When the Moorish admiral found himself amid a whole squadron of American warships, he set sail with all speed and made a wild dash for Algiers. But he had faster ships in his track and was soon headed off.
The bold fellow had no chance at all, with half-a-dozen great ships around him, but he made a fine fight for his life. He did not save either his ship or his life, for a cannon ball cut him squarely in two; and when his lieutenant tried to run away, he came across the brig Epervier, which soon settled him. But the Mashouda had made a good fight against big odds, and deserved praise.
After that another Algerian ship was taken, and then Decatur sailed for Algiers. When he made signals the captain of the port came out. A black-bearded, high and mighty fellow he was.
"Where is your navy?" asked Decatur.
"It's all right," said the Algerian, "safe in some friendly port."
"Not all of it, I fancy," said Decatur. "I have your frigate Mashouda and your brig Estido, and your admiral Hammida is killed."
"I don't believe it," said the Algerian.
"I can easily prove it," said Decatur, and he sent for the first lieutenant of the Mashouda.
When the captain of the port saw him and heard his story, he changed his tone. His haughty manner passed away, and he begged that fighting should cease until a treaty could be made on shore.
"Fighting will not cease until I have the treaty," said Decatur, sternly; "and a treaty will not be made anywhere but on board my ship."