swords in the darkness, rushed forward. Macdonough went to Somers’s assistance, while Pickle Israel, seeing Decatur struggling desperately with the Tripolitan pirate, drew his dirk, and with one well-directed blow pinned the arm of Mahomet Rous to the earth. Decatur, thus freed, rose. The other brigands were being well taken care of by Somers and Macdonough, and seeing Decatur on his feet, concluded they had had enough of it, and took to their heels, disappearing quickly among the shadows of the stunted ilex trees. Mahomet Rous, half killed by Decatur’s powerful arm, lay on the ground swearing frightfully at all “Americanos.” The people from the tavern, hearing the noise of the brawl, came out with lanterns and torches; but the four young officers, glad to escape from such an adventure, ran down the mountain path as fast as their legs would carry them. As soon as they reached the outskirts of the town they stopped for breath, and to repair damages as far as they could. While Pickle Israel was industriously rubbing the mud off Decatur’s back he could not forbear saying, with a mischievous grin: “Well, Captain Decatur, I—I—believe we did manage to look out for you and Captain Somers.” “You did, indeed,” answered Decatur, laughing. “That dirk of yours did good service. You left it sticking in the pirate’s arm, but I’ll give you another one that will always be a reminder of this night.—Somers, we shall have to learn from these cautious reefers how to take care of ourselves.” “We will indeed,” answered Somers gravely. Macdonough was old enough not to take this chaff seriously, but Pickle fairly swelled with pride as he marched along through the town at the heels of the two young captains. The general plans of Decatur’s expedition were now known among the American officers and privately discussed. “Old Pepper” gave Decatur one last warning. “You may dream, Captain Decatur, that you could bring out a frigate of the Philadelphia’s draft through that tortuous harbor at night, under the fire of every battery in the town, of the castle, and the whole fleet in the harbor. Very well, sir; if you attempt it and get out alive, you shall be sent home at once under charges; for, look you, Captain Decatur, it is as dangerous to do too much when you are under my orders as it is to do too little.” Decatur very wisely held his tongue, and realized that the destruction of the ship was all he could aim at. It was known that a draft of officers was to be made from the Constitution, and the wildest excitement prevailed in the steerage, where every midshipman thought himself cocksure of being one of the lucky ones to go. Pickle Israel, in his anxiety to curry favor with Decatur, who had the selection of the officers, stopped at nothing. At the same time he felt convinced—from his prowess on the night of the adventure with the brigands, and from Decatur’s present to him of a beautiful dirk to replace the lost one—that he would undoubtedly be permitted to go. Whenever Decatur came on board the Constitution, the first object he would see would be Pickle, who would bow to the deck and make the most insinuating inquiries about his health. Decatur was sure to find Pickle, cap in hand, at every turn. The other midshipmen saw through it, and determined to get a “rig” on Pickle. One day, at dinner, therefore, Laws, one of the older midshipmen, casually remarked that he had seen Captain Decatur on shore that day with a box of frogs and lizards. “And you know,” said he, turning half round so that Pickle might not see him winking at the rest, “Captain Decatur has a craze for frogs and lizards. He’s making a collection to take home with him. I gave him a tree-toad to-day, and you’d have thought from the way he thanked me that I had given him a forty-four-gun frigate. The fellows that want to go on the Intrepid can take the hint.” That was enough for Pickle. The next day he got shore leave, and in the afternoon, as the result of his day on shore, he returned with a box about a foot square full of frogs and snails and lizards. This, he himself took on board the Enterprise, and, asking to see Captain Decatur, was very much disappointed to find that the captain was not on the ship. He left his box, though, and returned to the Constitution. Again, at dinner, more tales were told respecting Decatur’s extravagant fondness for frogs, and Pickle chuckled to himself on his astuteness in sending the captain a whole boxful. At last he burst out with— “I tell you what it is, fellows, I’ve got ahead of all of you! I went ashore to-day, and I got a dozen of the biggest bull-toads you ever clapped your eyes on, and I sent ’em to Captain Decatur with my compliments!” “Pickle,” remarked Laws solemnly, “something ails you that doesn’t often afflict a midshipman: you’re too long-headed by half.” “Yes,” said Morris, another of the midshipmen, “and soon we’ll see the effect of Pickle’s sharpness. Captain Decatur will say to himself: ‘Now, there’s that little Pickle Israel, he’s a very sharp fellow—knows a lizard when he sees one, and isn’t afraid of a jumping frog. Likely as not he isn’t afraid of a jumping pirate either. He’ll be a good fellow to have on the Intrepid, so here goes!’ Then the captain will take out his list and put your name down, and you’ll go and cover yourself with glory as with a mantle, and get promoted to be lieutenant, and be at the top of the list, ahead of all us poor devils, and all on account of sending Captain Decatur a box of frogs.” Pickle could not forbear grinning with delight at this pleasing prospect, but thought it proper to disclaim his future distinction by cocking his head knowingly, and saying: “Oh, well, you fellows stand just as good a chance as I do, but it was pretty clever of me to do that frog business so neatly!” Pickle waited in vain for a note of enthusiastic thanks from Decatur, including an invitation to dinner, but none came. At last, about a week afterward, Decatur being on the Constitution’s deck one day, and Pickle, as usual, hanging around, he turned to the little midshipman with a very quizzical smile, and said: “I think, Mr. Israel, that some one has been playing a joke at your expense. I received, the other day, a box of frogs and lizards and what not, with your compliments. Of course I had them dumped overboard, and determined to ask you about them.” Pickle’s black eyes grew wide with amazed disappointment. “I heard, sir—I heard you liked frogs,” he managed to stammer, and then stopped short, appalled by the reflection that perhaps, after all, he had injured his chances of going in the Intrepid. “And suppose I do like frogs,” said Decatur, laughing; and then, eyeing the boy closely, he continued: “I know now, Mr. Israel, that some one has been playing on you. I understand you are very anxious to go upon the expedition to Tripoli.” “Yes, sir,” cried Pickle, eagerly, “I want to go more than I can say, though all the other fellows want to go too; but, Captain Decatur, if you’ll take me——” Decatur put his hand kindly upon the boy’s shoulder. “Now, my young friend, dismiss the idea from your mind. You are entirely too young——” “I’m fourteen, sir,” cut in Pickle, straightening himself up, “and I look as old as some fellows at sixteen.” “Nevertheless it is not my intention to take any of the very young midshipmen. If I did, I should certainly take you, for I have perfect confidence in your determination and coolness. But remember, we expect to have a hand-to-hand fight with the Tripolitans; and although they are neither good seamen nor even tolerable gunners, they are superb as hand-to-hand fighters, and for that reason I shall choose the strongest and oldest of the midshipmen. I feel sorry for you”—for Pickle’s eyes had begun to fill with tears—“but your turn will come some day, and then I have not the slightest doubt you will give a good account of yourself.” The expedition was to start about the 1st of February, and during the last days of January the excitement among the junior officers was intense as to which would have the honor of being selected. Decatur consulted with Somers, and with his help, after much deliberation, made out a list of the officers he desired, which he submitted to the commodore. The men of the Argus were to compose the crew, and they were to be asked to volunteer. Decatur found himself unable to make a choice among his three lieutenants—Lawrence, Thorn, and Bainbridge, the nephew of Captain Bainbridge—and felt obliged to take them all. Somers and Decatur were constantly together during these last days, and Decatur was ably assisted by Somers’s extraordinarily good judgment in matters of detail, especially regarding the disguising of the ketch and her company. Every officer and man was to be provided with a jacket and trousers such as the Maltese sailors wear—for the Intrepid was to steal in as a fruit-laden vessel from Malta. At last, every preparation being well forward, on the afternoon of the 3d of February, Decatur, with Somers, was pulled to the Constitution, where they found Stewart. Every officer and man in the ship, by some strange mental process, knew that the choice of officers was to be made that day, and all were on hand, so as not to miss the chance of going upon an expedition of so much glory. Decatur went immediately to the commodore’s cabin, when he submitted his list, and every name was approved. As he appeared upon the quarter-deck with the commodore, he could not but smile at the ill-concealed eagerness of the officers, who could scarcely restrain their impetuosity. The commodore looked around and smiled. Not an officer was missing. He took his station near the gangway, and an instant hush fell upon them. The boatswain’s call to “Attention!” was a mere form. “Gentlemen,” said he, “you perhaps know that it is in contemplation to send an expedition, under the command of Captain Decatur, to Tripoli, for the purpose of destroying the Philadelphia, which has been raised, refitted, and now flies the Tripolitan colors. Captain Stewart, of the Siren, is to support Captain Decatur with his whole force. The ketch so gallantly captured by Captain Decatur is to be used, as being of a build and rig often seen in Mediterranean ports, and therefore not likely to excite suspicion. She has been fitly named the Intrepid. Her ammunition is now aboard of her, and she sails at daylight. Captain Decatur has the selection of his brave assistants. I can only say that his choice, like mine, of the ships and the captains to do the work, will be made solely upon the ground of availability. If willingness to go were the only test, there could be no choice; but in other respects there is a choice, which Captain Decatur has made with my approval.” The commodore then read off the first name, “Midshipman Izard.” An electric thrill seemed to run through the group of midshipmen as the names followed in quick succession: “Midshipmen Morris, Laws, Davis, and Rowe.” The older officers looked acutely disappointed; many of them had hoped to go, but they gave the lucky five a rousing cheer, while the “stay-at-homes” among the midshipmen joined in, and all shook hands cordially with their more fortunate messmates. Decatur could not but notice little Israel, the boy’s face was so doleful. He turned to the lad and said kindly: “Mr. Israel forgets that his stature is not as great as his spirit; but some day he will have a chance, and no doubt he will make glorious use of it.” These kind words consoled Pickle a little, but except the lucky five, it was a disappointed lot of reefers who stood on the Constitution’s quarter-deck and magnanimously cheered the more fortunate of their number. The ketch was anchored close in shore, with the red flag flying at her fore, showing that she was taking on powder. Decatur then ordered his boat, and said farewell to the commodore and the assembled officers. He directed the midshipmen to report on board the Intrepid at daylight, and then, inviting Somers and Stewart to go to his ship with him, all three were pulled to the Argus. It was about four o’clock on a lovely afternoon in February, which is a springlike month in Sicily. On the Argus, too, there was the tension of expectation, as they knew from the state of forwardness in the preparations of the ketch that the time of adventure was at hand. The three young captains came over the side together, and immediately Decatur ordered the boatswain and his mates to pipe “All hands to muster!” Almost before the sound had died away the men crowded up the hatchways, and the officers quickly ranged themselves on the quarterdeck. “All up and aft!” was reported, and Decatur advanced with the list in his hand. “Gentlemen,” said he to his officers, in his usual impetuous way, “you know, perhaps, that an expedition leaves at daylight to-morrow morning, in the ketch Intrepid, to destroy the Philadelphia in the harbor of Tripoli. I have the honor of commanding the ketch, while Captain Stewart, in the Siren, commands the supporting force. I have selected the officers to accompany me from the Constitution and the Argus. My selection was governed by expediency only. All will wish to go”—a murmur of assent was here heard—“but all can not go. Hence I select those who seem to me best adapted to bear the hardships and to withstand the peculiar fighting methods of the Tripolitans. I have concluded to make no choice among my lieutenants, but to take them all, and Midshipman Macdonough and Dr. Heerman, surgeon.” A rousing cheer, as on the Constitution, greeted this announcement, and the five officers were warmly congratulated. Decatur then turned to the men: “Of you, my men,” he said, “I will name one who may go—the pilot, Salvatore Catalano. I wish sixty-one men out of the ship’s company, and I shall take the first sixty-one that volunteer. Let each man who wishes to go advance two steps.” As if moved by a common impulse, every man and boy on the ship, including two or three just out of the sick-bay, who had not yet reported for duty, advanced two steps. Decatur stood looking at them, his fine face lighted up with pleasure. “My men,” he said, “it is impossible that all should go. Let those who are not physically strong, and those under twenty and over forty, step back.” Not a man moved. In the midst of the dead pause Danny Dixon spoke up, touching his hat: “Please, sir,” he said, “ain’t none of us more’n forty or less’n twenty. And ain’t a one of us that ain’t jist as healthy and strong as a bull whale.” Decatur managed to take this without smiling, but replied: “Very well; pipe down, boatswain! Within an hour I shall have a list made out of sixty-one men that I wish to accompany me.” Summoning Lawrence, his first lieutenant, Decatur, with Stewart and Somers, disappeared in the cabin, and the men were dismissed. Next morning, at daylight, the five officers from the Argus, the five midshipmen from the Constitution, the sixty-one petty officers and seamen, and the pilot Catalano, were assembled on the deck of the ketch. The accommodations were bad, and not more than one half the officers could sling their hammocks at one time; but not a word of complaint was heard. Early as it was, Somers was on hand to bid his friend good-by. Just as the pale pink flush of dawn lightened the dark water, the Intrepid, hoisting one lateen sail, got under way, and Somers, wringing Decatur’s hand, dropped into his boat alongside. As the ketch caught the morning breeze and began to glide rapidly out toward the offing, Decatur ran aft and waved his cap at Somers, standing up in the boat, who returned it, and then pulled away to his own vessel. The Siren, being a fast sailer, did not leave until the sun was well up, when she, too, spread her white wings and flew. Several days of delightful weather followed. The officers amused themselves with rehearsing the proposed strategy by which they were to make the Tripolitans believe them to be Maltese sailors and the ketch a Maltese trading vessel. Catalano was to do the hailing, prompted by Decatur, when they had got, as they hoped, to the Philadelphia’s side. Except a few men, the vessel’s company was to remain below, but ready at a signal to leap on deck. The Intrepid proved to be a better sailer than was thought at first, and on a lovely afternoon, four days after leaving Syracuse, anchor was cast about a mile to windward of Tripoli. The Siren followed some distance behind. She, too, was disguised, her ports being closed, her guns covered with tarpaulins, and her sails daubed with lampblack, and patches painted on them to represent old and worn canvas. Nothing could disguise the beauty of her lines; but for want of paint on her hull, and by devices of various sorts, she looked like a staunch American or English merchantman after a long voyage. Having got the Intrepid in a good position without being discovered, Decatur was eager for night to fall, that the desperate adventure might be made. Right out before them lay the large though dangerous harbor of Tripoli, the frowning castle, and the numerous forts that protected the town. Among all the shipping collected at the mole, the dark and towering hull of the Philadelphia was most conspicuous, and from her peak flew the crescent of Tripoli. “There she is, my men!” cried Decatur, as he pointed her out. “All her guns are kept double shotted, and when we make a bonfire of her she will give the rascals a broadside that will make them squeal.” While waiting for the brief twilight of Africa, Decatur noticed a boy about twelve years old standing by the mast. Two or three of the boys on the Argus had been brought along to act as helpers, and who could be left in the ketch while the rest of the crew made the proposed dash for the Philadelphia. Decatur, passing by at the time, was struck by the little fellow’s bright face, and stopped to ask him what he wished to say. “Please, sir,” said the boy, in a piping treble, “I belongs to the Argus, but because I was so little they never put my name on the ship’s books. I hear ’em say, sir, for’ard, as how there’ll be a big lot o’ prize money to divide arter we has blowed the Philadelphy up; and Mr. Dixon, the quartermaster, sir, says as I won’t get no prize money unless my name is entered reg’lar; and so I axes you to enter me.” “Certainly I will,” replied Decatur, laughing at the boy, who was evidently a victim of fok’sl wit, but who had the spirit to ask for what he thought his due. “What is your name?” “Jack Creamer, sir, apprentice boy.” “Very well, Jack Creamer, apprentice boy, you shall be regularly entered in the ship’s books, and you’ll get your share of whatever goes round.” The wind had been rising for some little time, and just then it blew violently from the southwest. The sky became overcast, and suddenly darkness seemed to envelop them. This Decatur thought rather favorable to his scheme; but Catalano, the pilot, who knew every foot of the harbor, came up at that moment. “Sir,” he said in fluent English, but with a strong Italian accent, “it will be impossible to take the ketch in to-night. The water is no doubt now breaking clear across the reef of the western passage, and even if I could get in, there would be no chance of getting out. I know this harbor well, sir, and the water must be moderately smooth before it is safe to go near the reefs.” Decatur was of too impetuous a nature to accept all at once this decision. “I will have the cutter lowered, and I desire you, with Mr. Morris, to go and examine the entrance, and, if possible, the ketch shall go in to-night,” he said. The cutter was lowered and manned, and pulled away in the fast gathering darkness. They could see at a little distance that the Siren’s boats were hoisted out and manned and only awaited the signal to advance. But every moment the wind increased, and at last Decatur began to feel seriously uneasy regarding the absent cutter. It was obviously impossible to attempt the attack that night, and the Intrepid accordingly so signaled the Siren. After a while the cutter was seen approaching, tossed about on the great waves, and every man in her drenched to the skin. The storm was now on them, and the cutter was brought up with difficulty, and her company clambered into the ketch; but in hoisting the boat in she was dashed violently against the ship, and her side completely stove in. This was a trifle; but when the anchor was weighed it was found to be broken in three pieces. The wind had now become a roaring gale, and soon the Intrepid was stretching out to sea. It was observed, though, that the Siren was having trouble with her anchor, too. She was rolling her gunwales under water, and the anchor held firmly on the bottom. “Stewart is well able to look out for himself, while it is as much as we can do to take care of ourselves,” said Decatur, as he gave orders to claw off the land. For six days the storm raged. The brig, which had finally been obliged to leave her anchor and cable, managed to keep in company with the ketch, which threatened to founder at every moment. Their provisions were soaked, and in cold and wet and hunger these brave men weathered the gale. But at last, on the morning of the 15th of February, the weather moderated, the wind fell, and a bright sun shone. The ketch and brig found themselves in the Gulf of Sydra. Good weather promising for some days, Decatur signaled the Siren to bear away for Tripoli, and began to make his preparations for the attack. Toward evening they found themselves in sight of the town, with its circle of forts crowned by the frowning castle. The great hull of the Philadelphia, larger than any in the harbor, stood out in bold relief, her masts and spars clearly defined against the dazzling blue of the African sky. Two frigates, anchored about two cables’ lengths apart, lay between her and the castle, while nineteen gunboats and a few galleys lay near her. From the castle and the batteries one hundred and fifteen guns could be trained upon an attacking force; but the bold tars on the Intrepid took all chances cheerfully, and even gayly. Every man had been instructed in his duty, and the crew was not mustered, for fear of awaking distrust. The watchword “Philadelphia” was passed around. The men quietly took their places below the hatches, while half a dozen officers sat or lay about on deck. Catalano took the wheel, while Decatur, in a common sailor’s jacket and fez, stood by him. The breeze had become light and baffling in the offing and the Siren, which kept well away from the Intrepid in order to avoid suspicion, was evidently unable to get any nearer until the wind should change; but at the entrance to the harbor it was very fresh, and carried the ketch forward at a lively rate. Decatur saw that his best hope was to make a bold dash then, without waiting for the gallant little brig, which was almost becalmed. At the moment when the steersman made straight for the western entrance of the harbor, Decatur addressed a few last words to his officers and men. “You see,” he said in a firm, clear voice, perfectly audible to all, although not loud, “that Stewart and his gallant crew can not assist us. Very well; the fewer the number, the greater the honor. Our brave shipmates now in prison have been forced for many months to see the shameful spectacle of an American frigate wearing the colors of her pirate captors. Please God, it shall be so no longer after this night. Let every man think of this—let him think of his country; and though we can not hoist ‘Old Glory’ at the Philadelphia’s peak, we can at least send her to the bottom, rather than let her float disgraced by a pirate flag!” A half-suppressed cheer greeted Decatur’s brave words, and every officer and man felt himself possessed by that noble enthusiasm which works miracles of courage. Jack Creamer allowed his voice to get so far the better of the instructions given him to keep quiet, that he screeched out a boyish cheer, for which Danny Dixon came near chucking him overboard. It was not desired to get in before ten o’clock, but at the rate they were going, under a good breeze, would have got them in before sunset. Afraid of attracting attention by shortening sail, Decatur had all the vessel’s buckets, spare sails, etc., towed behind, so that she moved very slowly through the water. About nine o’clock, when they were a mile off the town, a brilliant moon rose trembling in the heavens. Decatur noticed it. “Just the light for us,” he said. The scene was one of perfect peace and beauty. All the shipping in the harbor lay quietly at anchor, and the water was so smooth that their lights were as stationary as those that twinkled in the town and the Bashaw’s castle. The Intrepid stole quietly in, leaving the Siren farther and farther astern. The moon was now high, flooding the sea with glory, and making the harbor lights mere twinkling points of flame. The Intrepid steered directly for the Philadelphia’s bows, and this caused her to be hailed while still a considerable distance off. A number of Tripolitans were seen lounging about the Philadelphia’s decks, and an officer smoking a long pipe leaned over the rail and called out: “What vessel is that?” “The ketch Stella, from Malta,” responded Catalano in Italian, which is the lingua franca of the East. “We were caught in the gale and nearly wrecked. We lost our anchors, and our commander would like the favor of riding by you during the night.” Decatur, in his round jacket and fez, lounged near Catalano, and whispered to him what to say. “Your request is rather unusual,” replied the officer. “Bananas and oranges, with a few bales of raw silk,” answered Catalano, pretending that he had understood the Tripolitan to ask what the Stella’s cargo was. The ketch continued to draw rapidly near, and from the Philadelphia could be seen the supposed Italian mariners moving lazily about and gesticulating to one another. “Mule-head and son of a jackass,” cried the Tripolitan, “it is nothing to me what you are laden with! I say it is dangerous to have you dogs of Christians made fast to us. If you get on board, you will steal anything you lay your hands on.” “That’s not a very pleasant way to meet men who have been in a whole gale for six days, with all our provisions spoiled, and on short allowance of water, and expecting every moment to go to the bottom. On the voyage we met with a xebec of your country with her captain ill and half the crew down with scurvy. We broke our cargo to give them fresh fruit, and took the captain on board and landed him at Tunis.” So answered Catalano, in an injured voice, the ketch still advancing steadily. “Then you may lie by us until daylight,” answered the officer. At the same time he ordered a boat with a fast to be lowered. Then he called out again, his voice resounding over the smooth water, now lighted by the moon, that had climbed high in the deep blue of the night sky: “What vessel is that in the offing?” “The Transfer,” answered Catalano, prompted by Decatur. This was a small frigate lately purchased of the British at Malta, and which the Tripolitans were anxiously looking for. “Good!” said the officer. “The wind died out before she could get in,” continued Catalano, “and she asked us to report her.” Not the slightest suspicion had yet entered the minds of the Tripolitans that the Intrepid was anything but a trading vessel, and luckily enough for Decatur and his dauntless company; for at that moment a puff of wind came, the Intrepid’s head fell off, and she drifted directly under the Philadelphia’s broadside. At this appalling moment the least hint of the Intrepid’s real character would have meant death to every man on board. Decatur, with his unshakable coolness, ordered a boat out, with Lawrence and three seamen, carrying a hawser, which they quietly fastened to the forechains of the Philadelphia. The ketch meanwhile was drifting under the port batteries of the frigate, toward the stern, where, if she had escaped the guns on broadside, the stern chasers could have annihilated her. But every man on board shared Decatur’s calm self-possession at this critical moment. The frigate’s boat containing the fast had now put out. Lawrence, rowing back to the ketch, met the Tripolitan boat. “Give us your fast,” he said, “so we can let go another hawser. We lost our best cables with the anchors, and our hawsers are so small that it will take two to hold us in case the wind should rise during the night.” The Tripolitans handed out the fasts, which Lawrence coolly carried on board the Intrepid. The men on deck, catching hold of the fast, then drew the ketch close to the frigate’s huge black hull, and were soon breasting along under her port side. The shadow cast by the Philadelphia’s hull was of immense help to the Intrepid’s men, but near her stern was a great patch of white moonlight, and any object passing through this glittering and shimmering belt could be seen as plainly as in daytime. As the ketch glided steadily along and into this brilliant light, her anchors, with their cables coiled up, were seen on her decks. “Keep off!” shouted the Tripolitan officer, suddenly taking the alarm; “you have deceived us—you have not lost your anchors, and we do not know your character,” and at the same moment he ordered men with the axes to cut the fasts. But, as if by enchantment, the deck of the Intrepid was alive with men, whose strong arms brought her grinding up against the frigate’s side in a moment’s time. Then a great yell went up from the frigate: “Americanos! Americanos!” cried the Tripolitans. The next instant Decatur, who was standing ready, made a powerful spring, and jumped at the Philadelphia’s chain-plates, shouting at the same moment: “Board!” Morris and Laws, two of the midshipmen of the Constitution, were at Decatur’s side clinging to the frigate’s plates. Morris and Decatur both sprang at the rail, and Morris, being little more than a boy, and very lithe and agile, his foot touched the quarter-deck first. But Decatur was second. Laws had dashed at an open porthole, and would have been the first on the frigate, but his boarding belt, with his pistols in it, caught between the gun and the port, so that he was third. Instantly, in the dazzling moonlight, turbaned heads appeared over the rail and at every port. The Americans came pouring over the side, and as the Tripolitans rushed above they found the quarter-deck already in possession of the “Americanos.” The Tripolitans ran forward and to starboard. The Americans, quickly forming a line across the deck, and headed by Decatur, dashed at them, and, caught between an advancing body of resolute seamen and the ship’s rail, those who were not cut down, after a short but desperate resistance, leaped overboard. The Americans were more than a match for them in hand-to-hand fighting, at which they excelled, and they fought in disorder. In five minutes the spar deck was cleared and in possession of the Americans. Below there was a more prolonged struggle. The Tripolitans, with their backs to the ship’s side, made a fierce resistance, but were clearly overmatched from the beginning; and as it is their practice never to fall alive into the hands of an enemy, those who were not cut down on the spot ran to the ports and jumped overboard, and within five minutes more there was not a Tripolitan on the frigate except the dead and wounded. Not until then did the batteries, the castle, the two frigates moored near the Philadelphia, and the gunboats, take the alarm. The ketch, however, fastened close under the overhanging quarter-gallery of the frigate, and completely in the shadow, still escaped detection. Lights began to flash about from the ships and the batteries, but not enough could be discerned to justify the Tripolitans in firing upon their own ship. Warning had been given, though, and it was now only a question of a few moments how long the Americans could work undisturbed. Decatur now appeared upon the quarter-deck to have the powder on the ketch rapidly transferred to the frigate. Lawrence was with him. When the moment came that Decatur must give the order for the destruction of the frigate, his resolution to obey orders almost failed him. He turned to his lieutenant, and, grasping him by the shoulders, cried out in an agonized voice: “Ah, Lawrence, why can not this gallant ship be cut out and carried off, a glorious trophy of this night?” “She has not a sail bent nor a yard crossed,” answered Lawrence firmly. “The tide will not serve to take so large a ship out now; and remember, it is as dangerous to do too much under Commodore Preble’s orders as to do too little.” “I care nothing for that——” “Then, if you value your reputation, give the order at once to hand up the powder!” exclaimed Lawrence. “See! the frigate off the port quarter is lighting up her batteries.” For a moment or two, as Lawrence watched Decatur’s agitated face, he almost feared that his young captain literally could not give the order to destroy the ship, so intense was his desire to bring her out. But after a moment or two Decatur recovered himself; the opposition of so fearless a man as Lawrence convinced him, against his will, that it was impossible; and by a powerful effort he gave the order, and the men began rapidly hoisting the kegs of gunpowder over the side and carrying them along the decks. In a few moments the gun-room, the magazine scuttle, the cockpit, and the forward storerooms were filled with combustibles, and smoke was already pouring from the ports on the gun deck before those in the lower parts of the ship had time to get up. They ran to the forward ladders, and when the last firing party reached the spar deck the men were jumping into the ketch—all except Decatur and a small party of his own. Two eighteen-pounders, double shotted, had been dragged amidships and pointed down the main hatch, in order to blow the ship’s bottom out; and a port fire, with a train of powder, had been started so as to fire these two guns with certain effect. The sailors then, seeing their glorious work well done, dropped quickly over the side into the ketch, the officers followed, and Decatur, taking one last look at the doomed frigate, now enveloped in curling smoke, was about to leave her deck—his the last foot ever to tread it—when he saw little Jack Creamer trying to drag a wounded Tripolitan across the deck. But the boy was scarcely able to do it, and the man, who was large and heavy, was too badly wounded to help himself, and Decatur stepped forward to assist. “I found him under the hammock netting,” Jack gasped, “and I took him, sir—I captured him.” “Bear a hand here!” shouted Decatur, cutting Jack’s magnificent claim short; and the next moment Danny Dixon’s brawny arms were around the wounded man, while Jack Creamer hopped lightly into the ketch. And then—the frigate being quickly enveloped in fire and smoke, with little tongues of flame beginning to touch the rigging—Decatur leaped from the Philadelphia’s deck into the ketch’s rigging, and, the sixteen sweeps being already manned, the order was given to cast off. At that very moment the guns from the Bashaw’s castle, half gunshot off, boomed over the heads of the Americans. In this instant of triumph, though, they incurred their greatest danger of that perilous night. The headfast having been cast off, the ketch fell astern of the frigate, out of whose ports the flames were now blazing. The Intrepid’s jigger flapped against the blazing quarter gallery, while on her deck, just under it, lay all her ammunition, only covered by a tarpaulin. To increase their danger, the sternfast became jammed, and they were fixed firmly to the blazing frigate, while the ships as well as the shore batteries now opened a tremendous fire upon them. There was no axe at hand; but Decatur, Lawrence, and the other officers managed, by the most tremendous efforts with their swords, to cut the hawser; and just as they swung clear, the flames rushed up the tar-soaked rigging of the Philadelphia, and the two eighteen-pounders roared out their charges into the bottom of the burning ship. The Intrepid was now plainly visible, in the light of the blazing Philadelphia to every man on board the aroused fleet and batteries, and of the crowds collected on the shore. Then the thunder of a furious cannonade began. And now, after this unparalleled achievement, the Americans gave one last proof of their contempt of danger. As the Intrepid worked out in the red blaze that illuminated the whole harbor, a target for every gun in the Tripolitan batteries, the men at her sweeps stopped rowing, every officer and man rose to his feet, and with one impulse they gave three thundering American cheers. When this was done they settled down to getting out of the way. The expedition to destroy the Philadelphia. As they drew farther from the shore they were in more and more danger from the batteries; but although every shot threw showers of spray over them, the Americans only gave back derisive cries and cheers. A rapid count showed that not a man was missing. Jack Creamer, however, shouted proudly: “Cap’n Decatur, please, sir, besides capturin’ that there man, one o’ them wuthless Turks throwed his pistil at me and knocked me down, and I expects some smart money for this ’ere cut.” Here Jack displayed with great satisfaction a small cut, that would not have hurt a baby, behind his left ear. A roar of laughter from the men followed, while Decatur smiled, and said: “You shall have your smart money, sure.” As they pulled with powerful strokes toward the offing, where they could see the vague outline of the Siren and her boats, fully manned, lying like black shadows on the water, the harbor and town were as light as day with the reflection from the blazing frigate and the silvery radiance of the moon. The Philadelphia seemed to be burning in every spot at the same moment. Flames poured from her ports, and her fifty guns, all double shotted, began to go off in every direction as her blazing hull drifted helplessly with wind and tide. Many of the shot from her guns crashed into the fleet around her, while at almost every turn she poured a furious cannonade into the castle. As her decks fell in, the guns were lowered at the breech, and their hot shot went farther and farther, even into the town itself. One shot from the castle passed through the to’gallant sail of the ketch; but the men only laughed, while Catalano, the pilot, sang out in his Italian-English: “Eet ees a peety we can not get a piece of Meester Bashaw’s trousers for to mend our sail! Next time we come to Tripoli, Meester Bashaw, we will get you, and your trousers too, sair.” They were now well out of the range of firing, and close to the launch and cutter of the Siren. Decatur hailed the cutter, which was very fast. “Bring up alongside,” he cried, “and take me aboard!” The cutter quickly drew alongside. Decatur jumped on board, and the boat shot ahead of the slower ketch. As they neared the Siren, Decatur by the light of the moon perceived Stewart at the gangway anxiously peering into the darkness. Stewart could only see the officer in command of the boat in uniform, and he did not recognize Decatur disguised in the jacket of an Italian sailor. When the boat got near enough, Decatur made a spring at the hawser that hung astern, and in another moment he had sped along the deck and clapped Stewart on the shoulder. “Didn’t she make a glorious bonfire?” he cried, “and we came off without losing a man!” Stewart, astonished, turned round, and recognizing Decatur, could only wring his hand, while the other officers crowded around and overwhelmed Decatur with congratulations. In a little while the Intrepid neared them and hailed, asking that the wounded Tripolitan be taken aboard the Siren, as there was no place on the ketch in which he could be made decently comfortable. The man was hoisted on board, and as Jack Creamer claimed the honor of capturing him, the boy was allowed to be one of the helpers. The Tripolitan had kept so quiet that Dr. Heerman, who had come with him, flashed a lantern into his face to see if he were alive or dead, and Decatur, who was looking on, to his surprise recognized Mahomet Rous. Mahomet opened his eyes and shut them again quickly, but there was no doubt that he was very much alive. “He’s a-playin’ possum, sir,” said Jack Creamer, who was holding up the Tripolitan’s head. “When he s’rendered to me——” An involuntary shout of laughter followed this, as Jack’s little figure was contrasted with Mahomet Rous’s brawny form. “When he s’rendered, sir,” kept on Jack stoutly, “he was bleedin’ from a wound in the leg, and one arm was hangin’ down like ’twas broke, and if I hadn’t captured him when I did he’d ’a’ jumped overboard, as sure’s my name’s Jack Creamer. He give me his sword and pistil, leastways,” Jack added, blushing. “I took ’em from him, ’cause he couldn’t hold on to ’em no longer, and I’ve got ’em hid in a pork-barrel on the ketch, and I axes, sir—” turning to Decatur and Stewart, who could not help laughing at him—“if I can’t be allowed to keep ’em, and I’ll take ’em instid o’ smart money for my wound, if I can’t have both.” Jack here gravely displayed his scratched ear, which Dr. Heerman examined with equal gravity. “I’ll tell you what you ought to do for this ear: go and wash it,” said the surgeon; at which Jack, unable to stand the laughter of the officers and the grins of the men, dropped Mahomet’s head and disappeared forward. But Decatur called after him: “You shall have the sword and pistol, and the smart money too.” The wind still held, and, the Siren getting up her anchor, Decatur took Jack Creamer with him and returned on board the ketch, and all sail was made for Syracuse. On the morning of the 19th of February, just fifteen days after they had left Syracuse, the Intrepid and the Siren stood into the harbor. Stewart, from motives of delicacy, kept his fast-sailing brig astern of the ketch. The Nautilus lay farther out than the Constitution, and Somers, taking his morning walk on the quarter-deck, saw the ketch and the brig approaching, and the next moment the lookout sang out, “Sail, ho!” Instinctively Somers knew that it was Decatur and Stewart. The morning was one of those clear, brilliant days when the earth and sea seem like paradise. In the bright blue air he could see the white canvas of the brig, now cleaned and fresh, and the low hull of the ketch with her lateen sails. Soon they were near enough to be hailed, and, with a joy and thankfulness not to be described, Somers saw Decatur standing on the bow of the ketch, waving his cap—a signal meaning success, that had been agreed on between them. The next instant they were seen from the Constitution, and as soon as it was certain that they were observed an ensign was run up to every masthead on the Intrepid. This was enough—it meant complete success. At once the commodore gave orders for a salute to be fired, and the guns of the Constitution roared out their welcome. This was taken up by the Nautilus, and by the Sicilian forts on shore—for Sicily, too, had her grudge against Tripoli. In the midst of the thundering salutes, and in a cloud of blue smoke, the brig and the ketch came to anchor. Somers had ordered his boat lowered, and had made for the Constitution, in order to be the first to meet Decatur. His boat and the Intrepid’s, which carried Decatur and Lawrence, came to the ladder at the same moment. Decatur sprang out and caught Somers in his arms, and they hugged each other very much as they had done in their midshipman days, when both were larking together in “Old Wagoner’s” steerage. Somers then went over the side, in order that he might witness Decatur’s triumphal entry. The commodore and all the Constitution’s officers were waiting at the gangway to salute Decatur. Somers greeted the commodore and the other officers hurriedly and walked aside, as Decatur stepped upon the quarter-deck, followed by his first lieutenant. Decatur wore a perfectly new naval uniform, with a handsome sword. His fine black eyes were sparkling, and he had a happy air of success. He bowed low to the commodore. “Old Pepper” grasped Decatur’s hand warmly, and, taking off his cap, cried: “If every plank in the Philadelphia is destroyed, you shall have my best efforts to make you a post-captain for it!” “Every plank is destroyed, sir; every gun is burst and at the bottom of the harbor; and the ship, after burning to the water’s edge, exploded, and you could not have told the place where she lay,” answered Decatur, in a quiet voice. At this a mighty hurrah went up from the officers and men on the Constitution. “Not a man was lost——” continued Decatur, but at that another storm of cheering cut him short. Somers, the quietest and most self-contained man on the squadron, was cheering wildly, and literally dancing in his excitement. The commodore hurried Decatur into the cabin to get the particulars. Lawrence told the glorious story on the quarter-deck; while Danny Dixon, who was coxswain, got permission to leave the Intrepid’s boat, and to a listening crowd of blue-jackets on the fok’sl he narrated the noble adventures of the Intrepid. When Decatur returned to the deck to get into his boat he found the rigging full of men, and as he left the ship, taking Somers with him, that they might have their usual long and intimate talk, the yards were manned, and three rousing American cheers shook the Constitution’s deck in honor of the Intrepid’s young commander. Amid all the felicitations on the outcome of the expedition, the modesty and calmness of Decatur under his weight of splendid achievement were remarked upon—especially as he was so young and so impetuous. But when he and Somers were alone in the cabin of the Argus, they suddenly threw aside their dignity and acted like a couple of crazy schoolboys. They hugged and pounded each other, they laughed, they cried, they joked, they sang, and at last the only thing that quieted them was the usually grave Somers shoving Decatur into a chair and shouting: “Now, you lucky rascal, don’t dare to move from that chair until you have told me all about the fight!” |
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