It seemed now as if nothing could save the struggling American. Only one of his men was near by. This was a sailor named Reuben James, who had been wounded in both arms. But he was a man of noble heart. He could not lift a hand to save his captain, but his head was free, and with a sublime devotion he thrust it in the way of the descending weapon.
Down it came with a terrible blow on his head, and he fell bleeding to the deck, but before the Tripolitan could lift his weapon again to strike Decatur, a pistol shot laid him low.
Decatur was left to fight it out with the giant Moor. With one hand the huge wrestler held him tightly and with the other he drew a dagger from his belt. The fatal moment had arrived. Decatur caught the Moor's wrist just as the blow was about to fall, and at the same instant pressed against his side a small pistol he had drawn from his pocket.
A touch of the trigger, a sharp report, and the body of the giant relaxed. The bullet had pierced him through and he fell back dead. Flinging off the heavy weight, Decatur rose to his feet.
Meanwhile his few men had been fiercely fighting the Tripolitan crew. Greatly as they outnumbered the Americans, the Moors had been driven back. They lost heart on seeing their leader fall and threw down their arms.
Another gunboat was captured and then the battle ended. The attack on Tripoli had proved a failure and the fleet drew off.
I know you will ask what became of brave Reuben James, who offered his life for his captain. Was he killed? No, I am glad to say he was not. He had an ugly cut, but he was soon well again.
One day Decatur asked him what reward he should give him for saving his life. The worthy sailor did not know what to say. He scratched his head and looked puzzled.
"Ask him for double pay, Rube," suggested one of his shipmates.
"A pocket full of dollars and shore leave," whispered another.