The sinking of the French privateer.
It was on a bright February afternoon that the chase began. The midshipmen, elated by their triumph in sailing with the great English frigate, thought it would be but child’s play to overhaul the Frenchman. But they had counted without their host, and they had no fool to play with. In vain did “Old Wagoner” crowd on sail; the Tartuffe managed to keep just out of gunshot. All the afternoon the exciting chase continued, and when night fell a splendid moon rose which made the sea almost as light as day. Both ships set every stitch of canvas that would draw, and at daybreak it was found that the frigate had in all those hours gained only a mile or two on the brigantine. However, that was enough to bring her within range of “Old Wagoner’s” batteries. The American then fired another gun as a signal for the Frenchman to haul down his colors. But, to their surprise, the Tartuffe went directly about, her yards flying round like a windmill, and her captain endeavored to run directly under the broadside of the United States before the heavier frigate could come about. One well-directed shot between wind and water stopped the Frenchman’s bold manœuvre. She began at once to fill and settle, and her ensign was hauled down.
Commodore Barry, on seeing this, cried out:
“Lower away the first cutter!” and Decatur, being the officer in charge of that boat, dropped into her stern sheets and pulled for the Frenchman. Commodore Barry, leaning over the side, called out, laughing, to Decatur:
“I wish you to treat the Frenchman as if he were the captain of a forty-four-gun frigate coming aboard to surrender her. He has made a gallant run.”
Decatur, bearing this in mind, put off for the brigantine. The sun was just rising in glory, and as he saw, in the clearness of the day, the plight of the pretty brigantine, he felt an acute pity. Her company of sixty men crowded to the rail, while her captain stood on the bridge, giving his orders as coolly as if his ship were coming to anchor in a friendly port. Decatur, seeing that his boat would be swamped if he came near enough for the men to jump in, called out to the captain, saluting him meanwhile, and asking if he would come off in one of the brigantine’s boats, while the Tartuffe’s helm could be put up, as she was still able to get alongside the United States, and her people could be transferred.
“Sairtainly, sir—sairtainly,” answered the French captain, politely, in his queer English.
In a few moments the boat containing the captain came alongside the cutter, and the Frenchman stepped aboard. He took his seat very coolly by Decatur in the stern-sheets, and then, putting a single eyeglass in his eye, he cried out, with a well-affected start of surprise: “Is zat ze American flag I see flying? And am I captured by ze Americans?”
“Yes,” answered Decatur, trying not to smile.
“But I did not know zat ze United States was at war wiz France.”