“I will have the cutter lowered, and I desire you, with Mr. Morris, to go and examine the entrance, and, if possible, the ketch shall go in to-night,” he said.
The cutter was lowered and manned, and pulled away in the fast gathering darkness. They could see at a little distance that the Siren’s boats were hoisted out and manned and only awaited the signal to advance. But every moment the wind increased, and at last Decatur began to feel seriously uneasy regarding the absent cutter. It was obviously impossible to attempt the attack that night, and the Intrepid accordingly so signaled the Siren. After a while the cutter was seen approaching, tossed about on the great waves, and every man in her drenched to the skin. The storm was now on them, and the cutter was brought up with difficulty, and her company clambered into the ketch; but in hoisting the boat in she was dashed violently against the ship, and her side completely stove in. This was a trifle; but when the anchor was weighed it was found to be broken in three pieces. The wind had now become a roaring gale, and soon the Intrepid was stretching out to sea. It was observed, though, that the Siren was having trouble with her anchor, too. She was rolling her gunwales under water, and the anchor held firmly on the bottom.
“Stewart is well able to look out for himself, while it is as much as we can do to take care of ourselves,” said Decatur, as he gave orders to claw off the land.
For six days the storm raged. The brig, which had finally been obliged to leave her anchor and cable, managed to keep in company with the ketch, which threatened to founder at every moment. Their provisions were soaked, and in cold and wet and hunger these brave men weathered the gale. But at last, on the morning of the 15th of February, the weather moderated, the wind fell, and a bright sun shone. The ketch and brig found themselves in the Gulf of Sydra. Good weather promising for some days, Decatur signaled the Siren to bear away for Tripoli, and began to make his preparations for the attack.
Toward evening they found themselves in sight of the town, with its circle of forts crowned by the frowning castle. The great hull of the Philadelphia, larger than any in the harbor, stood out in bold relief, her masts and spars clearly defined against the dazzling blue of the African sky. Two frigates, anchored about two cables’ lengths apart, lay between her and the castle, while nineteen gunboats and a few galleys lay near her. From the castle and the batteries one hundred and fifteen guns could be trained upon an attacking force; but the bold tars on the Intrepid took all chances cheerfully, and even gayly. Every man had been instructed in his duty, and the crew was not mustered, for fear of awaking distrust. The watchword “Philadelphia” was passed around. The men quietly took their places below the hatches, while half a dozen officers sat or lay about on deck. Catalano took the wheel, while Decatur, in a common sailor’s jacket and fez, stood by him.
The breeze had become light and baffling in the offing and the Siren, which kept well away from the Intrepid in order to avoid suspicion, was evidently unable to get any nearer until the wind should change; but at the entrance to the harbor it was very fresh, and carried the ketch forward at a lively rate. Decatur saw that his best hope was to make a bold dash then, without waiting for the gallant little brig, which was almost becalmed. At the moment when the steersman made straight for the western entrance of the harbor, Decatur addressed a few last words to his officers and men.
“You see,” he said in a firm, clear voice, perfectly audible to all, although not loud, “that Stewart and his gallant crew can not assist us. Very well; the fewer the number, the greater the honor. Our brave shipmates now in prison have been forced for many months to see the shameful spectacle of an American frigate wearing the colors of her pirate captors. Please God, it shall be so no longer after this night. Let every man think of this—let him think of his country; and though we can not hoist ‘Old Glory’ at the Philadelphia’s peak, we can at least send her to the bottom, rather than let her float disgraced by a pirate flag!”
A half-suppressed cheer greeted Decatur’s brave words, and every officer and man felt himself possessed by that noble enthusiasm which works miracles of courage. Jack Creamer allowed his voice to get so far the better of the instructions given him to keep quiet, that he screeched out a boyish cheer, for which Danny Dixon came near chucking him overboard.
It was not desired to get in before ten o’clock, but at the rate they were going, under a good breeze, would have got them in before sunset. Afraid of attracting attention by shortening sail, Decatur had all the vessel’s buckets, spare sails, etc., towed behind, so that she moved very slowly through the water. About nine o’clock, when they were a mile off the town, a brilliant moon rose trembling in the heavens. Decatur noticed it.
“Just the light for us,” he said.