Part 17 (1/2)

Of course it was. Everybody in the fleet, from the commodore to the powder monkey, was thinking about it. They must do something, and the sooner the better.

Even Captain Bainbridge in his prison cell wrote several letters with lemon juice, which could be read on being held to the fire, and sent them to Preble. These letters contained plans for sinking the ill-fated s.h.i.+p.

Every one of Preble's young captains was eager to try it. It might mean glory, and promotion, or perhaps failure, and death.

Somehow or other all looked to the das.h.i.+ng Stephen Decatur; for from the first he had taken a leading part in planning the desperate deed.

{161} ”For the honor of the flag, sir, the s.h.i.+p must be destroyed.

She must never be allowed to sail under that pirate flag,” said Commodore Preble to Decatur.

”My father was the s.h.i.+p's first commander,” replied the young officer, whose fine black eyes gleamed, ”and if I can only rescue her, it will be glory enough for a lifetime.”

”You have spoken first,” said the commodore, ”and it is only right that you should have the first chance.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: Commodore Stephen Decatur]

No time was lost. All hands went to work.

What was their plan?

With a vessel made to look like a Maltese trader, and with his men dressed like Maltese sailors, Decatur meant to steal into the harbor at night, set fire to the Philadelphia, and then make a race for life.

A short time before this, Decatur had captured a small vessel, known as a ketch. As this kind of boat was common here, n.o.body would suspect her.

{162} The little craft, now named the Intrepid, was soon loaded with all kinds of things that would catch fire easily.

On board the Enterprise on the afternoon of February 3, 1803, the order was, ”All hands to muster!”

”I want sixty-one men out of this s.h.i.+p's crew,” said Decatur, ”to leave to-morrow in the Intrepid, to help destroy the Philadelphia.

Let each man who wants to go take two steps ahead.”

With a cheer, every officer, every sailor, and even the smallest powder boys stepped forward. No wonder the young captain's fine face beamed with joy.

”A thousand thanks, my men,” he said, and the tears came into his eyes; ”I am sorry, but you can't all go. I will now choose the men I want to take with me.” He picked out about sixty of the youngest and most active.

”Thankee, sir,” said each man when his name was called.

Besides his own younger officers and his surgeon, Decatur took five young officers from the Const.i.tution, and a Sicilian pilot named Catalano, who knew the harbor of Tripoli.

That same evening, the little ketch, with its crew of some seventy-five men, sailed out of the harbor of Syracuse amid three l.u.s.ty cheers. The war brig Siren went with her.

In four days, the two vessels reached the harbor of Tripoli, but a bad storm drove them off sh.o.r.e. What a time they had for six days!

The Intrepid was a poor {163} affair at best, and there was no shelter from the fury and the cold of the storm. The sailors slept on the hard deck, nibbled what little s.h.i.+p bread was not water-soaked,-- for they had lost all their bacon,--and caught rain water to drink.

In cold, hunger, and wet, these men, like true American sailors, sang their songs, cracked their jokes, and kept up their courage.

After a week, the fury of the storm abated, the bright suns.h.i.+ne brought comfort, and the two vessels set sail for Tripoli.

As they drew near the coast, towards evening, the wind was so light that the Siren was almost becalmed. The Intrepid, however, met a light breeze, which sped her toward the rocky harbor.