"No quarter for the treacherous dogs!" was the cry of the furious sailors. "Pour it into them; send the thieves to the bottom!"
The _Enterprise_ now drew off to a good position and raked the foe with repeated broadsides. The Moors were bitterly punished for their treachery. Their deck ran red with blood; men and officers lay bleeding in throngs; the cries of the wounded rose above the noise of the cannon.
The flag was down again, but no heed was paid to that. The infuriated sailors were bent on sending the pirate craft to the bottom.
At length the corsair captain, an old man with a flowing white beard, appeared at the side of his ship, sorely wounded, and, with a low bow, cast his flag into the sea. Then Captain Sterrett, though he still felt like sinking the corsair, ordered the firing to stop.
The prize proved to be named the _Tripoli_. What was to be done with it?
Captain Sterrett had no authority to take prizes. At length he concluded that he would teach the Bashaw of Tripoli a lesson.
He sent Lieutenant David Porter, a daring young officer who was yet to make his mark, on the prize, telling him to make a wreck of her.
Porter was glad to obey those orders. He made the captive Tripolitans cut down their masts, throw all their cannon and small arms into the sea, cut their sails to pieces, and fling all their powder overboard. He left them only a jury-mast and a small sail.
"See here," said Porter to the Moorish captain, "we have not lost a man, while fifty of your men are killed or wounded. You may go home now and tell this to your Bashaw, and say to him that in the time to come the only tribute he will get from the United States will be a tribute of powder and b.a.l.l.s."
Away drifted the wrecked hulk, followed by the jeers of the American sailors, who were only sorry that the treacherous pirate had not been scuttled and sent to the bottom of the sea.
When it reached Tripoli the Bashaw was mad with rage. Instead of the plunder and the white slaves he had looked for, he had only a dismantled hulk.
The old captain showed him his wounds and told him how hard he had fought. But his fury was not to be appeased. He had the white-bearded commander led through the streets tied to a jacka.s.s--the greatest disgrace he could have inflicted on any Moor. This was followed by five hundred blows with a stick.
The Moorish sailors declared that the Americans had fired enchanted shot. This, and the severe punishment of the captain of the _Tripoli_, so scared the sailors of the city that for a year after the fierce Bashaw found it next to impossible to muster a ship"s crew. They did not care to be treated as the men on the _Tripoli_ had been.
Such was the first lesson which the sailors of the new nation gave to the pirates of the Mediterranean. It was the beginning of a policy which was to put an end to the piracy which had prevailed for centuries on those waters.
CHAPTER XI
THE YOUNG DECATUR AND HIS BRILLIANT DEEDS AT TRIPOLI
HOW OUR NAVY BEGAN AND ENDED A FOREIGN WAR
IN the ship _Ess.e.x_, one of the fleet that was sent to the Mediterranean to deal with the Moorish pirates, there was a brave young officer named Stephen Decatur. He was little more than a boy, for he was just past twenty-one years of age; but he had been in the fight between the _Enterprise_ and the _Tripoli_, and was so bold and daring that he was sure to make his mark.
I must tell you how he first showed himself a true American. It was when the _Ess.e.x_ was lying in the harbor at Barcelona, a seaport of Spain.
The _Ess.e.x_ was a handsome little vessel, and there was much praise of her in the town, people of fashion came to see her and invited her officers to their houses and treated them with great respect.
Now there was a Spanish warship lying in the port, of the kind called a xebec, a sort of three-masted vessel common in the Mediterranean Sea.
The officers of this ship did not like to see so much respect given to the Americans and so little to themselves. They grew jealous and angry, and did all they could to annoy and insult the officers of the _Ess.e.x_.
Every time one of her boats rowed past the xebec it would be challenged and ugly things said.
The Americans bore all this quietly for a while. One day Captain Bainbridge, of the _Ess.e.x_, was talked to in an abusive way, and said little back. Another time a boat, under command of Lieutenant Decatur, came under the guns of the xebec, and the Spaniards on the deck hailed him with insulting words. This was more than young blood could stand, and he called to the officer of the deck and asked him what that meant, but the haughty Spaniard would give him no satisfaction.
"Very well," said Decatur. "I will call to see you in the morning. Pull off, lads."
The next morning Decatur had himself rowed over to the xebec, and went on board. He asked for the officer who was in charge the night before.
"He has gone ash.o.r.e," was the reply.
"Well, then," said Decatur, in tones that every one on board could hear, "tell him that Lieutenant Decatur, of the frigate _Ess.e.x_, calls him a cowardly scoundrel, and when he meets him on sh.o.r.e 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 ash.o.r.e. 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.
When the American commodore learned of the loss of the _Philadelphia_ he was in a bad state of mind. To lose one of his best ships in this way was not at all to his liking, for he was a man who did not enjoy losing a ship; and to know that the Moors had it and were making a warship of it was a hard thing to bear.
From his prison Captain Bainbridge wrote letters to Commodore Preble, which the Moors read and then sent out to the fleet. They did not know that the letters had postscripts written in lemon-juice which only came out when the sheet of paper was held to the heat of a fire. In these the captain asked the commodore to try and destroy the captured ship.
Commodore Preble was a daring officer, and was ready enough for this, if he only knew how it could be done. Lieutenant Decatur was then in command of the _Enterprise_, the schooner which had fought with the _Tripoli_. He asked the commodore to let him take the _Enterprise_ into the harbor and try to destroy the captured ship. He knew he could do it, he said, if he only had a chance. At any rate, he wanted to try.
Commodore Preble shook his head. It could not be done that way. He would only lose his own vessel and his men. But there was a way it might be done. The Moors might be taken by surprise and their prize burned in their sight. It was a desperate enterprise. Every man who took part in it would be in great danger of death. But that danger did not give much trouble to bold young Decatur, who was as ready to fight as he was to eat.
What was the commodore"s plan, do you ask? Well, it was this. Some time earlier the _Enterprise_ had captured the _Mastico_, a vessel from Tripoli. Preble gave this craft the new name of the _Intrepid_ and proposed to send it into the harbor. The Moors did not know of its capture and would not suspect it, and thus it might get up close to the _Philadelphia_.
Decatur was made commander and called for volunteers. Every man and boy on the _Enterprise_ wanted to go; and he picked out over seventy of them. As he was about to leave the deck, a boy came up and asked if he couldn"t go, too.
"Why do you want to go, Jack?"
"Well, Captain, you see, I"d kind o" like to see the country."
This was such a queer reason that Decatur laughed and told him he might go.
One dark night, on February 3, 1804, the _Intrepid_ left the rest of the fleet and set sail for the harbor of Tripoli. The little _Siren_ went with her for company. But the weather proved stormy, and it was not until the 15th that they were able to carry out their plan.
About noon they came in sight of the spires of the city of Tripoli.
Decatur did not wish to reach the _Philadelphia_ until nightfall, but he was afraid to take in sail, for fear of being suspected; so he dragged a cable and a number of buckets behind to lessen his speed.
After a time the _Philadelphia_ came in sight. She was anch.o.r.ed well in the harbor, under the guns of two heavy batteries. Two cruisers and a number of gunboats lay near by. It was a desperate and dangerous business which Decatur and his tars had taken in hand, but they did not let that trouble them.
At about ten o"clock at night the _Intrepid_ came into the harbor"s mouth. The wind had fallen and she crept slowly along over the smooth sea. The _Siren_ stayed behind. Her work was that of rescue in case of trouble. Straight for the frigate went the devoted crew. A new moon sent its soft l.u.s.tre over the waves. All was still in city and fleet.