Read Ebook: Decatur and Somers by Seawell Molly Elliot Davidson Julian Oliver Illustrator Gibbs George Illustrator Schell Frank Cresson Illustrator Smith W Granville Walter Granville Illustrator

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DECATUR AND SOMERS

M. ELLIOT SEAWELL

Illustrated

Third Edition

New York D. Appleton and Company 1896

DECATUR AND SOMERS.

The blue and beautiful Delaware Bay, bathed in a faint haze, looked its loveliest, one evening about sunset, in June, 1798. The sky above was clear, and, although there was no moon, the stars were coming out brilliantly in the sky, that was of a darker blue than the water. The sun had gone down, but the west was rosy yet. The green, low-lying country around looked ineffably peaceful, and the only sound that broke the charmed silence was the rattling of the capstan as a noble frigate, lying in the stream, hove up her anchor.

Although the brief, enchanted twilight was over all the earth and sea, the graceful outlines of this lovely frigate were clearly defined against the opaline sky. She was stoutly sparred, but in such exquisite proportions that from her rail up she had the delicate beauty of a yacht. But one look at her lofty hull, and the menacing armament she carried showed that she could take care of herself in a fight, as well as run away when she had enough of it. Every rope and every spar was "ship-shape and Bristol fashion." Her bright work shone like gold, and the rows of glistening hammocks in the nettings were as white as snow. Everything about her was painted an immaculate white, except the hull, which was a polished black. A gorgeous figure-head ornamented her keen bows, and across her stern, in great gold letters, was her name--United States. Such, indeed, was her official name, but from the day she had first kissed the water she had been nicknamed "Old Wagoner," because of the steadiness with which she traveled. Other vessels might be delayed by vexing calms, but "Old Wagoner" was pretty sure to strike a favoring breeze that seemed specially reserved for her. And when old Boreas was in a rage, it was in vain that he poured out all the fury of his tempests upon her. She could go through a roaring gale like a stormy petrel, and come out of it without losing a sail or a spar.

A little way off from "Old Wagoner" lay a trim and handsome little sloop-of-war carrying twenty guns--the Delaware--a fit companion for the great frigate. On both ships were indications of speedy departure, and all the orderly bustle that accompanies making sail on a ship of war. The boats were all hoisted in except the first cutter, and that was being pulled rapidly through the fast-darkening water. In it was a very young lieutenant, who was afterward to distinguish himself as Commodore Stewart, and two young midshipmen, just joined, and each of the three was destined to add something to the reputation that "Old Wagoner" gained in after-years, of having been a nursery of naval heroes.

Both of these young midshipmen were about eighteen. One of them--Decatur--looked older, from his height and strength, as well as from his easy and confident address. The other one--Somers--seemed younger, because of a singularly quiet and diffident manner. The lieutenant, in the stern-sheets, engaged in steering the cutter through the mist upon the water without colliding with any of the fishing smacks with which the bay was dotted, yet found time to ask some questions of the young midshipmen, with whom he had long been well acquainted.

"I think you two have always been together, have you not?" he asked, keeping meanwhile a bright lookout.

"Yes," answered Decatur, showing his white teeth in a smile. "We have been together ever since we were born, it seems to me. We both remember you when we were at school in Philadelphia, although you were so much older than we."

"I recollect you both perfectly," answered Stewart, "although you were such little fellows. Somers was the quietest fellow in the school, and you, Decatur, were the noisiest."

"I believe you," said Decatur, laughing. "I could have gone with my father on the Delaware," pointing to the smart little sloop-of-war, "but I could not think of leaving Somers alone to fight it out in the steerage of the United States all by himself."

At this Somers turned his eyes on Stewart, with a laugh in them. They were very black and soft, and full of humor, although Somers neither laughed nor talked much.

"Don't mind Decatur, Mr. Stewart," he said. "Captain Decatur didn't want him on the Delaware."

"I should think not," replied Stewart. "I can't imagine anything more uncomfortable than for a captain to have his own son among the junior officers. Captains, you know, have to understand what to see and what not to see. But a captain with his own son in the steerage would have to see everything."

"Just what my father said," added Decatur; "and, besides, he really did tell me he would like to keep Somers and me together for our first cruise, because Somers is such a steady old coach that he is fit to be the guardian of every midshipman in the navy."

"I wish there were more like him, then," said Stewart, with rather a grim smile, remembering what a larky set of youngsters the steerage of "Old Wagoner" harbored. "Let me give you each one piece of advice," he added, as they drew close to the frigate's great black hull, that loomed up darkly in the uncertain haze. "Decatur, do you be careful what you say to your messmates--Somers, do you be careful what you allow your messmates to say to you. Decatur will be too quick to take the other midshipmen up, and you, Somers, will be too slow."

"Thank you, sir," said both Somers and Decatur together, who appreciated Stewart's few words of caution.

Just then the band on the poop of "Old Wagoner" burst into "The Girl I Left Behind Me." The music rang over the darkening water with a charming sound, and the capstan rattled around at the liveliest possible rate, while the men worked, inspired by the melody. The boat was quickly brought alongside, and, just as Stewart and the two young midshipmen stepped on board, the officer of the deck called out the quick order: "Strike the bell eight! Call the watch!"

The boatswain, with his mates, had been standing ready, and as soon as eight bells struck he piped up "Attention!" and was answered by all his mates in quick succession. Then he blew a musical winding call, ending suddenly by singing out, in a rich bass, "All the watch!" This, too, was answered, every voice deeper than the other, and then the watch came tumbling up the hatchways. The wheel and chain were relieved, the officer of the deck perceived his own relief coming, and put on a cheerful smile. While all the busy commotion of relieving the watch was going on, Decatur and Somers were paying their respects to Commodore Barry, who commanded the ship--an old Revolutionary officer, handsome and seamanlike, who gloried in his beautiful ship, and was every inch a sailor.

The wind had been stealing up for some little time, and as soon as the anchor was lifted, "Old Wagoner" shook out all her plain sails and shaped her course for the open sea.

Decatur and Somers, on going below, were introduced to their messmates, Bainbridge, Spence, and others, and were shown where to sling their hammocks. Decatur directed everything in their joint arrangements, Somers quietly acquiescing--so much so that he overheard one of the midshipmen say knowingly to the others, "I think our new messmate is the sort of fellow who likes to be under the lee of the mizzenmast better than any other place on deck." Somers did not quite take in that he was referred to, and went on very calmly stowing his traps away. Decatur did not hear the remark.

Dinner was served promptly in the steerage, and by that time "Old Wagoner" was dashing along in great style, with every sail drawing like a windlass.

Decatur, with his dashing manner, his fine figure, and his ready laugh, became instantly popular. Somers's quietness was not very well understood, and before the day was out, Decatur was asked with the frankness of the steerage, if "Somers wasn't a little--er--rather a milksop?"

"You think so?" answered Decatur, with a grin. "Very well. I've known Somers ever since I was born. We went to our first school together--and our last--and I tell you, for your own good, that you had better mind your p's and q's with that sort of a milksop."

Everything progressed very pleasantly for the first day or two, but it was impossible that two new arrivals in the steerage could escape the "running" which, according to the code prevailing then, makes a man of a midshipman. Decatur achieved an instant popularity, so that the pranks played on him were comparatively mild, and were taken with laughing good nature. Somers was also amiable enough in regard to his "running." In fact he was too amiable, for his messmates rather resented his want of spirit, as they mistakenly supposed. Therefore it was that, three times in one day, Somers was told that he was "too fond of the lee of the mizzenmast."

"That means," said Somers quietly, and looking the youngster in the face who last made the remark, "that you think I haven't much spunk? Very well. We shall both be off duty until to-night. Couldn't we go to some quiet place in the hold where we could have it out?"

"Fighting is strictly prohibited on board ship," sung out Bainbridge, one of the older midshipmen, in a sarcastic voice.

"Just what I think," said Somers; "and as I hate fighting, I want to get through with all I shall have to do in that way in as short a time as possible; so I will settle with two other young gentlemen to-day against whom I have an account. Then, if I get my eye blacked, I will only have one hauling over the coals for three scrimmages."

"You don't mean to fight three fellows in one day?" asked Bainbridge in surprise.

"Yes," answered Somers nonchalantly.--"Decatur, you settle the particulars," and he walked off, as composed as ever.

As these little affairs were conducted strictly according to the code, they were arranged in a very business like manner. Fair play was the watchword, and all the midshipmen who were off duty assembled to see the fun. When Somers had knocked the wind out of his first adversary and brought him to apologize, it was proposed that the other affairs should be postponed; but Somers, being in for it, and the exercise rather warming his blood, invited his persecutor Number Two to "come on." He came on, with disastrous results in the way of a good, wholesome pounding and a swelled nose. The third encounter following, Decatur begged Somers to be allowed to take his place.

"Why, I'm like Paul Jones!" cried Somers, laughing, as he sponged off his neck and head. "I haven't begun to fight yet."

True it was that Somers was then perfectly able to do up Number Three in fine style. As he stood astride over his opponent, who frankly acknowledged himself whipped, a mighty cheer went up from the surrounding audience of midshipmen, and every one of them, including his late opponents, came forward to shake Somers's hand. The noise of the cheer penetrated from the hold up to the wardroom, where some of the lieutenants were sitting around. Stewart smiled significantly.

"I think I know what that means," he said. "The fellows have been running a rig on Somers, and I predict he has come out ahead. That fellow has an indomitable spirit under that quiet outside."

Some hours afterward, when Somers had to report on deck, he bore unmistakable marks of his encounters. His nose was considerably larger than usual, one eye had a black patch over it, and there was a bit of skin missing from his chin.

Stewart, looking at him attentively, could scarcely keep his face straight as he remarked:

"Falling down the ladder, I presume, Mr. Somers, from your appearance. You should be careful, though, not to fall down too often."

"Yes, sir, I did fall down," answered Somers, very diplomatically, without mentioning that, when he fell, a messmate was on top of him.

That day's work established Somers's popularity in the steerage, and the three midshipmen whom he had pommeled became his staunch friends. "And I'll tell you what," he announced, "this is the last fighting I'll do while I am in this mess. You fellows may walk over me if you like, before I will take the trouble to lick any more of you."

But nobody walked over him after that.

Decatur gave immediate promise of brilliancy as a seaman; but Somers was not far behind, and his uncommon steadiness recommended him highly to the lieutenants. Stewart, dining one night in the cabin with the commodore, was giving his impressions of the junior officers to the commander, who wished to appoint a master's mate of the hold--a place always given to the most reliable and best informed of the midshipmen.

"They are all as fine a lot of youngsters, sir, as I ever saw. That young Decatur is a remarkable fellow. He finds out more than any of the rest, because he never has to ask the same thing twice. Before he had been on board a week he knew every rope and where each is belayed; and the clever youngster writes with a pencil, behind the rail, everything he is told. There's a very good manual of seamanship written under the starboard rail, and Decatur and Somers may be seen every day, when they are not on duty, putting their heads together and studying it out."

"And how about young Somers?" asked the commodore.

"Somers is the only one who rivals Decatur, and I must say I consider him the best-balanced young fellow of his age I ever knew. His messmates have nicknamed him 'Old Reliable.' He is not so brilliant a boy as Decatur, but he is steady to the utmost degree. Nothing flusters him. He is never too early, and never too late; he goes on his way quietly, and I do not think he has had a reproof since he has been on board. And he evidently studied seamanship thoroughly before he was commissioned--just what I should expect of such a long-headed fellow."

"Then Somers shall be master's mate of the hold," said the commodore, decisively.

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