Nothing behind us, and nothing before,
Only the silence and rain,
As the jaws of the sea took hold of our bows
And cast us up again.
Through the rain and the silence we stole along,
Cautious and stealthy and slow,
For we knew the waters were full of those
Who might challenge the Mastico.
But nothing we saw till we saw the ghost
Of the ship we had come to see,
Her ghostly lights and her ghostly frame
Rolling uneasily.
And as we looked, the mist drew up
And the moon threw off her veil,
And we saw the ship in the pale moonlight,
Ghostly and drear and pale.
Then spoke Decatur low and said:
"To the bulwarks shadow all!
But the six who wear the Tripoli dress
Shall answer the sentinel's call."
"What ship is that?" cried the sentinel.
"No ship," was the answer free;
"But only a Malta ketch in distress
Wanting to moor in your lee.
"We have lost our anchor, and wait for day
To sail into Tripoli town,
And the sea rolls fierce and high to-night,
So cast a cable down."
Then close to the frigate's side we came,
Made fast to her unforbid—
Six of us bold in the heathen dress,
The rest of us lying hid.
But one who saw us hiding there
"Americano!" cried.
Then straight we rose and made a rush
Pellmell up the frigate's side.
Less than a hundred men were we,
And the heathen were twenty score;
But a Yankee sailor in those old days
Liked odds of one to four.