“I was about to close my letter, when one of our officers got a letter from a friend on the Enterprise; and as it shows how the Barbary corsairs fight, I will tell you a part of it. While running for Malta, on the 1st of August, the Enterprise came across a polacca-rigged ship, such as the Barbary corsairs usually have, with an American brig in tow. It had evidently been captured and her people sent adrift. Sterrett, who commands the Enterprise, as soon as he found the position of affairs, cleared for action, ran out his guns, and opened a brisk fire on the Tripolitan. He got into a raking position, and his broadside had a terrific effect upon the pirate. But—mark the next—three times were the Tripolitan colors hauled down, and then hoisted again as soon as the fire of the Enterprise ceased. After the third time, Sterrett played his broadside on the pirate with the determination to sink him for such treachery; but the Tripolitan rais, or captain, appeared in the waist of his ship, bending his body in token of submission, and actually threw his ensign overboard. Sterrett could not take the ship as prize, because no formal declaration of war had reached him from the United States; but he sent Midshipman Porter—you remember David Porter, who, with Rodgers, carried the French frigate L’Insurgente into port after Commodore Truxtun had captured her—aboard of the pirate, to dismantle her. He had all her guns thrown overboard, stripped her of everything except one old sail and a single spar, and let her go, with a message to the Bashaw of Tripoli that such was the way the Americans treated pirates. I understand that when the rais got to Tripoli with his one old sail, he was ridden through the town on a jackass, by order of the Bashaw, and received the bastinado; and that since then the Tripolitans are having great trouble in finding crews to man their corsair ships because of the dread of the ‘Americanos.’ One more thing—I must tell you about our red-headed captain. There was a great dinner given at Messina to the officers of a Swedish frigate and ourselves. You know how the Swedes drink! Well, Captain McNeill, in addition to his other virtues, is very abstemious. So, the night of the dinner, when the Swedish officers began to pass the decanters, Captain McNeill lay back in his chair scowling, and the next thing he was sound asleep. After he had snored about two hours, he suddenly waked up and bawled out, ‘Have those d——d Swedes got through with their guzzling and tippling yet?’ Imagine our feelings!
“Now I must tell you a piece of news almost too good to be true. I hear the Government is building four beautiful small schooners, to carry sixteen guns, for use in the Tripolitan war, which is to be pushed very actively; and that you, my dear Decatur, will command one of these vessels, and I another! I can write nothing more exhilarating after this; so, I am, as always,
“Your faithful friend, “Richard Somers.”
Many letters passed between the two friends, but they did not once meet during the whole cruise. Captain McNeill, true to his intention, never allowed himself to be overhauled by his superior officer, and at the end of two years returned to the United States without ever having seen the flagship of the squadron to which he was attached. He had done good work, though, and so the authorities winked at his odd cruise, and the brave old captain enjoyed his triumph.
CHAPTER III.
Never had the blue Mediterranean and the quaint old town of Syracuse and its fair harbor looked more beautiful than on a certain sunny September afternoon in 1803. The green shores of Sicily stretched as far as the eye could reach; the white-walled town, with its picturesque and half-ruined castle, lay in the foreground; while looming up on the farthest horizon was the shadowy cone of Etna with its crown of fire and smoke. The harbor contained a few fishing vessels, most of them with their white lateen sails furled, and motionless upon the water. A large pleasure boat, with a gay red awning, moved lazily across the “lesser harbor,” while two or three fruit-laden vessels were beating in or out of the offing under a “soldier’s wind”—that is, a wind which enables a ship to go in any direction she wishes.
But in the midst of all this placid beauty lay a war ship—the majestic Constitution—the darling frigate of her country, looking as if she commanded everything in sight. Never was there a more warlike-looking ship than Old Ironsides. Her towering hull, which was higher than the masts of most of the vessels in the sunlit harbor, was, like all American ships, painted black. In contrast to this were her polished decks, her shining masts and spars, and her snowy canvas, whose whiteness was visible although tightly clewed up. Her ports were open to admit the air, and through them could be seen a double row of wicked-looking muzzles, like the grin of a mastiff. The other vessels rocked with the tide and wind, but the great frigate seemed to lie perfectly still, as if defying both wind and tide. Her colors, too, caught some wandering puff of air, and “Old Glory” fluttered out proudly, while the other flags in sight drooped languidly. At anchor near her were two small but beautiful schooner-rigged vessels, which also flew American colors. They were precisely alike in their lines, their rig, and the small but serviceable batteries they carried. On the stern of one was gilded “Nautilus,” while on the other was “Siren.” These were indeed the gallant little vessels that Somers had written to Decatur about, and his dream was realized. He commanded the Nautilus, while Decatur commanded the Argus, a sister vessel, which was hourly expected.
The perfect quiet of the golden afternoon was broken when around the headland came sailing another small but beautiful cruiser, schooner-rigged, and wearing American colors. As soon as she had weathered the point of land, and had got fully abreast of the Constitution, her guns barked out a salute to the commodore’s pennant flying on the Constitution, which the frigate acknowledged. The schooner had a handsome figurehead, and on her stern was painted, in gold letters, “Argus.” She came to anchor in first-class man-of-war style, close under the Constitution’s quarter, and in a wonderfully short time her sails were furled, and her anchor had kissed the ground, the cable emitting sparks of fire as it rushed out of the hawse-hole. In a quarter of an hour her gig was lowered, and her young commander, Stephen Decatur, stepped into the boat and was pulled toward the Constitution. At that time neither he nor Somers was turned of twenty-four, although both were commanding officers.
As the boat shot past the Nautilus, Decatur stood up and waved his cap at the officers, but he observed that Somers was not among them. A captain’s gig, though, looking like a mere speck under the great quarter of the Constitution, made Decatur surmise that Somers was at that moment on board the flagship. The two had parted only six weeks before, when, Somers’s vessel being ready in advance of Decatur’s, he had sailed to join Commodore Preble’s squadron in the Mediterranean. The prospect of seeing Somers again raised Decatur’s naturally gay and jovial spirits to the highest pitch, and he tried to distinguish among the officers scattered about the Constitution’s decks the handsome, lithe figure of his friend. While watching the frigate as he advanced toward it, he saw another boat come alongside; an officer stepped out and ran lightly up the ladder, while the boat pulled back to the shore. Decatur was struck by the fact that this officer, who was obviously a young man, wore two epaulets. In those days only flag officers were allowed to wear two—all others wearing but one. Commodore Preble was, in fact, the only man in the whole American fleet then in European waters who was entitled to wear two epaulets. Decatur was much puzzled by the officer’s uniform, and the only explanation that occurred to him was that the gallant Preble had been superseded—an event which would have filled him with regret. Although the commodore was a stranger to him, Decatur had conceived the highest respect for his abilities, and had heard much of his vigor and enterprise, to say nothing of his untamable temper, which at first the officers chafed under, but had soon come to regard as “Old Pepper’s way,” for so the midshipmen had dubbed Commodore Preble.
The deck was full of officers, standing about enjoying the lovely afternoon, and they all watched with interest the Argus’s boat, knowing it contained Decatur. While it was still a hundred yards off Decatur recognized the figure of Somers running down the ladder, and in a few minutes Decatur literally jumped into Somers’s arms. Their affectionate way of meeting amused their shipmates very much, and even Danny Dixon, who was Decatur’s coxswain, grinned slyly at the men in the boat, and whispered, as the two young captains went up the ladder together, their arms entwined like schoolboys:
“They’re lovyers, them two be. They keeps locks o’ each other’s hair, and picters in their bosoms!”
The officers greeted Decatur warmly, among them Macdonough, now a tall young fellow of eighteen; but Decatur noticed that all of them seemed convulsed with laughter. Lieutenant Trippe, who was officer of the deck, laughed to himself as he walked up and down. A little way off, Moriarity, who was quartermaster, was standing just as near the dividing line between the quarter-deck and the forecastle as the regulations allowed, his mouth stretched from ear to ear, and even the stolid marine who stood guard at the hatchway wore a broad smile. Two or three midshipmen loitering about grinned appreciatively at each other.