“Do you see that division of five boats to leeward? Steer straight for it and within pistol shot of it, when I will give you further orders.”
The breeze was easterly, and the one lateen sail drawing well, the boat was soon covering the distance between her and her enemies across the blue water. The firing had begun, and a terrific roar, as the Constitution barked out all her great guns in broadside, showed that the ball was opened. Somers watched until his boat was abreast of the Tripolitan’s, when, himself sighting the long gun amidships, he fired, and saw the shot had instant and terrible effect. Just then Moriarity leaned over and whispered in his ear:
“Sorr, the flagship is showin’ a signal of recall.”
“Moriarity,” answered Somers quietly, and without turning his head, “I thought you had too much sense to see a signal of recall in action!”
“Thrue for you, sorr,” said Moriarity, with a grin, “but I jist mintioned it to you, sorr, so you wouldn’t turn your head that way. Why, it’s a mishtake, be the powers! but Cap’n Blake, in the next boat, seen it—bad luck to it!—and he’s gone and obeyed it.”
Somers turned around, and, carefully avoiding looking toward the flagship, saw the next boat to his, under Lieutenant Blake, a brave young officer, drawing off, obeying the signal of recall; and the very next moment the third boat, commanded by James Decatur, caught a puff of wind that brought her head round and carried her directly into the other division of boats, which was dashing forward to attack the nine Tripolitan gunboats.
“Very well,” said Somers, with his usual calm smile, “as Decatur says, ‘The fewer the number the greater the honor!’ So we’ll go ahead, boys.”
The sailors gave a cheer, and in another moment they were under the fire of the five gunboats. The situation of Somers was now critical in the extreme, but he gave no sign of it in his manner, which was as cool as if he were exercising at boat drill. He opened a steady and well-directed fire, that soon began to weaken the attack of the Tripolitan boats, and not one of them dared to come near enough to attempt boarding him. Still, he was drawing nearer and nearer the batteries. Commodore Preble, who was watching him from the Constitution’s quarter-deck, exclaimed:
“Look at that gallant fellow Somers! I would recall him, but he will never see the signal.”
At that the commodore heard a boyish voice at his elbow, and there stood little Pickle Israel.