Tag: Marine Corps

On A Sneak Attack

The American warship, the frigate USS Philadelphia, lay in harbor in the north African town of Tripoli. The year was 1804, and the young nation of the United States was still feeling her way in international relations. The Mediterranean coast of Africa was awash in pirating, and the US, wanting to expand trade to the lucrative markets of the Italian peninsula and on to the Turkish coasts, was taking a serious hit to their shipping. What we today call the Barbary Pirates were taking American cargoes and the ships that carried them. President Thomas Jefferson ordered American frigates like the Philadelphia into African waters to stop this pirating threat.

What no one in the harbor–and certainly no one onboard the Philadelphia–knew was that a band of saboteurs had plans to destroy the warship as it rested at anchor there. According to the story, about 80 men disguised their boat with a square sail that mimicked local ships. They chose for their attack a night when the moon was new. No one seemed to notice much as the disguised vessel drew alongside the Philadelphia. In Arabic, one of the men on the ship asked if they could tie up to the American warship because they had lost their anchor. Permission was granted for them to do so.

Suddenly, a loud order was given, and about 60 of the men jumped onboard the Philadelphia. Within ten minutes, the ship was seized. The attackers had lost no casualties in the short skirmish. Now, the intent was for the marauders to sail the American ship out to sea and, in effect, steal it. But the ship was soon discovered to not be seaworthy. As a last resort, in order for the enemy to not be able to use it, the commander of the attackers ordered that the ship be burned. They put incendiary devices all around the large ship, and they set it ablaze. The commander then ordered all the attackers to return to their boat.

As the Philadelphia began to burn, the gunpowder began to ignite as well. Explosions rocked the harbor. In the confusion and fear caused by the burning vessel, the attackers were able to barely escape and made their way to the open sea, their mission happily accomplished. The fact that this feat could be accomplished without a single loss of life was amazing. This commander was lauded for his audacity and bravery. None less than British Admiral Lord Nelson is reported to have called the raid, “The most bold and daring act of the age.” Even the Pope at the time commented on how daring and bold the attack was.

It might surprise you to learn that, when the news of the destruction of the Philadelphia reached the United States, there was great rejoicing. Yes, this act was lauded by both press and public. And it might further surprise you to learn that the leader of this daring raid was actually an American naval captain named Stephen Decatur. And the party Decatur led was made up mostly of United States Marines. You see, the Philadelphia had been captured by the pirates, and Decatur had orders to take it back or, if that were not possible, to destroy it so the Barbary Pirates couldn’t use it.

And so he did.

That’s also why, in the Marine Corps Hymn, they sing, “From the Halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli…”

On a Good Marine

Richard entered the United States Marine Corps in 1927. The period between World War I and World War 2 were obviously relatively quiet, but Richard served with distinction for a decade in the Marines, first at the Marine Barracks at Quantico before finishing his service at Parris Island in the recruit depot there. As with most Marines, Richard entered as a private, but his excellent service record and his deportment saw him promoted to he rank of Sergeant Major by 1937 and the end of his career.

Interestingly, Richard had a visage that looked tough and mean—which was perfect for the Marines. Some people said that he looked like something off a recruiting poster. Yet, those who knew him well later said that his manner was actually quite mild and that he had a sweet disposition.

A look at his service record shows that he had two incidents in his decade of service that might make someone question Richard’s judgement. The first incident was that he was accused of assaulting an ice man, and the second was that a stenographer said he made her feel uncomfortable by “chasing her” down a hallway. Neither person brought charges against him, so both situations were put down as one’s word against the other ones. Still, not a bad record for 10 years of service.

Once, the British Royal Marines sent a private from their ranks to be trained by the US Marines as a goodwill gesture, and it was suggested by his superiors that Richard be made this Limey’s caretaker, to show him the ropes of how the American Marines did things. Richard assumed this role eagerly, and he took this English Private Pagett under his wing. The two became fast friends, even though Private Padgett’s demeanor was the exact opposite of Richard’s. The pair—one American marine and one British—became inseparable; they shared quarters, ate together, and where you saw one, you usually saw the other. Sadly, Padgett one day become overexerted and suffered heat exhaustion; he died while on duty in the United States. Richard seemed to take this loss hard; he was not the same after that for some time, many people said.

Richard, too, died while in the service. His heart gave out one day, and he was found to have died in his sleep. Many in the corps were crushed by this news. That’s how many people were touched by his life and his years of quiet service. Richard was buried at Quantico with full military honors.

You will be surprised to learn that he was only 11 years old when he died.

His full name was Silent White Richard, but the Marines knew him and loved him as the English Bulldog, Jiggs, the Marine Corps mascot.