“Bring up alongside,” he cried, “and take me aboard!”
The cutter quickly drew alongside. Decatur jumped on board, and the boat shot ahead of the slower ketch. As they neared the Siren, Decatur by the light of the moon perceived Stewart at the gangway anxiously peering into the darkness. Stewart could only see the officer in command of the boat in uniform, and he did not recognize Decatur disguised in the jacket of an Italian sailor. When the boat got near enough, Decatur made a spring at the hawser that hung astern, and in another moment he had sped along the deck and clapped Stewart on the shoulder.
“Didn’t she make a glorious bonfire?” he cried, “and we came off without losing a man!”
Stewart, astonished, turned round, and recognizing Decatur, could only wring his hand, while the other officers crowded around and overwhelmed Decatur with congratulations. In a little while the Intrepid neared them and hailed, asking that the wounded Tripolitan be taken aboard the Siren, as there was no place on the ketch in which he could be made decently comfortable.
The man was hoisted on board, and as Jack Creamer claimed the honor of capturing him, the boy was allowed to be one of the helpers. The Tripolitan had kept so quiet that Dr. Heerman, who had come with him, flashed a lantern into his face to see if he were alive or dead, and Decatur, who was looking on, to his surprise recognized Mahomet Rous. Mahomet opened his eyes and shut them again quickly, but there was no doubt that he was very much alive.
“He’s a-playin’ possum, sir,” said Jack Creamer, who was holding up the Tripolitan’s head. “When he s’rendered to me——”
An involuntary shout of laughter followed this, as Jack’s little figure was contrasted with Mahomet Rous’s brawny form.
“When he s’rendered, sir,” kept on Jack stoutly, “he was bleedin’ from a wound in the leg, and one arm was hangin’ down like ’twas broke, and if I hadn’t captured him when I did he’d ’a’ jumped overboard, as sure’s my name’s Jack Creamer. He give me his sword and pistil, leastways,” Jack added, blushing. “I took ’em from him, ’cause he couldn’t hold on to ’em no longer, and I’ve got ’em hid in a pork-barrel on the ketch, and I axes, sir—” turning to Decatur and Stewart, who could not help laughing at him—“if I can’t be allowed to keep ’em, and I’ll take ’em instid o’ smart money for my wound, if I can’t have both.”
Jack here gravely displayed his scratched ear, which Dr. Heerman examined with equal gravity.
“I’ll tell you what you ought to do for this ear: go and wash it,” said the surgeon; at which Jack, unable to stand the laughter of the officers and the grins of the men, dropped Mahomet’s head and disappeared forward. But Decatur called after him: