by Ian W. Toll
By about five thirty, Preble had seen enough; Constitution flew the signal to disengage. Before dark the small vessels were again under tow and the squadron sailed back into the offing.
During the day’s action, the ketches and gunboats threw forty-eight bombshells and more than five hundred round shot into the town and fortifications. The bombs had mostly fallen in the city’s Jewish quarter, where an untold number of private homes had been damaged or completely destroyed. The strategic value of the attack was doubtful. So long as his rule was secure, Yusuf did not have to answer for the welfare of his subjects, whether believers or infidels; he was certainly unmoved by the suffering of Tripoli’s Jews. What mattered to the Bashaw was that the attack had done nothing to weaken his defenses, while the obliteration of gunboat No. 9 had boosted the morale of his troops and seamen. Tribesmen from the backcountry were streaming into the city to join the fight. They ran through the streets, shaking their weapons in the air and shouting: “I am my father’s son!”
The bodies of the dead Americans washed up on shore west of the town, where they were discovered by a Tripolitan patrol on August 17. Lieutenant Caldwell could be identified only by the epaulet on his right shoulder. Dr. Cowdery, who was permitted to go and see the bodies, found them “in a state of putrefaction on the beach…. They were scattered on the shore for miles, and torn in pieces by dogs.” The Tripolitans would not bury them, nor allow the American prisoners to do so.
As the squadron was withdrawing, the Argus made the signal: “Strange ships in sight are friends.” Earlier in the day, Commodore Preble had sent her away to the northward to reconnoiter a sail on the horizon. The newcomer joined company shortly after dark: she was the John Adams, storeship to Commodore Samuel Barron’s relief squadron, now reported en route to Tripoli.
Dispatches from Secretary Smith carried the unwelcome news that Edward Preble would be superseded in command of the squadron. Worse, he would be third in command after John Rodgers. The letters were written in such a way as to soothe Preble’s ego, insisting that “no want of confidence in you has been mingled with the considerations which have imposed upon us the necessity of this measure” and adding that “your whole conduct has received the unqualified approbation of the President of the United States and his confidence in you remains unabated.” But Preble was bitterly disappointed: “How much my feelings are lacerated at this supersedure at the moment of victory cannot be described and can be felt only by an officer placed in my mortifying situation.”
Knowing Barron would shortly arrive to supplant him, Preble elected to try another round of negotiations. On August 9, he wrote to French consul Beaussier and raised his offer for a peace settlement: $80,000 ransom for the crew of the Philadelphia and a $10,000 “consular present.” The overture was poorly timed. If the first attack had alarmed Yusuf, the second had restored his confidence. The new offer only confirmed Yusuf’s impression that he had the upper hand. He declared to the Frenchman that he would not settle for less than $300,000, although Beaussier privately told Preble the figure could probably be haggled down to $150,000.
That day, Yusuf sent for Dr. Cowdery and made a bold speech, which the doctor paraphrased:
He said that for two dollars he could repair all the damages that the bombardment did to his town; that but one man was hurt by the shells; that what he had been offered for the American prisoners was but fifty dollars per man; that he would make him earn that sum in two months. He asked me what I thought my country would give for me. I told him I did not know. He said he would not take twenty thousand dollars for me; to which I replied, I might then expect to remain in slavery for life. He patted me on the shoulder and said, I must then content myself to stay with him.
Two days later, Preble made his position even worse. Still alert for any appearance on the horizon of the expected frigates, Preble raised his offer yet again: $100,000 ransom and $20,000 in consular bribes. If Beaussier was right, the difference was now just $30,000. A continuation of the war would cost that amount and more on both sides. But on the evening of August 11, when no flag was raised over the French consulate, Preble had his answer: Yusuf had refused the terms.
The squadron began preparations for a third attack, but the weather continued to serve as Tripoli’s best defense. For nine days, without intermission, there were high northerly winds and choppy seas. The gunboats, designed for harbor defense, could only be handled safely in calm conditions. Again and again the squadron stood in for the town; again and again—August 12, on August 16, 17, and 22—Preble judged that conditions were unsuitable and cut off the attack. The wear and tear began to tell: abrasions, lost rigging, torn sails, broken blocks. The officers and men were physically and mentally exhausted.
Most critically, provisions and freshwater stores were low. On August 18, Sailing Master Haraden recorded that the Constitution had 14,000 gallons of fresh water. At her daily consumption rate of 600 gallons, she was supplied for twenty-three days; but some of the other vessels in the squadron, as Preble observed, “have now been upwards of five months in sight of this dismal coast, without once visiting a friendly port,” and they would have to be replenished from the flagship’s own stores. Preble ordered a short water ration: 5 pints, including that used for cooking rice and peas and mixing with grog. On the fifteenth he wrote the Navy Agent on Malta in a tone that speaks for itself:
Our Water is nearly exhausted. I conjure you to charter two or three Vessels for fear of the miscarriage of one, and load them with water immediately, & send me 300 puncheons at least, as soon as possible. If one is not here in 8 days we shall be ruined, as I have only 14 days water for the Squadron. Let no price stop you from chartering. Send us some fresh stock, Vegetables, Apples, Melons, etc…. Hire as many boats & men as can work to load the Vessels & for God’s Sake dispatch a Vessel in 24 hours, and let the rest follow.
On the night of August 18, Lieutenant Stephen Decatur and Isaac Chauncey took two small boats, manned with a few oarsmen, to the outer edge of Tripoli Harbor. Their mission was to reconnoiter the harbor and its defenses. They approached under cover of darkness to within musket-shot range of the sentinels on the Molehead Battery, close enough even to see the soldiers on the walls of the castle. Returning to the Constitution after midnight, they reported that the Tripolitan gunboats were moored in a line abreast from the battery to the castle, their bows to the east.
Six days later, weather conditions seemed suitable for a night attack, and the squadron stood in for the town, coming to anchor at eight o’clock in the evening. At midnight the breeze fell off entirely, and Preble ordered the bomb ketches to proceed into the harbor under sweeps (oars). The first mortar was thrown at two o’clock in the morning, and the bombardment continued until dawn. In all, the ketches threw about fifteen to twenty shells. None of the shore batteries fired a gun during the attack. At 6:00 a.m., the bomb ketches withdrew, and the entire squadron fell back to a safe offing about four miles from the town.
Reports on the results of the bombardment were mixed. Sailing Master Haraden thought he had caught a glimpse of a 40-foot-wide breach in the outer wall of the Bashaw’s Castle. Midshipman F. Cornelius DeKrafft, whose journal serves as a valuable historical record of the Tripolitan War, wrote that the bombardment did “considerable damage by sinking 2 of the enemies gun boats & 1 of their galliotts.” But Dr. Cowdery insisted that every single shell fell short, and added that “such attempts served rather to encourage than to intimidate the Tripolitans; and the Bashaw was in high spirits on the occasion.”
After yet another aborted attack two nights later, Preble began to wonder why Barron had not yet arrived. The John Adams had arrived fully three weeks earlier, and she should have been much slower than the big frigates.
On August 27, with mild weather and a favorable northeast breeze, the American gunboats anchored near the “western passage”—a gap in the rocks that could only be navigated by smaller vessels. They opened fire on the Tripolitan flotilla at about 3:00 a.m. and co
ntinued the bombardment without intermission for two hours. Most of the gunboats fired about forty rounds each, and a few fired more than fifty. Haraden calculated that they threw six hundred rounds of 24-pounder shot and a similar amount of grape shot. A galliot and a three-masted galley were sunk in the attack, and part of the Molehead Battery was leveled.
The harbor guns awakened about an hour before dawn, but none of the American gunboats was hit, except in the rigging. At dawn, a single Tripolitan gunboat emerged through the western passage and closed to a distance of about 50 yards from the easternmost boat in the American line. A round of grape shot fired from the nearest American boat killed four of the Tripolitan crew and wounded two, and she withdrew to within the rocks.
Watching from the quarterdeck of the flagship, well beyond the reach of the harbor guns, Commodore Preble worried that the gunboats might be running low on ammunition. As the dawn’s early light rose on the eastern horizon, Constitution advanced into the concentrated fire of seventy-two harbor guns. “The Commodore’s ship, when standing in and during the engagement, was the most elegant sight that I ever saw,” wrote Purser John Darby of the John Adams. “She had her tompions out, matches lit, and batteries lighted up, all hands at quarters, standing right in under the fort, and receiving a heavy cannonading from their Battery.”
In obedience to Preble’s signal, the gunboats began heaving up their anchors to withdraw from action. Their crews cheered the Constitution as she ran downwind toward the Molehead. At 400 yards’ range, the flagship tacked, put her head into the wind, backed her sails, and poured out nine consecutive broadsides. The barrage sank one Tripolitan gunboat and disabled two more, which ran themselves onto the beach to avoid sinking. The harbor fortifications fell silent as the Tripolitan gun crews ran for their lives. “At every Broadside we gave them, showers of stone & dust would completely cover their batteries,” Haraden observed in his journal. The Constitution took heavy fire on her approach, with most of the shots passing through her rigging and shredding various shrouds, stays, and running lines. The hull was struck by nineteen round shot and an untold number of grape shot, but all were later pried out of the planks, having done no serious damage. Constitution’s live oak scantling was doing her justice.
At nine minutes after seven, Constitution hauled off from the attack and stood back out to sea. With several of the gunboats and bomb ketches in tow, she worked to windward until eleven, and then anchored five miles in the offing. The squadron had lost only one vessel, a small boat belonging to the John Adams, sunk by a double-headed shot from one of the shore guns. Three of her crew had been killed and one seriously wounded.
Witnesses in Tripoli agreed that the bombardment had done considerable damage. Dr. Cowdery, who was awakened by “a heavy and incessant fire of cannon, and the whistling and rattling of shot all around me,” observed that “many men were killed and wounded.” Two petty officers of the late Philadelphia wrote Preble to report that “you have injured a great many houses, killed several Turks, and drove them entirely out of three of their batteries.” In the eastern gardens, a camel was struck and killed by a round shot. Dutch consul Antoine Zuchet rose from his bed just moments before “a cannon hit the wall in my bedroom and skimmed along my bed to the pillow and then embedded itself in the wall opposite causing much damage…I would have been cut in half.”
The castle came under heavy bombardment. According to one report, a shot pierced the wall of Yusuf’s bedchamber about five minutes after he had risen from his bed. William Bainbridge was nearly killed when a 36-pounder ball smashed through the wall of the officers’ prison and “passed within a few inches of his body.” The captain had to be dug out of a pile of stones and mortar, and for months afterward he walked with a limp.
Four more days of hard gales out of the east, and the squadron again lay to in the offing. During her weeks at sea, the Constitution had lost several valuable sails, both to enemy fire and to the weather, and on the last day of August a reefed foresail and double-reefed main topsail blew out of their clewholes. Another commodore would have taken the entire squadron back to Malta or Syracuse for a long rest and refit. Some of the subordinate officers were surprised Preble had not done so much earlier. But Preble, expecting Barron’s squadron at any moment, continued to push for a resolution. On August 29, he sent the brig Argus into Tripoli Harbor under a white flag of truce with dispatches for Minister Dghies and French consul Beaussier. The avowed purpose of this latest overture was to arrange a prisoner exchange, but Preble also reiterated his willingness to offer ransom in exchange for the balance of the prisoners in Tripoli’s possession. Beaussier, showing his frustration with Preble’s continual and self-defeating requests for a new parley, responded sharply:
I cannot but view this Step as most impolitic as well as detrimental to the Interests of your Country, because at this moment it must be construed to your disadvantage & tend to raise the pretensions of this Regency. It [would have] been much better at the beginning to have threatened, and to have followed up your attacks with energy & effect, without entering into any negotiations….
You have therefore Monsieur the Commodore no alternative but to attack the Town & particularly the Castle without intermission, unless you feel yourself authorized to approach nearer to the conditions proposed. If you do not it will be superfluous to reply and you must persevere until the Bashaw, harassed at all points, shall himself ask for a Parley.
PREBLE PLACED HIS LAST HOPES in a plan to destroy the Bashaw’s gunboats by sending a “fireship” into Tripoli’s inner harbor. A small crew would navigate a vessel crammed with powder and incendiaries into the heart of the enemy’s anchorage. Once in position, the men would light slow fuses and then flee to safety in two fast rowboats. When the fireship detonated, the explosion would lay waste to everything within a quarter-mile radius. Or so it was hoped.
The vessel chosen for this mission was the Intrepid, the captured Tripolitan ketch that had been employed in Stephen Decatur’s successful mission to destroy the Philadelphia the previous February. Carpenters from several different vessels in the squadron were detailed to make the necessary alterations. Intrepid’s magazine was crammed with fresh gunpowder—nearly one hundred barrels, or 5 tons—and then tightly planked over. One hundred and fifty mortar shells were stacked on a tier above the magazine. Small holes were drilled in the bulkheads for the fuses, and then troughs for trains of gunpowder were run to the bow and stern. Once lit, the trains and fuses were supposed to burn for eleven minutes before touching off the payload.
It was well understood by both the officers and the seamen that the fireship mission would be extremely perilous. The Intrepid, literally a floating powder keg, would have to be sailed into the heart of the enemy flotilla, well within range of more than a hundred hostile guns. A direct hit would very likely detonate the magazine and blow the entire crew to kingdom come. Under no circumstances could the Intrepid be surrendered, since her 5 tons of gunpowder could in that case be used to resupply the enemy’s shore guns. If she were boarded and carried, it would be converted into a suicide mission; the crew would have to touch off the magazine. In spite of these sobering considerations, Preble was inundated with volunteers. Every single officer in the squadron wanted to go, and some lobbied the commodore directly for the assignment. Preble thought it fair to choose officers who had been disappointed not to participate in Decatur’s mission to destroy the Philadelphia. The fireship mission would be commanded by Decatur’s old friend, Richard Somers; he would be accompanied by two other officers and ten enlisted men.
On September 1, the squadron prepared for a fifth attack on the town, and at 11:00 a.m. the next morning, Constitution hoisted the signal: “Prepare for battle.” The gunboats stood in toward the harbor and opened fire at two in the afternoon; however, the Tripolitan flotilla slipped their cables and withdrew into the safety of the inner harbor. The bomb vessels managed to heave about twenty mortars into the town from a mile away. According to Dr. Cowdery, they d
id little damage, but terrified the populace: “The men, women and children ran out of the town in the utmost terror and distraction.”
The bomb ketches took heavy fire from the Molehead Battery. No. 1 had every shroud shot away, depriving her mast of all support. The recoil of her own mortar ruptured her hull and she began to fill with water. Noting that the bomb vessels “were very much exposed, and in great danger of being sunk,” Preble put the Constitution on a course to run in close to the batteries. As she advanced, the shore guns opened fire at long range and columns of spray rose to starboard and larboard, soaking the masts and courses to the height of the lower yard. As in the previous engagement, Constitution fired several consecutive broadsides on the harbor fortifications and took heavy fire in return. As before, the flagship suffered damage to her spars and rigging but virtually none at all to her hull. At 4:30 p.m., with the wind freshening and veering northward, Preble gave the signal to the squadron to break off the action, and the gunboats and ketches came out and were soon taken in tow.
Final preparations were made for the fireship attack. The volunteers wrote out their last wills, specifying which of their shipmates would inherit a jacket, a tarpaulin hat, or a pair of duck trousers.
At eight o’clock the next evening, Intrepid slipped her moorings and sailed in toward the harbor, borne along by a soft northeast breeze. The Tripolitan lookouts saw her enter the western passage, and two shore guns were sounded as an alarm. Then all fell silent, and darkness obscured her next maneuvers. At 9:47 p.m. there was a flash of light, followed by an enormous explosion.