"He has gone ashore," was the reply.
"Well, then," said Decatur, in tones that every one on board could hear, "tell him that Lieutenant Decatur, of the frigate Essex, calls him a cowardly scoundrel, and when he meets him on shore he will cut his ears off."
There were no more insults after that. Decatur spoke as if he meant what he said, and the officers of the xebec did not want to lose their ears. But the United States Minister to Spain took up the matter and did not rest until he got a full apology for the insults to the Americans.
I have told this little story to let you see what kind of a man Stephen Decatur was. But this was only a minor affair. He was soon to make himself famous by one of the most brilliant deeds in the history of the American navy.
In October, 1802, a serious disaster came to the American fleet. The frigate Philadelphia was chasing a runaway vessel into the harbor of Tripoli, when she got in shoal water and suddenly ran fast aground on a shelf of rock.
Here was an awkward position. Captain Bainbridge threw overboard most of his cannon and his anchors, and everything that would lighten the ship, even cutting down his foremasts; but all to no purpose. She still clung fast to the rock.
Soon a flock of gunboats came down the harbor and saw the bad fix the Americans were in. Bainbridge was quite unable to fight them, for they could have kept out of the way of his guns and made kindling wood of his vessel. There was nothing to do but to surrender. So he flooded the powder magazine, threw all the small arms overboard, and knocked holes in the bottom of the ship. Then he hauled down his flag.
The gunboats now came up like a flock of hawks, and soon the Moors were clambering over the rails. In a minute more they were in every part of the ship, breaking open chests and storerooms and plundering officers and men. Two of them would hold an officer and a third rob him of his watch and purse, his sword, and everything of value he possessed. The plundering did not stop till the captain knocked down one of the Moors for trying to rob him of an ivory miniature of his wife.
Then the Americans were made to get into the gunboats and were taken ashore. They were marched in triumph through the streets, and the men were thrown into prison. The officers were invited to supper by the Bashaw, and treated as if they were guests. But as soon as the supper was over, they, too, were taken to the prison rooms in which they were to stay till the end of the war.
The Tripolitans afterwards got the Philadelphia off the rocks during a high tide, plugged up the holes in her bottom, fished up her guns and anchors, and fitted her up for war. The Bashaw was proud enough of his fine prize, which had not cost him a man or a shot, and was a better ship than he had ever seen before.