The Greater the Honor

by William H. White

  More casks had arrived on deck and were being carried off, some below and many to positions on the spar deck. I saw Mister Lawrence overseeing the placement of one such cask near the mainmast and made my way to him.

  “What can I do, sir? I am sure I have been assigned to a task, but can not recall what it was.” I would have doffed my hat in a salute, but it was gone from my head, its absence unnoticed ‘til this very moment.

  “What? Oh, Baldwin.” Lawrence looked up from the fuse he had cut. “My God, man! What happened to you? Did you see the surgeon? You are bleeding to death. Here, son, sit.” He pushed a cask of powder over and gestured for me to sit down on it.

  “No, sir. I am not hurt. That is not my blood. I am quite all right and looking for employment.” I answered, trying to sound as unconcerned as my words and keep the tremble out of my voice.

  “Oh, well, then. Glad to hear it.” The concern vanished from his tone instantly. He became most businesslike. “You finish up with these men. We’re setting charges around the masts that remain to destroy them along with the ship; no point in leaving anything those scoundrels might use!” He handed me a length of slow match and, stepping around me, disappeared into the darkness.

  Luckily for me, Bradford was one of the men securing powder casks around the girth of the mainmast; I had little to do save hand him a length of fuse when he asked for it. Through the darkness I could make out others by he cannons topside driving nails into the touch holes on each piece. No one seemed to be shouting or even talking; they all went about their assigned tasks quietly and quickly.

  “Are you about done, here, Mister Baldwin? I have little interest in remaining aboard much longer. That the rascals ashore have no inkling of our presence so far is extraordinary good luck; it would be folly to think they might continue in their ignorance.” Decatur, the sword still in his hand glistening darkly in the moonlight augmented by a few deck lanterns, cast his gaze on the powder kegs secured to the butt of the mizzenmast as Bradford jammed the final fuse into the top of one.

  “Yes, sir. I believe all is ready here. And we have already finished at the mainmast.” I shot a glance at Bradford who nodded at me as he stuck his knife back into his belt.

  “Then move your men to the rail at the ketch.” He looked at me, for the first time, I think. “Great God above, Oliver. What has happened to you? Did Wakefield have a look at you?”

  “Oh, no, sir. It’s quite all right. I am unharmed, I think. The blood is not mine!” This was becoming habit now. Everyone seemed concerned over my well being! I smiled in spite of myself, enjoying the attention and concern. The momentary humor in the situation eased my agitation some, also.

  “Very well, then. Leave one aboard to light the fuses and get yourself into the ketch.” Decatur’s concern over my health was short-lived indeed, and, having given his orders, he left without further comment. I did notice that the fire still burned in his gaze, and his focus and control over the entire situation seemed complete.

  By the time I reached the bulwark, most of our crew had embarked in Intrepid; a few sailors and Lieutenant Lawrence remained aboard Philadelphia. Each held a lit slow match, and I could see several glowing points of light forward giving testimony to work they had already accomplished.

  “Baldwin! Where’s Devon? He ain’t showed up yet. Don’t let ‘em blow the ship without him gettin’ off!” I recognized Thomas’s voice, and the concern it held, as he called up from the deck of the ketch.

  “I have not seen him since we boarded, Thomas. He must still be below!” I called back and ran to the hatch leading to the berth deck.

  “Judd! Judd Devon! Are you down there?” I shouted down the ladder. More fuses glowed in the dark up and down the length of the spar deck. I imagined I could even hear the sputtering of the powder-soaked cord! I called out again. “Judd Devon! The fuses are lit. If you’re down there, come up, man! The ship’s going to blow up!” My voice cracked, finishing my warning yell on a high note. There wasn’t time to be embarrassed. A fire, set with our combustibles near the stump of the foremast, had started to burn brightly, and I could see tendrils of flame crawling across the deck as the pitch in the seams was touched.

  “Just finishing up, here, Oliver. Be right along.” Judd’s voice floated up from the dark depths of the hole sounding as unconcerned and calm as ever he could.

  “Hurry, Judd! The ship’s took the flame forward and the fuses’re lit.” I threw one more warning back and hurried back to the bulwark where now, only Decatur and Lawrence stood. Fuses glowed brightly the length of Philadelphia’s deck, and the flames had earlier seen by the foremast now had spread to the fo’c’sle.

  “Get yourself down there, Mister Baldwin. We must cast off at once, afore those ashore smoke our game.” Lawrence took my arm and steered me toward the break in the bulwark.

  “Sir, Judd . . . Mister Devon’s still below. We must wait.” I realized after I spoke that I was out of my depth in my words, but still, I thought, perhaps neither knew of Devon’s absence.

  “He’ll be right along, I assure, you, Mister Baldwin. Now get yourself into the ketch!” Lawrence’s voice was tight with tension, whether at the missing midshipman or the rapidly increasing chance of discovery I knew not, but I obeyed.

  Then we were away, all hands, including Judd Devon, present and correct, lines cut and, with the breeze remaining nil, the sweeps were manned by anxious sailors who strained to put some water between the burning frigate and Intrepid. I realized there were still quite a number of powder casks and other combustibles on our deck and, as I felt the heat of the fire above us, thought of the devastation a single spark could create. Never in the history of naval warfare had a boat moved so slowly away!

  Then the shore batteries opened fire. They quite obviously knew not where to aim as all they could see were the flames now reaching the mainyard on Philadelphia; the frigate was between us and the shore and sheltered us in her final role as an American vessel. Gradually, the distance opened, and, seeing that we were safe, the men gave three lusty huzzahs at our good fortune. In return, we received the fire from the shore batteries, now given a target!

  Their aim was deplorable; only one ball found us, and that through the main t’gallant, touching neither spar nor line. Of greater and more immediate concern were the frigate’s own guns which, because of the way she swung to her cable, commanded the entrance through which we must pass. Each was loaded and, though carefully spiked by our crew, now discharged as the fire heated the barrel, sending a ball flying across the harbor with reckless and sudden abandon. Those manning the sweeps were once again invested with inspiration and turned to with a will; Intrepid moved quickly into a building breeze near the harbor’s mouth.

  “Look at that, Oliver. The way the firelight lights up the splashes from the shore guns. The spray fairly glows in the brilliance of the flames.” Judd, smiling broadly at our success and, I thought, his own survival, pointed over the ketch’s stern as the spray thrown up by the shot from not only the shore guns, but also those of the frigate, was brightly lit by the flames behind them.

  I still suffered from my trembling and was scarcely in the mood for Judd to wax poetic, thinking more on the narrowness of our escape. But I had to agree with him. “It is lovely to see, Judd. Especially as it’s behind . . .”

  BOOM! BOOM! Two thunderous explosions ripped through the night and sent flames and sparks into the darkness as high as the mainmast on Philadelphia. The men at the sweeps stopped pulling to look, and all hands stared open-mouthed at the spectacle astern as more explosions rent the night. In the light of the fires they created, we saw the mainmast—it might have been the mizzen—shoot straight up, burning like a rocket leaving a trail of sparks astern. We could hear the sizzle as it splashed into the sea alongside the now fully-engulfed ship. She was beautiful to behold; her lower gunports illuminated by the fire behind them, the windows in the stern castle equally bright, and the decks shooting yellow and orange flames skyward, the whole
wreathed in billowing and roiling white smoke which reflected the flames’ glow. Indeed, the ship had the appearance of the very gates of hell, at least the way I always had seen them pictured. I imagined Old Seth himself prowling the flaming decks of that inferno, gathering the souls of the unfortunates who, despite their dreams of paradise, would find a very different eternity!

  “Judd! Look there. The Philadelphia’s shore-side guns—they’re cooking off! And right into the fort, there. The old girl’s offering her own punishment to these barbarians! Look! You can see the shot landing in the walls by the light of the fires. I’d wager those rascals yonder must think we’re still aboard and shooting back at them!” Now that we were quite safe from harm, and with a spectacle unlike anything I had ever imagined before me, I forgot completely about my former misgivings and returned to my old self, my limbs once again still. The walls of the city, lit by the discharge of their own artillery, formed a splendid backdrop for the brilliance of the burning ship, and the dark, still-unruffled waters of the harbor reflected each light myriad times, adding to the spectacle.

  Safely out of range, Decatur let us remain where we lay to observe the vision of hell we had wrought. The breeze that would carry us back to Syren and, ultimately, to Sicily, was filling in.

  “Mister Anderson, you may fire the rocket now, if you please. I would say we have accomplished what we set out to,” Decatur called forward to the bosun who waited with the rocket we had brought to signal Syren of our success. With a whoosh it streamed straight upwards, leaving a short trail of sparks and exploding into a green star that hung for a second or two before burning out and falling back to the sea.

  “There she goes!” Somebody soon called out from the waist of our little warship. We watched as Philadelphia, her cables burned through, drifted lazily toward the shore. She stopped, aground, and continued to burn, the occasional explosion deep within her adding to the conflagration. Then, with a breathtaking suddenness, the whole of the ship exploded, sending burning pieces of herself into the sky as high as the city walls. “Magazine’s gone up,” I heard several voices near at hand explain. I felt a thump on my chest, almost like I had been punched, even before the pieces of the destroyed ship fell back into the waters of Tripoli Harbor.

  “Make sail, men. We’ve a breeze to carry us out!” Decatur was jubilant. Without seeing his face, I knew, as did every man aboard, that he was wreathed in smiles at our splendid success, and the honor and glory we had won.

  Syren waited for us beyond the breakwater and her men gave us three mighty huzzahs as we hove alongside. The breeze that had carried us out freshened and carried us all the way back to Sicily.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Twenty minutes? Impossible! I know we were there for an hour and more! We could’ve hardly fought those piratical rascals off the ship and set all the explosives and combustibles in even that time. But twenty minutes! I can not fathom why you would want to tell a tale like that! I was there, too, you may recall, Devon!” Thomas’s attack had been provoked by Judd’s quite accurate remark about the time we spent on the Philadelphia frigate. Judd ignored the outburst and continued.

  “And you know, James, we lost not a soul. I believe one man, a seaman, was injured, not badly, by one of the pirates, but I find it quite remarkable that we came through our first encounter with nary a single loss. And they lost twenty killed, I heard.” He looked at me, smiled, and added quietly, “Oliver got one by himself, you know.” James gasped, and I could feel his stare.

  That event had haunted me since we returned to Syren. I had barely smiled when we entered the harbor at Syracuse and every American vessel had cheered us as we passed. I had dreamt about it when I was able to sleep, and it still took very little to startle me. I knew James would clap on to that part of our boarding and bleed me for every detail. I was not ready for that yet. I thought the whole thing horrifying, still. I quickly changed the subject.

  “Judd,” I started before James, who had hung on our every word, even Thomas’s, could speak, “what do you suppose Mister Catalano said to those barbarians to make them allow us so close, even send us a line?” It was something I had thought on over the three days of our return to Syracuse, and, try as I might, I could imagine nothing that would answer.

  “Well, Oliver, I don’t happen to speak Maltese or Arabic or whatever it was he was jabbering in. But I asked Lawrence the exact question you just posed to me. The pilot told them we were a Maltese trader just come over from the island and had lost our anchor in the storm. Aye, the same one that blew us off station before we actually went in. Asked ‘em if we might tie up along side them over night so as to make the quay in the daylight. Pretty smart, you ask me, and I collect from what Lawrence told me, Decatur was the one concocted the tale! Lawrence also mentioned the pirates had noticed Syren out beyond the harbor and asked after her. Good thing Cap’n Stewart made her look more like a down and out merchant than a warship! Catalano told them she was a vessel called Transfer, one he knew the Tripolitans had just bought in Malta and which they expected to appear at any time. Told ‘em her master was waiting on daylight to make the harbor. Reckon Mister Catalano can think on his feet as well as pilot a ship!” Even Thomas was silent and smiling as Judd concluded his explanation. And James sat open-mouthed, thrilled by our tales, and still rankled that he had not been allowed to participate in what he called “our great adventure.”

  “Our first lieutenant also told me—and this since we got in—that the commodore was overjoyed with our success and was writing to the Secretary of the Navy forthwith.” Judd smiled broadly, then grew serious as he continued. “Cata-lano had told him that, based on the wind, tide and his skill, we could have cut out the ship and brought her successfully to sea, but Preble told him ‘Captain Decatur carried out my orders exactly, which as I recall, were quite specific on that very subject, sir.’ Reckon Mister Catalano won’t be offering much more advice and counsel to our commodore real soon.” Devon laughed at the lofty rebuke the Sicilian pilot had received.

  Then he lowered his voice and added, conspiratorially, “Later, it was only yesterday, I think, Lawrence mentioned to Morris—I happened to be close enough to overhear—that Decatur was some put out that he wasn’t allowed to bring the ship out. According to Lawrence, he was right sure he could have done it and saved the vessel from the torch. Reckon he puts a higher worth on following orders than seeking glory and honor. Or mayhaps he puts more faith in the pilot’s skills than did the commodore. ‘Course, as I recall, there wasn’t a breath o’ breeze when we took our leave from the frigate; likely woulda had a bit of difficulty sailing anywhere, let alone into glory and honor!”

  “Well, Judd,” I quite ignored his humorous remark, instead choosing to hear only his comment about Decatur’s desire for glory and honor. I started off before I had even thought out what I would say. “I think Captain Decatur puts a pretty high worth on ‘glory and honor’ as you say. That’s why he volunteered himself and his crew for the commission. And you heard your own self what he said when the quartermaster told him the men from Syren were unable to catch up outside the harbor.” I tried unsuccessfully to mimic the captain’s voice. “The fewer the number the greater the honor.’ If that doesn’t signify to you, I reckon I’m not likely to change your mind.” I was quite sure I knew what had been in the mind of our commander throughout our mission and before.

  “Sometimes, Oliver, just when I think you’re close to becoming a man you say something like that and prove yet again you’re still a boy—and think like one.” Judd’s expression matched his tone, and I recoiled some in surprise at the harshness of both. “What do you think this whole situation, the pirates, the capture of our frigate, the tribute our country, along with a large number of other nations, has been paying to those pashas for years, our very presence here in the Mediterranean is about? Honor, that’s what! Our honor as a country, a nation. Our honor as men, and the honor of trading where we want and with whom we want. And if glory is gained in
the pursuit of that honor, then so be it. But make no mistake, honor, our nation’s and, indeed, our Navy’s and, yes, our own as well, is very much what this is about. And do not forget, young sir, that you gained some honor and glory your own self in this business.” Judd fairly spat out this last, especially the “young sir.”

  I sat stunned and quite speechless at the venom he directed at me, as did my colleagues. James’s mouth hung agape, his eyes big as round shot, and he seemed to shy further away from the senior of us. Thomas displayed a tight smile, and I could only imagine what he thought. Likely grateful that I was the target of this broadside instead of him!

  “I’m . . . uh . . . I. . .” I stammered as I searched for words that might undo the damage I had done. “Judd, you . . . uh . . . that is, I . . . didn’t mean to sound like the captain is . . . uh . . . seeking glory or honor. I just meant that . . . well, it seems like glory just attaches itself to him whenever he does some grand thing. And I certainly can not find fault with acting out of honor, either, but . . . well, I reckon they do kind of go hand in hand, don’t they?” I watched Judd’s face to see if I had helped myself any. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thomas grinning broadly at my predicament.

  “You will learn, Oliver, that there are those of us who take this business seriously, very seriously indeed, and will do, or undertake to do, whatever appears necessary to accomplish our country’s goal. Very often, success in such an undertaking brings with it a dollop of glory, but usually, that is in the eyes of the beholder. Honor, however, comes from ourselves, our actions, and endeavors. And I can tell you, without a shred of doubt, that Decatur and all of us who sailed with him against those rascals will continue to receive glory from our efforts as long as people talk about it. And yes, the honor that goes along with it! And you should be grateful for it; it is not usual that a young midshipman on his first cruise is given the opportunity to bask in real honor, real glory.” Judd stopped and looked at James pointedly. Then he looked at Thomas and said, “After all, on Thomas’s first cruise, he never even left the Chesapeake Bay!” When Judd looked back at me and winked, I knew he was no longer angry with me for what I had said.