“Oliver, I want you to write down what I tell you. Here is paper, ink, and a pen. I am going to read aloud what your brother has written so I miss nothing when I tell the commodore.” Decatur indicated the implements necessary to my new employment as scribe and began to read.
“Philadelphia frigate afloat approx. one cable from shore directly off Bashaw’s palace. Appears fully manned with great guns restored aboard. Likely they are loaded. Gunboats patrol inner harbor.” The captain paused, looked at me to ensure I was keeping pace with his dictation and, after waiting a moment, continued. “Shore batteries trained on harbor and frigate. One hundred fifteen long guns mounted. Manned around the clock. Nissen says twenty-five thousand Arabs. Nineteen gunboats, two galleys, two schooners, one brig constantly manned. Frigate must be destroyed at any cost. Suggest charter of local vessel to gain access to harbor without arousing suspicion, best done at night, and board with sufficient crew to overpower native crew. You will need several well-manned rowing boats to make good an escape after the enterprise has been accomplished. Suggest that it will be impossible to do naught but destroy Philadelphia as much as I would relish seeing her back under our own flag.” Decatur stopped again, waiting as I hurriedly scribbled the last few of his words. “And it’s signed, ‘Bainbridge.’
“Well, gentlemen, it appears as if a solution to our problem of the frigate may be at hand. This is a fine piece of work, Oliver, and Reliance, and I am sure the commodore will be most grateful for it. Now, Oliver, give me what you wrote, and I shall return your letter to you. I must go at once to Constitution and discuss this with Preble.” Captain Decatur rose, put on his jacket, and stepping past the surgeon and me, left the Cabin.
“How did you know there was something there, Mister Wakefield? I know Edward mentioned about ‘reading it in the light of a candle’ and all, but what told you there was a message in the letter that would only appear by candlelight?” I could contain my curiosity no longer and remained mystified by the goings-on of the past hour and more. I looked at my discolored and slightly charred letter as if the secret would be revealed by my own gaze.
“It wasn’t that it appeared by the candle light, Oliver; it was the heat of the flame that brought out the writing. You see, Edward had written another letter, dictated by Captain Bainbridge, it was, between the lines of his letter to you, in lemon juice! Of course, dry, it is quite invisible, as you saw, or rather, didn’t see.” He chuckled quietly at his joke and then became serious again as he continued his explanation. “When the page written in this manner is held to heat, the flame of a candle for example, the lemon juice turns brown and is clearly visible. Of course, you can only do that once, as the writing does not again disappear when the paper has cooled. I have heard that it was done frequently during the late War of Independence. And I am indeed sorry for the damage I have done to your letter. But see here, Oliver, it has not obliterated any of your brother’s words; the letter as still quite readable!”
Wakefield stood and made as if to leave the Cabin. “Since we had to cut short our evening, would you, and Mister Stevens, should he be still be at large,” again he stopped and chuckled quietly at his unintended play on words, “care to join me in a glass? I have managed to secure a most respectable bottle of Spanish port which I would happily open in celebration of our—your— discovery. What say you?”
“Oh, sir. Thank you. That would be most pleasant. I shall find James and invite him to join us.” I once again followed the doctor out the door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Sir, do you think it possible that Commodore Preble might carry a letter with him to pass on to Edward through Captain Bainbridge? 1 would sorely like to let my brother know that I am well and in receipt of his own letter.” I hesitated in asking this momentous favor (after all, I was merely a midshipman) after hearing Captain Decatur announce that Preble was taking Vixen to Malta expressly for the purpose of communicating with the prisoners in Tripoli, and leaving that very day!
“Have you written the letter, Oliver? I am sure the commodore will not mind a bit, as long as he is not forced to wait for you to pen the letter. Especially in view of your discovery.” Decatur paused in stepping below after concluding a conversation with Mister Lawrence and Mister Morris. I had happened only to be nearby.
“Oh, sir. Yes, sir. I have only to add a few lines to it and it will be ready. Should I mention the . . . secret part of his letter?”
“No, Mister Baldwin. I suspect that the commodore will manage to convey to Bainbridge the fact that we deciphered it and are taking action. Now hurry along and finish your letter. I will put it with some other papers from Mastico which Preble has requested when I return to the flagship.” Then Decatur disappeared down the scuttle.
Sending the letter to Edward—actually several were included from the first I had written some months ago to the most recent, finished only last night— lifted a heavy weight off my mind. I had also written to our parents to inform them of our, Edward’s and mine, situation. Having once received a letter from Edward in captivity, my heart was now impatient for another, even though my brain knew one would be unlikely for a great while.
I watched as Captain Decatur was rowed, first to Constitution, and then to the Vixen schooner to find the commodore. After a brief visit with Lieutenant Joseph Bainbridge as he was taking his leave, he returned to Enterprise, smiling broadly.
“Gentlemen,” he pronounced as he climbed over the bulwark, “we will be remaining here in Syracuse until the commodore returns, but then, I suspect, he will have employment for us!”
For a week and more, until Vixen returned with Preble from Malta, the air on Enterprise was filled with anticipation; it had taken less than an hour for Decatur’s announcement to filter into all corners of the schooner. Officers and sailors alike were eager for action and speculation was rife as to just how the ship would be employed. The mids were, perhaps, the most creative in their estimation of how Commodore Preble would use us.
“I’ll tell you what is going to happen,” spoke Thomas one day, after keeping his peace for much of the guesswork in which we indulged. “You ain’t got it right yet—none of you. Preble will order us to sail with Vixen and Nautilus right into the harbor at Tripoli and cut out that frigate. The schooners are the only vessels he’s got what’ll float in the thin water inside the harbor. He’ll have Constitution and the brigs stand off and fire into the shore to make those pirate bastards keep their heads down while we race in there and steal Philadelphia right out from under their noses.” Wheatley’s smug look and confident manner made us all think he really might know something we didn’t until Judd came into the cockpit and we told him of Thomas’s plan.
“Somehow, I doubt the commodore would think a couple of schooners and the few deep draft ships he’s got would be any match for the fire power surrounding that harbor. I heard there was more than a hundred guns along that shore and all mounted in castles and forts. We go in there with a few little schooners with twelve-pounders and we’d be blown to matchwood before we got anywhere near the frigate. My God, Tom, use your head. Even a landsman could see that hair-brained idea wouldn’t answer!” Devon’s look was one more of dismay than anger. He shook his head and added almost under his breath, “Stupid, just plain stupid!”
I smiled as Wheatley’s expression changed from smug arrogance to dismay to anger. James giggled. Judd sat down at the table, and it was clear to all of us that he had put the matter behind him as he changed the subject.
“The other day, I was ashore with Lieutenant Morris and found a fine establishment which serves up a . . .”
“Damn it, Devon! Just who do you think you are? Mister ‘I-know-it-all-midshipman’ Devon, I’ll warrant. What makes you so damn sure I ain’t right about what Preble has in mind? You ain’t got any better an idea than me,” Wheatley interrupted. His fists were clenched and he half stood, leaning forward to be close to Judd’s face. He had slitted down his eyes, and, from the way the muscles in his jaw
bunched up, I was sure he was grinding his teeth in anger or frustration.
“Oh, Thomas, really. What difference does it make? None of us know what Commodore Preble has in mind for us—likely even Decatur. Don’t get yourself so exercised over it. But use your head and think about what you say before you say it. It’ll make you look so much less stupid.” Judd sounded tired.
“Now you’re calling me stupid? Devon, I’ve had enough of you insulting me. I’m calling you out.” Wheatley stood up straight and, looking Judd right in the eyes, said, “I am at your service, sir.”
None of us had an inkling of what he was talking about. At least, James and I did not. Judd looked at Thomas for a moment as if thinking of what to say.
“I think,” he finally said, “that Captain Decatur would take a dim view of two of his midshipmen fighting a due. ‘Specially since he’s been involved in one himself. But if you demand satisfaction, sir, I will accommodate you.”
A duel! I looked at James. His eyes were as wide as I suspect mine were, and his jaw was slack. Thomas and Judd were going to fight a duel ! I could not believe it. James and I were speechless.
“As the challenged party, I have the right to choose our weapons, as well as the time and place of our encounter. I would like, I think, pistols. We will fire from forty paces. I will have to leave time and place for later as I have insufficient knowledge of this island to determine a proper locale. Unless you had something in mind?” Judd, a more serious look on his face than I had before seen, paused, then looked squarely at me. “Mister Baldwin, would you stand as my second?”
“Second? What do you mean, Judd?” I had no idea what a ‘second’ was and the confused look I wore complemented my words.
“It means you will step in for me should I be unable to fight. You’ll take charge of the details of the affair and witness the event.”
“Judd, I don’t know anything about a duel. What arrangements? And as far as ‘stepping in for you’ goes, I have no great love for Thomas, but I certainly don’t have a desire to shoot him!” Or get shot myself, I added silently.
All the while, James sat there looking horrified that his messmates were contemplating killing one another. Finally he found his voice.
“Do you both think this is really necessary? I mean . . . to go and try to kill each other? Why not wait a bit and see what happens? Who knows, one or both of you might get himself killed when we finally do get to fight—against the pirates! Then none of this will matter. Besides, Judd, we all knew Thomas was just spouting, just like he always does. Even I knew he had no idea what Preble would order us to do. Do we have to stand around and watch you two try and kill each other? Seems right stupid to me! The both of you . . . and don’t challenge me on account of I called you stupid!” James, the youngest of us all, seemed suddenly to have the most insight of us all.
“Well, James, if you wasn’t such a country boy, you’d know how the world of gentlemen works; that’s just how it goes. And don’t worry yourself about either of us calling you out; for me, I wouldn’t waste the time—or powder and shot. Judd did, however, insult me, and I called him out. He accepted my challenge. The only way he can avoid me killing him in a duel will be by apologizing to me, in front of witnesses, for his insult.” At first, a secret smile began to play at the corners of Thomas’s mouth as he thought of Judd labeling himself a coward by refusing the duel.
When he saw that Judd showed no intent of apologizing, likely knowing full well the implication an apology would carry, the smile faded, and I think Thomas’s face seemed a bit chalky. Now that he had spoken, there was no way out for him. It occurred to me that he might be having second thoughts, in spite of his brave words.
Come on, Judd. Apologize and let’s be done with this foolishness. I have no wish to be your second or anyone else’s. Here’s a way out of this mess. Take it! My thoughts raced down two roads; one was very short and had Judd offering his hand in apology to Thomas. The other had the four of us standing in some remote field somewhere with pistols, counting paces and . . . I did not want to think about the possible outcome, especially if I had to be the ‘second’!
Judd stood suddenly. Oh, God! Here it comes. Judd’s going to hit . . . well, I suspect that might be more agreeable than shooting pistols at each other. I backed up, crying to get out of the way of the combatants.
“I will discuss this further with you, Thomas, when Mister Baldwin and I have selected a suitable field of honor. In the meantime, let us try to avoid crossing tacks with one another, as much as is possible.” Without waiting for an answer, Judd left the cockpit. In the stunning silence that remained, we heard his footsteps fade as he went topside.
We all began to speak at once; James and me imploring Thomas to withdraw his challenge so as to restore peace to the cockpit, and Thomas strutting verbally about like a popinjay now that the immediate threat was past. He would have lone of our pleas.
“You boys just don’t understand this; it’s a man’s concern and not yours. Now be quiet while I enjoy thinking about shooting that scoundrel.”
“We may be boys, as you think, Thomas, but Judd asked me to be his second which, I reckon, means you and I might be facing each other. Now, that just don’t appeal! So like it or no, it appears we’re all involved. And consider that he may wind up shooting you!” I was not about to be a party to his enjoymnent of this dreadful turn of events if I could help it.
Wheatley stopped his bombast, shot a hateful look at each of us, James and me, and left without a further word.
“He’ll never go through with it. He’s a coward and will find a way to back but out of it. Likely try to make Judd look the coward into the bargain.” James spoke the very words I had been thinking. Apparently James had seen enough of Wheatley’s less-than-heroic antics over the past several months to see through his bravado. But he did not witness the cowering Thomas that I saw mid-Atlantic in the teeth of a gale. I continued to hold my own counsel on that, but I clung to the hope that Thomas would repeat his performance this time and take, once again, the safe course.
A tense silence filled with furtive, scornful glances, hung in the cockpit whenever Judd and Thomas were there together; when they weren’t, or when only Judd was there, the same antics and skylarking continued as before. Then, a week and more later, Decatur called the officers and midshipmen to assemble an the quarterdeck.
“As you no doubt observed, Vixen has returned with the commodore from is visit to Malta, and I have just come from a meeting with him. We have arrived at a plan to deprive the Bashaw of the use of our frigate which shows considerable promise. I will be taking the little ketch that Judd and Oliver brought in on Christmas, with a crew of volunteers, to Tripoli to burn Philadelphia to the waterline. Captain Stewart will support us in Syren, but will not enter the harbor there. I will be sharing this commission with the crew before we leave to ask for volunteers. I expect we will be ready in a week or less, and until then, would ask that you refrain from discussing it, either among yourselves or with the men.” Decatur stopped talking but his eyes continued studying us, constantly moving as they had been when he spoke, covering each of us, lingering for a moment, then moving on. There were some moments of complete silence, and then it seemed as if every one of us spoke at once. Most, including yours truly, were requesting to be included in his crew. The captain smiled broadly at our enthusiasm, but committed to nothing.
The next several days were a flurry of action. We took on stores, water, and arms. Gunner Tarbox oversaw the stowage of combustibles on deck in Enterprise and taught several of us, James and me included, how to cut fuses and measure slow match to ensure a proper burn. Our marines spent considerable time sharpening their bayonets and repeatedly cleaning their muskets, overseen by their lieutenant and sergeant. Reliance Wakefield was busy with extra medical supplies and spent some considerable time with the various implements of his trade, sharp cutting instruments, called scalpels, forceps, and saws of different sizes and shapes. I found it unsettling
to think of their likely use. The officers Zeb Morris, William Hobbs, and midshipmen Judd Devon and Thomas Wheatley ley were equally busy, their actions overseen by First Lieutenant James Lawrence. With the anticipation of action, real action, and the preparations necessary, the two antagonists had declared a truce, or so it seemed to James and me. Captain Decatur, his presence required frequently on the flagship spent little time in the schooner. I noticed a gang of local men working on Mastico, still secured to the pier where James and I had seen her some weeks ago. They were, I first surmised, getting her ready to be sold; then I recollected what Decatur had told the officers, that we were to sail her to Tripoli to attack the frigate and that heavily fortified harbor.
Several days later, Decatur had, during a momentary lull in our work, called First Lieutenant Lawrence, Judd and myself into his Cabin. Why he had included two midshipmen in his meeting baffled us, but summoned, we went He was seated at his desk and rose to stand by the tiny window from which he could see the dock and Mastico.
“Gentlemen, I thought you would be interested in a development the com modore has only recently shared with me.” Decatur looked from the window, turning to face the three of us standing in front of the table. “You two,” the captain nodded in the direction of Judd and me, “are here because you brought is the prize and her captain. The papers from the ketch which Preble took to Malta for translation proved that the vessel we captured was indeed present a the assault on our frigate.” He again looked out the window, then added, “And the captain, the Turk, was in the van of the boarding. It is most appropriate that the ketch be used to destroy the very ship she helped capture. Commodore Preble has ordered the prize be renamed and taken into the Naval Service. She is to be called Intrepid from this point forward, a name that will inspire each of us who sail in her to greater glory and honor.” As he turned back toward us, his eyes held the fire I had seen more and more of late. I knew he chafed at his lines to be away on our mission of destruction, and the information he had just shared with us further inflamed him.
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