The Greater the Honor

by William H. White

  Seventeen Tripolitans had died in this single fight, including their captain. For our part, none were killed and four were wounded, including the captain and the brave Seaman Frasier who saved Decatur from the fatal cutlass stroke. Frasier, aside from the blood that poured forth from his head wounds, giving him a decidedly horrifying appearance, seemed unfazed by either his cruel wounds or his role in saving the life of our captain. Of James Decatur’s crew, several of whom had joined our attack, two received wounds, neither life threatening. And, of course, James Decatur was, as reported, killed by the Tripolitan pirate.

  As we climbed aboard our gunboat, those who were able saw to the prisoners, securing them amidships after removing anything that might answer as a weapon from their reach. The dead corsairs were heaved, with no regrets or ceremony, into the sea. Our wounded straggled aboard, making themselves as comfortable as they could wherever they could find some room. Judd and I, with the assistance of two sailors and overseen by Captain Decatur, gently lifted the body of James from the polacca and laid it carefully in the stem, near to where our captain would stand once freed from the enemy vessel. Then the grappling irons were retrieved, our sails set and the oars manned.

  With the damaged polacca in tow, we made our way toward the flagship as those who were unwounded tried to ease the pain and stanch the bleeding of their less fortunate mates. Once again, both Judd and I had escaped without damage. Our captain, jacketless, with his wound wrapped in a piece of now-crimson linen that served only to slow the bleeding, had survived the encounter with his brother’s murderer. He seemed, to Judd and me, to have regained control of both himself and the crew with the same quiet confidence and competence that had served him, and us, so well. Privately, I thought he appeared suddenly older by far than his twenty-five years and tired. I can not imagine the emotions I would feel were my brother to be taken from me in such a way; even though he was a captive held in unseemly conditions, he was alive, and I knew that I would see him again.

  I looked around us, seeking to determine the fate of the others of our little squadron who had fought these villains. Most had disengaged from their combat; one had not. As I watched, horrified, I saw one of our gunboats go on board of a larger pirate vessel. I thought it might have been one of the galleys that we noticed earlier. Then, as the American sailors scrambled to board their latest adversary, I watched the two vessels separate to a distance where not a single additional brave sailor could join their comrades on the deck of the polacca.

  I snatched a glass from a startled Neapolitan sailor and focused it on the fight. There was, I could see, a pitched battle joined on the pirate’s deck, and there appeared many more white-robed figures than not.

  “Judd, Judd! Look here. One of our boats is in trouble. Those men can not help but be overwhelmed by the pirates . . . there . . . look.” I handed my messmate the glass, pointing with unwavering hand at the action unfolding a mere mile away. “Can we not help them?”

  Devon took the glass and, resting it on a shroud, studied the drama before him.

  “That could only be Lieutenant Trippe. He’s one of the Vixens. And it appears you’re right, Oliver; he clearly hasn’t enough men to take that pirate. Why his own don’t return to help I can not imagine.” He continued to watch as Trippe and his handful of sailors fought savagely with the hoard of cutthroats on the pirate’s deck.

  “Looks to me like they’re holding their own, Oliver. Seems like there’s a passel of white robes either jumpin’ or bein’ thrown overboard.” Judd described the action to me; what I really wanted was the glass so I could see for myself, but it appeared I would have to settle for his description. I watched with unaided eye and listened to my senior.

  “Aye, appears Trippe might prevail, after all,” he remarked with as much emotion as he might have used to comment on a change in the wind. “Hold now! He’s gone down! Trippe has disappeared . . . can’t see him . . . just a bunch of Arabs where he was. Now they’re breaking up . . . my God! He’s up. Looks like he got himself cut up some, but he’s still fighting! I can’t believe it!” Now Judd’s tone was charged with excitement. I had never been otherwise!

  “Look there! The gunboat’s coming back alongside.” I could see that without the glass, and Judd swung the telescope around, seeking the American vessel.

  “Aye. Reckon Trippe’ll hang on, long as they get alongside quick.” Judd had measured the distance separating the two vessels with his more experienced eye and pronounced the outcome with some certainty.

  Then, amid a faint clamor that sounded like cheering, the gunboat was back alongside the galley, and our sailors were rushing to the aid of their comrades. Without the glass, which Judd still held, I could tell little of what was happening aboard the galley, but now with three encounters with these devils behind me, I knew that the Americans would have a bloody fight on their hands before, and if, the pirates succumbed. A shout close at hand and flurry of activity drew my attention forward and stopped Judd’s running description of the fighting. Lieutenant Trippe would have to manage without my help!

  Barely a musket shot in front of us was our own Lieutenant Hobbs and Enterprise bearing away to unmask her weather guns for another broadside at the fortress. With deafening roars, seeming almost to be one continuous roll of thunder, the starboard side cannon fired in a rippling sequence. I had heretofore only experienced the roar of long guns from behind them; hearing their thunder close at hand from the muzzle end was quite a revelation! I shook my head in an effort to clear it. In the ringing silence that followed the broadside, Decatur bellowed to the schooner. Hobbs hove to and took us aboard. The two vessels, our gunboat and the prize, were quickly secured astern to join an enemy vessel captured by Lieutenant Lawrence and, of course, Lawrence’s gunboat. No sooner were we aboard than Judd pointed out to Hobbs the situation in which Lieutenant Trippe found himself. There was a brief conversation to which I was not privy, during which Hobbs looked repeatedly through a long glass. Then, after some pointing and Judd taking a turn with the glass, they separated, Judd to join me in the waist, and Hobbs to continue with his duties on the quarterdeck. For want of specific direction, I had followed Decatur and some of the wounded men to the midships of the schooner, where a knot of men gathered. Some, watched by all eyes as they passed, had carried the captain’s brother’s corpse forward and set it carefully in a shady and protected spot.

  Our first lieutenant looked some the worse for wear; he had received several wounds to his person. Reliance Wakefield, who had set up shop in the waist, was busy repairing the damage. Both had seen and recognized James Decatur’s lifeless form; their eyes locked momentarily and then fixed on the captain’s. It was apparent, even to me, even with no words spoken, that they grieved for his loss.

  “Captain, please. Sit here in my stead so that Reliance might see to your arm. It appears a cruel wound and still bleeding profusely.” Lawrence pushed the medical officer’s hands away from his person and stood quickly upon seeing Decatur.

  “No, no, James. But I thank you for your concern.” Captain Decatur smiled at his first lieutenant and motioned Wakefield to continue sewing and bandaging Lawrence’s wounds. “Mister Wakefield, when you have finished your ministrations to the first lieutenant, please see to those of my crew who have suffered wounds, some cruel, indeed, at the hands of the pirates. Then, should you have a free moment, you might have a look at my arm. I am quite certain it will keep until then. I shall be on the quarterdeck.” Decatur turned to step aft and stopped.

  He turned back to Lawrence and Wakefield and smiled fiercely at his medical officer who, for a moment, stopped squinting at the needle he was threading and glanced over his spectacles at the captain.

  “We paid ‘em some ‘tribute,’ Reliance, old friend. And I’ll warrant, more to come!” A somber nod and a quick smile satisfied Decatur, who turned about again and left to resume command of his vessel. The slump of his shoulders gave away his grief and tired resignation, and his step seemed heavy.

>   “Oliver, I asked Hobbs to head over toward Trippe . . . see if we might be able to help him. I’d guess he’ll be doin’ that now. Less’n Decatur won’t allow it. Hobbs knows Lieutenant Trippe, he is the little brother of the Marine lieutenant we had aboard Argus, you remember him . . . stocky fellow with a square face and hard eyes. You’ll no doubt recall him as captain of our Marine detachment on the brig. Still aboard Argus far as Hobbs knows. He also thought that fellow tangling with the pirates will likely do alright; he’s nearly as tough as his big brother.”

  We both jumped when our battery fired yet another broadside and was immediately echoed by the thunder of Constitution’s 24-pounders. I saw noticeable impacts in the walls of the castle and fortress as stones fell and people scattered. The two brigs also paid tribute with telling success to the Bashaw’s gunboats which had not retreated to the protection of the fortress’s guns, now that most of the Americans were clear of them. They quickly turned tail in the face of this new onslaught of iron and started back toward the fortress and its battery.

  “Signal from Constitution, sir, to all ships. Says ‘Cover enemy approaching from east.’ Shall I acknowledge, sir?”

  “Aye, do so. Mister Hobbs, you may bear off some and we’ll have a run at those devils coming out from the rocks, there.” Decatur pointed with his good arm at a half dozen polaccas, still several miles distant, but now standing out from where they had remained during most of the engagement. Their striped sails ballooned out, and they each had a ‘bone in their teeth’ as they rode the freshening breeze toward the American fleet. “Load grape and canister, if you please, Bradford. Both sides.” Decatur’s voice carried easily forward to where the sweating gunner’s mate was scurrying from gun to gun, filling in for missing crew and sighting each gun to ensure its shot would tell. He looked up at the sound of the captain’s voice and waved in acknowledgement.

  “Mister Baldwin, Mister Devon! You may take your stations for quarters, if you please. I am quite certain that Bradford will be glad of some help!” Lieutenant Lawrence, sewn and bandaged to the best of the surgeon’s ability, was restoring order to our deck and taking charge of fighting the ship while the captain maneuvered us into position. The surgeon had shifted his attention to several of our sailors who stood, sat, or lay about his impromptu hospital. I noticed Daniel Frasier, the man who had taken the blow meant for Captain Decatur, lying on the deck in a widening pool of blood.

  As Judd and I moved off to see to the guns, I stole a glance to weather to see how Lieutenant Trippe was faring in his own battle against the corsairs. Well, I hoped, as we were now headed off to deal with the new threat and away from Trippe’s fight. I looked hard, barely believing my own eyes.

  “Judd. Have a look, will you. Trippe must have prevailed. Looks like he’s takin’ the pirates in tow!” I was delighted that we had taken yet another of the enemy’s ships. Perhaps now those barbarian devils might realize that Americans were not afraid of fighting them, even hand to hand!

  Judd, already involved with his battery and too busy to look, waved a hand in response. I hurried on to the forward battery, where Bradford squatted behind the forward-most long gun. He had a pry-bar wedged under the carriage and another sailor stood ready to force the quoin further under the barrel, depressing its aim, should Bradford deem it necessary. The gunner’s mate looked up as I bent over to sight down the barrel.

  He smiled slightly and pointed at the next gun in line. Then he returned his attention to the train of the gun. His faced was streaked in sweat that had cut trails through the grime of powder coating most of him from the middle of his shirtless chest. A dirty bandanna was tied around his forehead and another loosely around his throat, and his bare arms were singed and smudged with the heat of his gun and the residue of his efforts.

  “You may fire as they bear, gentlemen.” Lawrence’s voice carried clearly to the forward guns. As I looked over the bulwark from my position, now behind the second gun, I saw we were about to engage three polaccas that seemed well within our, and their, range. Slightly astern and to our weather sailed Vixen and Nautilus. It seemed the pirates were matched ship-for-ship; I wondered for an instant whether or not they would try to board us as was their habit. Perhaps, I thought, they might have learned that fighting American sailors hand to hand is an easy road to paradise, not to victory. Then Bradford’s gun fired, a demand for my attention that would not be denied.

  I stooped and squinted through the smoke, sighting my piece. Then, as Enterprise rolled up, I saw an enemy ship seemingly balanced on the top edge of the barrel.

  “Fire!” I cried to the acting gun captain who immediately jammed his linstock into the priming hole. I stepped to the side as sparks jumped from the sizzling powder and burned down to the cartridge. With a mighty BOOM, the gun fired and hurled itself backwards, coming to rest at the limits of its breech-ings. While the limited crew I had clapped onto the tackles and waited for the swabber to ream out the barrel, I peeked over the bulwark to see what success I and Bradford had enjoyed.

  The middle of the approaching polaccas had taken the brunt of both Bradford’s and my shots; her mast seemed to teeter and the rigging around it was well shot up. I could tell naught about the effect of our loads on the crew, but it seemed reasonable to me that they should have suffered equally with the rig.

  Now more of our sailors, both the undamaged ones and those less fortunate, bandaged and patched as well as Surgeon Wakefield could manage, took their positions behind our guns. Judd’s guns spoke, followed quickly by those further aft, offering voluble testimony that we had most of our battery fully, or nearly so, manned and were pursuing a course that offered naught but disaster to the approaching Tripolitan pirates. Vixen and Nautilus echoed our sentiment, each scoring hits on one or another of the enemy ships. Constitution’s deeper voice thundered all the while, maintaining a steady bombardment of the castle and fort. Farther to weather, I could see our two bomb vessels throwing mortar shells into the town, well behind the wall along the waterfront. Syren and Argus, standing off and on to our west, fired shot after shot into the castle itself, as well as into the polaccas which had sought the protection of the fort.

  Of course, none of our efforts went unanswered; the approaching pirates, as well as those which had retreated, maintained an uneven counter fire at all of us. The sharp crack and subsequent deeper resonating echoes of the guns in the fort and castle bespoke their participation in our warm action. Some of their shots told, and, while Enterprise remained unscathed, we could see that our colleagues in the brigs and, more particularly, Constitution, suffered from the attention of the Tripolitans. But as I watched the skyline of the city against the late afternoon sky, I saw a spire-topped tower, a minaret, as they are popularly called here, spew a torrent of stone from its midsection, then teeter, and fall, leaving a void on the horizon. A brilliant shot from either Constitution or one of the brigs.

  A faint cheer drifted to us, and a quick look told us Vixen had scored a telling hit in one of the polaccas; the enemy vessel’s mast leaned precariously to leeward, then slowly, almost ponderously, toppled into the water. The sudden drag it created caused the corsair to bear off, nearly broaching, directly into her sister close aboard. The resulting chaos of spars, yards and cordage mixed with the entwined and broken oars of both vessels created a perplexing puzzle for the Arab crews to unravel.

  The two remained tangled as guttural cries floated over the water to us. With the two of them snarled up in each other, we were presented with a splendid target. I tapped Bradford on his shoulder and pointed. He at once took my meaning, and we shifted our aim to the tangle of ships, spars, oars, and rigging. Judd’s battery and the other guns aft continued to pour round, canister and grape shot into the remaining ship, still coming at us with a vengeance. Our consorts, Vixen and Nautilus continued their own efforts, firing on all three targets.

  Our range had closed to what amounted to point blank; I could not imagine more than five hundred yards separated us from t
he two ships still on board one another. The third one, continuing to close with us, was receiving fire not only from Judd’s guns, but also from the guns on Nautilus; Vixen continued to maintain a significant rate of fire on her first target, now combined into two. So far, none of the American schooners had received more than a ball through a sail, and, while each of us had received our share of the Tripolitan’s attention, we all remained, for the most part, intact.

  Decatur and Lawrence had adjusted our course so that our guns continued to bear and give us all the advantage they could. It told; suddenly the remaining polacca wore around and, with a poorly laid parting shot aimed at the closest schooner, Vixen, headed back the way she had come, toward the protection of the eastern breakwater, well within range of the castle’s guns. Her captain appar-ently had no love for his brothers in the other two ships, as he left them to deal with each other and us and to find their own way to safety or paradise as their fates might decree.

  Then, with a crescendo of shouts, gestures, and, though we were quite unable to decipher a word, curses, I am sure, those two got themselves separated. With their rigging and lateen yards all ahoo, they turned tail and, under the poorly coordinated but obviously frantic efforts of their oarsmen, straggled after their brother to seek the safety of the breakwater and the shore batteries. Paradise could wait!

  “Hold your fire, lads! We got ‘em on the run! They’ll think twice about trying that again!” Lawrence’s voice was gleeful. As we dragged our guns back from the bulwark, Enterprise hardened up and the sail-handlers trimmed for a course toward deeper water. A glance astern showed Vixen and Nautilus had followed suit.

  Bradford, even more grime covered than he had been, stood erect next to his gun, stretched, and, wiping his face with a bit of waste, grinned at me.

  “Any time you want to sail as a gun captain, Mister Baldwin, there’ll be a spot for you on my guns!” His smile broadened as he looked me over. “Reckon you got the clothes for the job now, too! They won’t let you into the gunroom in them!” His voice sounded distant, muffled, as it penetrated the ringing that still persisted in my ears.