At last came the 3d of August,--a day ever memorable in the annals of our naval history. There was a light breeze blowing from the southeast as the squadron stood in slowly for the town, whose white walls, surmounted by glistening mosques and minarets, and surrounded by gardens and groves of palms, seemed to the Americans like some fabled city of old myths, which they were always approaching and which never could be reached. There is no fable about it on this day, however. Within these walls are three hundred of their companions confined in prison by a barbarian despot who calls himself a Pasha, but who is little better than the leader of a gang of pirates. His hundred cannon are frowning from the walls, his batteries are manned, and his fleet of galleys is drawn up in battle order outside the bristling line of rocks that covers the entrance of the harbor. They are there to have a fight, and the commodore is not a man to balk them in their purpose. The fleet is now advancing, the bombs and gunboats still in tow. Presently the ships wear, with their heads off shore. The Pasha, on the battlements of his castle, surrounded by his courtiers, is watching the movements of the Americans, and says to his officers, "They will mark their distance for tacking; they are a sort of Jews, who have no notion of fighting." But he is going to find out before night. The ships are now passing within hail of the commodore, and each captain is receiving his final orders for the attack. Officers and men are transferred from the larger vessels to the gunboats. The latter are arranged in two divisions,--the first under Somers, the second under Decatur. There are only six of them in all, and they are to attack nineteen of the enemy, while the mortar-boats shell the town, and the "Constitution" and her attendant brigs and schooners deliver their broadsides at the batteries. At half-past one in the afternoon, the ships, wearing in succession, are headed for the batteries. As they approach silently and steadily, the bombs and gunboats are cast off. The batteries give no sign of life, there is no sound to break the stillness of the clear midsummer afternoon; and looking at the picture as the sun shines peacefully from the bright blue sky upon the white city walls, and the ships under their clouds of canvas, and the sparkling waters, one can hardly fancy that in a few moments it will be transformed into a scene of mortal combat. At length the bombs have taken their position and come to anchor, and the signal for battle is displayed at the mast-head of the "Constitution." Each of the mortars flings out a little curling puff of smoke. An instant later, with a deafening din and uproar, all the guns in the squadron and in the batteries on shore, as if directed by one man, have opened fire with their heavy round shot. The gunboats, led by Decatur and Somers, dash out against the enemy, and soon they are lost to view beneath the smoke of battle.