“Well, I went on board, and was introduced into the captain’s cabin. There sat Captain McNeill, a red-headed old fellow, with a squint; but you can’t help knowing that he is a man of force. He talks through his nose, and what he says is like himself—very peculiar.
“‘Now, Mr. Somers,’ said he, drawling, ‘I daresay you look forward to a devil of a gay time at the Mediterranean ports, with all that squadron that Dale has got to show off with.’ I was a good deal taken aback, but I said Yes, I did. ‘Very well, sir, make up your mind that you won’t have a devil of a gay time with that squadron.’ I was still more taken aback, and, being anxious to agree with the captain, I said it didn’t make any difference; I looked for more work than play on a cruise. This didn’t seem to please the captain either, so he banged his fist down on the table, and roared: ‘No, you don’t, sir—no, you don’t! You are no doubt longing this minute to be on that ship’—pointing out of the stern port at the President—‘and to have that broad pennant waving over you. But take a good look at it, Mr. Somers—take a good long look at it, Mr. Somers, for you may not see it again!’
“You may fancy how astonished I was; but when I went down into the wardroom and talked with the officers I began to understand the old fellow. It seems he hates to be under orders. He has always managed to have an independent command, but this time the navy officials were too smart for him, and he was ordered to join Commodore Dale’s squadron. But he managed to get orders so that he could join the squadron in the Mediterranean, instead of at Hampton Roads, where the other ships are to rendezvous; and the fellows in the wardroom say they wouldn’t be surprised if they never saw the flagship from the time they leave home until they get back.”
“That will be bad for you and me, Dick,” said Decatur simply.
“Very bad,” answered Somers. Their deep affection was sparingly soluble in language, but those few words meant much.
Within a week the Boston was to sail, and one night, about nine o’clock, the wind and tide serving, she slipped down the harbor to the outer bay, whence at daylight she was to set sail on her long cruise. Decatur bade Somers good-by on the dock, just as the gang-plank was being drawn in. They had but few parting words to say to each other; their lives had been so intimate, they knew each other’s thoughts so completely, that at the last there was nothing to tell. As they stood hand in hand in the black shadow cast by the Boston’s dark hull, Decatur, whose feelings were quick, felt the tears rising to his eyes; while Somers, the calm, the self-contained, suddenly threw his arms about his friend and gave Decatur a hug and a kiss, as if his whole heart were in it; then running up the gang-plank, the next moment he was giving the orders of his responsible position in a firm tone and with perfect alertness. Decatur turned, and, going a little distance off, watched while the frigate slowly swung round and headed for the open bay, stealing off like a ghostly ship in the darkness. He felt the strongest and strangest sense of loss he had ever known in his life. He had many friends. James, his brother, who had entered the navy, was near his own age, but Somers was his other self. Unlike as they were in temperament, no two souls ever were more alike in the objects aimed at. Each had a passion for glory, and each set before himself the hope of some great achievement, and ordered his life accordingly.
This strange loneliness hung upon Decatur, and although his new duties and his new friends were many, there were certain chambers of his heart that remained closed to the whole world except Somers. He found on the Essex a modest young midshipman, Thomas Macdonough, who reminded him so much of Somers that Decatur became much attached to him. Macdonough, like Somers and Decatur, lived to make glorious history for his country.
Within a few days the Essex sailed, in company with the President, flagship, the Philadelphia, and the schooner Enterprise. This cruise was the beginning of that warfare against the pirates of Tripoli that was to win the commendation of the whole world. They made a quick passage, for a squadron, to the Mediterranean, and on a lovely July night, with the flagship leading, they passed Europa Point and stood toward the lionlike form of the Rock of Gibraltar that rose in stupendous majesty before them. A glorious moon bathed all the scene with light—the beautiful harbor, with a great line-of-battle ship, the Thunderer, flying British colors; while half a dozen fair frigates looked like sloops alongside of this warlike monster, which carried a hundred and twenty guns and a crew of nearly a thousand men.
At the extremity of the harbor lay a handsome frigate and a brig, both flying the crescent of Tripoli. The large ship also flew the pennant of an admiral. There being good anchorage between the Tripolitan and the British line-of-battle ship, Commodore Dale stood in, and the American squadron anchored between the two.
Early next morning Decatur went ashore in the first cutter, by Captain Bainbridge’s orders, to find out the state of affairs with Tripoli. He also hoped to hear something of Somers, who had sailed a week in advance. He heard startling news enough about the Barbary pirates. The flagstaff of the American legation at Tripoli had been cut down, and war was practically declared. But as the information had not reached the United States before the squadron left, the commodore was not justified in beginning hostilities until he had received formal notice of the declaration of war from the home Government. Nevertheless, the Tripolitans and the Americans watched each other grimly in the harbor. As for Somers, Decatur was bitterly disappointed not to see him. The Boston had been quietly at anchor the day before, when a clipper ship that outsailed the American squadron, which was in no particular hurry, gave notice that the ships were coming. Instantly Captain McNeill gave orders to get under way; officers were hurriedly sent ashore to collect those of the ship’s company on leave or liberty, and before nightfall the Boston was hull down going up the straits. When Decatur brought the news on board, Captain Bainbridge frowned, and laughed too.