Amid all the felicitations on the outcome of the expedition, the modesty and calmness of Decatur under his weight of splendid achievement were remarked upon—especially as he was so young and so impetuous. But when he and Somers were alone in the cabin of the Argus, they suddenly threw aside their dignity and acted like a couple of crazy schoolboys. They hugged and pounded each other, they laughed, they cried, they joked, they sang, and at last the only thing that quieted them was the usually grave Somers shoving Decatur into a chair and shouting:
“Now, you lucky rascal, don’t dare to move from that chair until you have told me all about the fight!”
CHAPTER V.
On the morning of the 3d of August, 1804, began that immortal series of five assaults on the town, the fortresses, and the fleets of Tripoli that were destined to forever destroy this piratical and barbarous power. The force of the Americans was but little. With one heavy frigate—the glorious old Constitution—three brigs, three schooners, two bomb vessels, and three gunboats, manned by one thousand and sixty officers and men, Commodore Preble stood boldly in to attack the town defended by the Bashaw’s castle, not less than a dozen powerful forts, a fleet of three cruising vessels, two galleys, and nineteen gunboats, manned by twenty-five thousand Turks and Arabs. The harbor was, moreover, protected by a line of shoals and reefs perfectly well known to the Tripolitans, but very imperfectly known to the Americans, and which the Constitution could not approach very closely without incurring the fate of the unfortunate Philadelphia. But whatever “Old Pepper” lacked in ships and guns he made up in men; for every soul in the American fleet was worthy to serve under the flag that flew from the mastheads.
In considering the claims of his different officers in leading the attack, Commodore Preble had at last determined upon Decatur and Somers. The larger vessels were to cover the advance of the gunboats, which were to do the real fighting, and these gunboats were divided into two divisions—the first under Decatur, the second under Somers. Besides the natural fitness of these two young captains for this dangerous honor, the commodore knew their perfect understanding of each other and the entire absence of jealousy between them; and with two officers acting in concert this harmony of ideas and feelings was of great value. But few officers were to be taken in the gunboats, and none of the midshipmen from the Constitution were permitted to leave her. The frigate’s situation would not be nearly so exposed as the boat divisions, yet she was the force to support them all, and would require much and skillful manœuvring. Commodore Preble, therefore, had use for all his officers. These brave young men accepted the inevitable, and only little Pickle Israel begged and pleaded unavailingly with both Somers and Decatur to take him.
“Now, Captain Decatur,” said Pickle, in a wheedling voice, finding himself in the cabin of the Nautilus with both Somers and Decatur the morning of the attack, “I’m nearly fifteen years old, sir.”
“And a great help you’d be,” cried Decatur, laughing, and much amused by Pickle’s persistence. “If a strapping great big Turk were to board us, I should at once sing out: ‘Where is Mr. Israel? Let him tackle this fellow; he’s too much for me!’”
Pickle looked very solemnly into the laughing faces of the two young captains, and then gloomily remarked:
“I’m afraid you’re joking, Captain Decatur.”
“Not at all,” answered Decatur, winking at Somers. “Didn’t that little apprentice boy, Jack Creamer, capture a whole live Tripolitan by himself the night of the destruction of the Philadelphia?”