t best, and there was no
shelter from the fury and the cold of the storm. The sailors slept on
the hard deck, nibbled what little ship bread was not water-soaked,--
for they had lost all their bacon,--and caught rain water to drink.
In cold, hunger, and wet, these men, like true American sailors, sang
their songs, cracked their jokes, and kept up their courage.

After a week, the fury of the storm abated, the bright sunshine
brought comfort, and the two vessels set sail for Tripoli.

As they drew near the coast, towards evening, the wind was so light
that the Siren was almost becalmed. The Intrepid, however, met a
light breeze, which sped her toward the rocky harbor.

Decatur saw that his best hope now was to make a bold dash, without
waiting for the brig.

"Never mind, boys," he said, "the fewer the number, the greater the
glory. Keep your heads level; obey orders every time; and do your
duty."

About sunset, the ketch with her alert crew came in sight of the
white-walled city. They could see the chain of forts and the frowning
castle. The tall black hull and the shining masts of the Philadelphia
stood out boldly against the bright blue African sky. Two huge
men-of-war and a score of gunboats were moored near her. {164} The
harbor was like a giant cavern, at the back of which lay the
Philadelphia, manned by pirates armed to the teeth, who were waiting
for an attack from the dreaded Americans.

Into these jaws of death, Decatur boldly steered his little craft.
The breeze was still fresh. It would never do to take in sail, for
the ever-watchful pirates would think it strange. So spare sails and
buckets were towed astern to act as a drag, for fear they should
reach their goal too early.

The men now hid themselves by lying flat upon the deck, behind the
bulwarks, the rails, and the masts. Only a few persons, dressed like
Maltese sailors, could be seen. Decatur stood calmly at the wheel by
the side of Catalano, the pilot.

"We lay packed closer than sardines in a box, and were still as so
many dead men," said one of the men long afterwards to his
grandchildren.

About nine o'clock the moon rose, and by its clear light the ketch
was steered straight across the blue waters for the bows of the
Philadelphia.

"Vessel ahoy! What vessel is that?" shouted an officer of the
frigate, as the Intrepid boldly came nearer.

Decatur whispered to his pilot.

"This is the ketch Stella, from Malta," shouted Catalano, in It