Note to Old Kennedy, No. I.—Capt. Somers.[3]—The name of Somers, the twin brother in arms of Decatur, shines brightly on the History of American Naval Warfare; and the last desperate action which terminated his short and brilliant career with his life, is stamped in colours so indelible, that nothing but the destroying finger of Time can efface it from its pages. After severe and continued fighting before Tripoli, the Turkish flotilla withdrew within the mole, and could not be induced to venture themselves beyond the guns of the Tripolitan Battery. The ketch Intrepid was fitted out as a fire-ship, filled to the decks with barrels of gunpowder, shells, pitch, and other combustible materials; and Capt. Somers, with a volunteer crew, undertook the hazardous, almost desperate, task, of navigating her, in the darkness of night, into the middle of the Turkish flotilla, when the train was to be fired, and they were to make their escape, as they best could in her boats.
Lieutenants Wadsworth and Israel were the only officers allowed to join expedition, which was comprised of a small crew of picked men. The Intrepid was escorted as far as was prudent by three vessels of the squadron, who hove to, to avoid suspicion, and to be ready to pick up the boats upon their return: the Constitution, under easy sail in the offing.
Many a brave heart could almost hear its own pulsations in those vessels, as she became more and more indistinct, and gradually disappeared in the distance. They watched for some time with intense anxiety, when a heavy cannonade was opened from the Turkish batteries, which, by its flashes, discovered the ketch determinedly progressing on her deadly errand. She was slowly and surely making for the entrance of the mole, when the whole atmosphere suddenly blazed as if into open day; the mast with all its sails shot high up in the air; shells whizzed, rocket like, exploding in every direction; a deafening roar followed and all sunk again into the deepest pitchy darkness. The Americans waited—waited—in anxious—at last sickening suspense. Their companions came not—the hours rolled on—no boat hailed—no oar splashed in the surrounding darkness. The East grew grey with the dawn—the sun shone brightly above the horizon, nought but a few shattered vessels lying near the shore—the flotilla—the batteries—and the minarets of Tripoli, gilded by the morning sunbeams, met their gaze. Those noble spirits had written their history. Whether consigned to eternity by a shot of the enemy, prematurely exploding the magazine, or from the firing of the train by their own hands, must always remain untold and unknown.
[3] The U. S. Brig Somers, in which the late daring mutiny was suppressed by the prompt and decided measures of Lt. Alexander Slidell McKenzie, was named after this hero of the Tripolitan war.
Note to Old Kennedy. No. III.—“The Parting Blessing.”—An officer of the Lawrence engaged in this desperate action informed the writer, that he observed, in the latter part of the battle, the captain of one of the guns, who was a perfect sailor, and remarkable for his neatness and fine personal appearance, ineffectually endeavouring to work his gun himself, after all its crew had fallen. He was badly wounded by a grape shot in the leg; and although in that situation, he was supporting himself on the other, while he struggled at the tackle to bring the piece to bear. The officer told him that he had better leave the gun, and join one of the others, or, as he was badly wounded, go below. “No—no, sir,”—said the brave tar,—“I’ve loaded her, and if I’ve got to go below, it shan’t be before I give ’em a parting blessing!” The officer then himself assisted him in running the gun out of the port. The sailor, taking a good and deliberate aim, discharged her into the British ship, and then dragged himself down to the cockpit, fully satisfied with the parting compliment that he had paid the enemy. General Jackson, during his administration, granted the man a pension.
Note to Old Kennedy. No. IV.—Explosion at Craney Island.—One of the oldest of the surgeons now in the navy, who was present when the British were defeated in their attempt to cut out the Constellation at Craney’s Island, in Hampton Roads, in the last war, relates the following anecdote.