CHAPTER II.
The leave enjoyed by Decatur and Somers was brief, and before the summer of 1801 was out they were forced to part. For the first time in their young lives their paths were to diverge for a short while, and to be reunited in the end. But their separation was for a reason honorable to both. Decatur was appointed first lieutenant in the frigate Essex—like most of those early ships of the American navy, destined to a splendid career. She was commanded by Captain Bainbridge, whose fate was afterward strangely linked with that of his young first lieutenant. The Essex was one of a squadron of three noble frigates ordered to the Mediterranean, under the command of Commodore Richard Dale; and this Richard Dale had been the first lieutenant of Paul Jones, the glory of the American navy, in the immortal fight between the Bon Homme Richard and the Serapis. The association with such a man as Commodore Dale was an inspiration to an enthusiast like Decatur; and as he found that Danny Dixon was one of the quartermasters on the Essex, it was not likely that there would be any lack of reminiscences of Paul Jones.
Somers’s appointment was to the Boston, a fine sloop-of-war carrying twenty-eight guns, commanded by Captain McNeill. He was destined to many adventures before again meeting Decatur, for Captain McNeill was one of the oddities of the American navy, who, although an able seaman and a good commander, preferred to conduct his cruise according to his own ideas and in defiance of instructions from home. This Somers found out the instant he stepped upon the Boston’s deck at New York. The Essex was at New York also, and the two friends had traveled from Philadelphia together. Out in the stream lay the President, flying a commodore’s broad pennant.
“And although, ‘being grand first luffs,’ we can’t be shipmates, yet we’ll both be in the same squadron, Dick!” cried Decatur.
“True,” answered Somers, “and a Mediterranean cruise! Think of the oldsters that would like to go to Europe, instead of us youngsters!”
So their anticipations were cheerful enough, each thinking their separation but temporary, and that for three years certainly they would serve in the same squadron.
The two friends reached New York late at night, and early next morning each reported on board his ship. The Essex was a small but handsome frigate, mounting thirty-two guns, and was lying close by the Boston at the dock. As the two young lieutenants, neither of whom was more than twenty-one, came in sight of their ships, each hugged himself at the contemplation of his luck in getting so good a one. Decatur’s interview with Captain Bainbridge was pleasant, although formal. Captain Bainbridge knew Captain Decatur well, and made civil inquiries about Decatur’s family and congratulations upon James Decatur—Stephen’s younger brother—having lately received a midshipman’s appointment. Captain Bainbridge introduced him to the wardroom, and Decatur realized that at one bound he had cleared the gulf between the first place in the steerage and the ranking officer in the wardroom.
All this took but an hour or two of time, and presently Decatur found himself standing on the dock and waiting for Somers, who had left the Boston about the same time. As Somers approached, his usual somber face was smiling. Something ludicrous had evidently occurred.
“What is it?” hallooed Decatur.
Somers took Decatur’s arm before answering, and as they strolled along the busy streets near the harbor he told his story amid bursts of laughter: