A hearty American cheer rang out at this, and Somers shook hands with the four men. He then ordered his boat, and in a few moments, was pulling toward the frigate.
Somers’s words had inspired another heart besides that of the four sailors. Pickle Israel, with his dark eyes fixed on the bright horizon, felt a longing, a consuming desire, tugging at his heart. A voice seemed to be repeating to him the sailor’s words, “We means to do our duty.” Pickle, being only a boy, could not exactly see the reason why he should not be allowed to go on the expedition—and some strange and overmastering power seemed impelling him to go. It was not mere love of adventure. It was Moriarity’s untutored words, “Them chaps died for their country.” Well, he had but one life to give his country, thought Pickle, and there was no better time or place to give it than that very night. However, Pickle said not one word more to anybody about his disappointment; but his face cleared up, as if he had formed a resolution.
On reaching the Constitution, the men were mustered, and Commodore Preble made a short speech to them before calling for volunteers. “And I consider it my duty,” he said, “to tell every one of you, from Captain Somers down, that this powder must not be suffered to fall into the enemy’s hands. For my own part, it is with pride and with fear that I shall see you set forth; but, although I value your lives more than all Tripoli, yet not even for that must the pirates get hold of this powder. I have not asked this service from any of you. Every man, from your captain down, has volunteered. But if you choose to take the honorable risk, all I can say is, ‘Go, and God protect you!’”
As Commodore Preble spoke, tears rolled down his face, and the men cheered wildly. As on the Nautilus, the whole ship’s company volunteered, and six had to be chosen. To Danny Dixon’s intense chagrin, he was not among them. When the men were piped down, Pickle Israel caught sight of the handsome old quartermaster going forward with a look of bitter disappointment on his face. Pickle could not but remember Danny’s glib consolation to him only a few hours before; so he sidled up to Danny, and said with a smile:
“Never mind, Dixon. If you weren’t so old you’d have been allowed to go. All the officers know you haven’t got any flunk in you. And we—I mean those that come back—will have some yarns to spin equal to yours about Captain Paul Jones and the Bon Homme Richard!”
For answer, Danny looked gloomily in the little midshipman’s face, and said, in a much injured manner:
“It do seem hard, sir, as when a old sailor, sir, as fought with Cap’n Paul Jones, is disapp’inted in goin’ on a expedition, to have the young gentlemen on the ship a-pullin’ his leg.”
“That’s the way you comforted me!” chuckled Pickle in high glee.
By sunset everything was ready. Decatur was with Somers on the Nautilus, and just as the sun was sinking they stood together at the gangway. It was a clear and beautiful September evening, with no moon, but a faint and lovely starlight. Over the dark bosom of the sea was a light haze, that was the thing most desired by Somers, to conceal the Intrepid as she made her perilous way toward the city of the corsairs. A soft breeze ruffled the water and gently rocked the tall ships. As the two friends stood watching the dying glow in the west, Decatur was pale and agitated, while Somers, instead of his usual gravity, wore an air of joy, and even gayety.
“Does not this remind you, Decatur, of Delaware Bay, and the first evening we ever spent together as midshipmen? The water is almost as blue at home as it is here, and I can quite imagine that ‘Old Ironsides’ is ‘Old Wagoner,’ and that the Siren over there is your father’s ship, the Delaware. It seems only the other day, and it is more than six years ago.”