All eyes on the deck of United States were turned to Captain Decatur. He snapped his glass shut and grinned in a manner that would not have been agreeable for the captain of Africa to contemplate.
"If she was a seventy-four, I'd want another forty-four with us. But a sixty-four built before our Revolution ended-it's worth chancing. The British may already be afraid to let their frigates go out after dark alone. If they have to guard their smaller two-deckers the same way…»
None of us needed telling that His Majesty's Navy would thereafter, and therefore, find maintaining a blockade rather harder than they might wish. Too many ships of force in American waters could allow the French out of every port from Venice to the last time that situation was dangerous for the British ship of the line?"
"Then let us respectfully persuade him that we are not French or Dons," Decatur said, ordering the starboard broadside to open fire.
Our respectful persuasion took the form of fifteen twenty-four-pound round shot, flung all at once straight at Africa. I only wish we could have equaled the range with a double-shotted broadside, as we struck fair and hard.
Her jib boom vanished, the fore course suddenly took the appearance of a nutmeg grater, her bowsprit was in worse case than ours. Enough shrouds and stays parted to make the foremast quiver majestically, then sway like Cousin Edward's old mare in her last days.
A handful of men scrambled into the fore rigging, doubtless to at least take in the fore course. We also saw Africa yawing to port, clearly hoping to open her broadside and at the same time increase her chances of crossing our stern to rake.
Having failed to terrify the "fir-built American frigate" and her crew of bastards into scuttling off like a whipped dog, Africa's captain was clearly prepared to make a proper fight of it. We thought he might have left the decision a trifle late.
However, Captain Decatur threw the fore topsail aback, so that we would not pass out of range of Africa, and likewise put the helm over so that our guns bore through three more broadsides. We could have fired faster, with all hands not tending sail helping the gun crews, but Decatur wished to fire on the upward roll. Once most of our shot went high, but twice they came down with notable effect on Africa's sails and rigging. We all prayed silently to see a mast go by the board, but the worst was the mizzen topsail yard sagging in its slings. Again, Africa's top men went swiftly to work.
"They're making better practice at repairs than I heard of aboard Guerriere," Decatur remarked.
"The Africa doesn't have Constitution's broadsides coming aboard every two minutes," Allen said.
The two officers exchanged looks. Before they could say anything, Africa's first full broadside came at us. Amid the clouds of spray and smoke, half a dozen shot came aboard and one ball bounced off our hull just below the main chains.
"Huzza!" Decatur shouted. "We've the same iron sides as Constitution! Now let's put Africa's to the proof."
Lieutenant Allen's face split in a vast smile. He had a very delicate sense of honor, and this long-range dueling could not have been entirely to his taste. I would not say that he would have yielded the battle rather than win it at long range, but clearly a stand-up fight was more to his liking.
Decatur would hardly care to turn our stern to be raked, so the helm went over again and we bore off to the NW, opening the range slightly while keeping up a fire from each main deck gun as it bore. Africa also reduced her fire to single guns, and altogether for the next fifteen minutes neither of us did more than disturb the sleep of the fishes. However, we were double-shotting the forty-two-pound carronades on the spar deck and I presumed that Africa might well be doing the same.
During that time we were both also maneuvering to rake. This was an exercise in which a lighter frigate (or a faster one, like President) might have quickly gained an advantage. United States was as stout as Africa, but only a trifle faster or handier. Captain Decatur left the helm orders to Lieutenant Allen, the guns being for now in the skilled hands of the junior officers, and studied Africa so intently that he might have been a silversmith like Paul Revere examining a newly cast tankard for flaws.
Several times during this study he moved forward or aft. Moving, he looked more like a hound casting for the scent. At last he bounded up on to the quarterdeck, snapped his glass shut, and ordered us laid close under Africa's lee charge of grapeshot to the spar deck, and not linger.
"You'll never be a gunner, Mr. Parker, but you'll be an honest purser and that's worth three midshipmen any day of the week."
"Aye," someone said. "And four and a lieutenant on payday."
Just then I heard the fearful crash of our entire port broadside, discharged as it was at a range of no more than fifty yards into Africa's lee side. Every gun was double-shotted, some of the round shot struck between wind and water as the Englishman heeled toward us, and more than one triple charge of grape swept her waist.
I staggered on deck, carrying my burden, but the carronade's crew had already reloaded with a ready shot. In the minute before someone took my charge of grape, Africa replied with a full broadside, then we fired again and the breech of the recoiling carronnade nearly broke my thigh for standing too close. Smoke swallowed both friend and foe; someone I hoped was a friend reached out of the smoke and unburdened me, then I heard a fearful squealing and cracking of wood as the two ships crashed together.
A score of Englishmen plummeted on to our decks, whether shaken from the rigging or trying to board I do not know. Most were slow to get to their feet, and our gun crews were quick to wield rammer, handspike, bucket, and cutlass. Then the two ships ground alongside one another, with still more squealing and the Marines on both sides firing over the heads of the sailors-a mere hair's breadth over, in my case at least.
I saw an Englishman's face appear in a gun port, above a gun muzzle. Another bullet shrieked past my ear, the Englishman's face disappeared, I turned to see Captain Decatur drawing his second pistol, then my gun threw its load of grape straight through the port. It cut a swath clear across the upper gundeck. Suddenly a twelve-pounder was loose, breechings shot away, rolling over the screaming wounded.
I leaped back again as a British shot made my gun ring like a bell and took off the handspike man's right leg. I knelt to put a tourniquet on him and found nothing to make it save the breeches of an Englishman who had no further need of earthly garments. Then more fearful crackling, as Africa's mainmast and our foremast came down almost in the same moment.
We were luckier than the British. Our foremast fell to starboard and leaning aft. Axemen, led by Captain Decatur himself in his shirtsleeves, ran to cut it away. The wreckage shattered railings and the captain's gig as it went overboard, but it was clear and we were able to maneuver again before Africa had well begun her clearing away.