The batteries on shore returned the fire, and the gunboats of the Bashaw
advanced to the attack. On these the fleet now turned its fire, sweeping
their decks with grape and canister shot. Decatur, with three gunboats,
advanced on the eastern division of the Moorish gunboats, nine in all.

Decatur, you will see, was outnumbered three to one, but he did not stop
for odds like that. He dashed boldly in, laid his vessel alongside the
nearest gunboat of the enemy, poured in a volley, and gave the order to
board. In an instant the Americans were over the bulwarks and on the
foe.

The contest was short and sharp. The captain of the Tripolitans fell
dead. Most of his officers were wounded. The men, overcome by the fierce
attack, soon threw down their arms and begged for quarter. Decatur
secured them below decks and started for the next gunboat.

On his way he was hailed from one of his own boats, which had been
commanded by his brother James. The men told him that his brother had
captured one of the gunboats of the enemy, but, on going on board after
her flag had fallen, he had been shot dead by the treacherous commander.
The murderer had then driven the Americans back and carried his boat out
of the fight.

On hearing this sad news, Decatur was filled with grief and rage. Bent
on revenge, he turned his boat's prow and swiftly sped towards the
craft of the assassin. The instant the two boats came together the
furious Decatur sprang upon the deck of the enemy. At his back came
Lieutenant McDonough and nine sturdy sailors. Nearly forty of the Moors
faced them, at their head a man of gigantic size, his face half covered
with a thick black beard, a scarlet cap on his head, the true type of a
pirate captain.

Sure that this was his brother's murderer, Decatur rushed fiercely at
the giant Moor. The latter thrust at him with a heavy boarding pike.
Decatur parried the blow, and made a fierce stroke at the weapon, hoping
to cut off its point.

He failed in this and his cutlass broke off at the hilt, leaving him
with empty hands. With a lusty yell the Moor thrust again. Decatur bent
aside, so that he received only a slight wound. Then he seized the
weapon, wrested it from the hands of the Moor, and thrust fiercely at
him.

In an instant more the two enemies had clinched in a wrestle for life
and death, and fell struggling to the deck. While they lay there, one
of the Tripolitan officers raised his scimitar and aimed a deadly