“You see,” he said in a firm, clear voice, perfectly audible to all, although not loud, “that Stewart and his gallant crew can not assist us. Very well; the fewer the number, the greater the honor. Our brave shipmates now in prison have been forced for many months to see the shameful spectacle of an American frigate wearing the colors of her pirate captors. Please God, it shall be so no longer after this night. Let every man think of this—let him think of his country; and though we can not hoist ‘Old Glory’ at the Philadelphia’s peak, we can at least send her to the bottom, rather than let her float disgraced by a pirate flag!”
A half-suppressed cheer greeted Decatur’s brave words, and every officer and man felt himself possessed by that noble enthusiasm which works miracles of courage. Jack Creamer allowed his voice to get so far the better of the instructions given him to keep quiet, that he screeched out a boyish cheer, for which Danny Dixon came near chucking him overboard.
It was not desired to get in before ten o’clock, but at the rate they were going, under a good breeze, would have got them in before sunset. Afraid of attracting attention by shortening sail, Decatur had all the vessel’s buckets, spare sails, etc., towed behind, so that she moved very slowly through the water. About nine o’clock, when they were a mile off the town, a brilliant moon rose trembling in the heavens. Decatur noticed it.
The scene was one of perfect peace and beauty. All the shipping in the harbor lay quietly at anchor, and the water was so smooth that their lights were as stationary as those that twinkled in the town and the Bashaw’s castle.
The Intrepid stole quietly in, leaving the Siren farther and farther astern. The moon was now high, flooding the sea with glory, and making the harbor lights mere twinkling points of flame. The Intrepid steered directly for the Philadelphia’s bows, and this caused her to be hailed while still a considerable distance off. A number of Tripolitans were seen lounging about the Philadelphia’s decks, and an officer smoking a long pipe leaned over the rail and called out:
“The ketch Stella, from Malta,” responded Catalano in Italian, which is the _lingua franca_ of the East. “We were caught in the gale and nearly wrecked. We lost our anchors, and our commander would like the favor of riding by you during the night.” Decatur, in his round jacket and fez, lounged near Catalano, and whispered to him what to say.