It was almost beyond belief that such carnage and complete destruction
could have taken place in a time so short. But a small proportion
of the crew had escaped. The wounded and dying lay everywhere, the
berth-deck was crowded, and there were not enough of the living to
minister to their comrades. H. M. S. _Frolic_ was a charnel-ship.
The _Wasp’s_ crew brought on board all their blankets, and the American
surgeon’s mate was soon busy attending to the wounded.
With great difficulty the two vessels were separated, for the _Frolic_
had locked her antagonist, as it were, in a dying embrace; and no
sooner were they clear than both of the prize’s masts fell (one
bringing down the other), covering the dead and wounded, and hampering
all the efforts of Lieutenant Biddle and his crew to clear the decks.
All this time three great white topsails had been pushing up above the
horizon, and soon it was made out that a large ship of some kind was
bearing down, carrying all the canvas she safely could in the sharp
blow.
Jones, thinking that it might be one of the convoy returning to seek
the _Frolic_, called his tired crew to quarters, instructing Lieutenant
Biddle to fit a jury rig and to make with his charge for some Southern
port. It was not to be, however, and the gallant victory was to have a
different termination.
The lookout on the foremast called down something that changed the
complexion of matters entirely.
“A seventy-four carrying the English flag!” he shouted. That was all.
The men at the _Wasp’s_ guns put out their matches. There was nothing
to do but wait and be taken. Any resistance would be worse than foolish.
As the great battle-ship came bowling along she passed so close that
the faces could be seen looking through her three tiers of great open
ports. She disdained to hail, fired one gun over the little _Wasp_,
and swept on. Captain Jones hauled down his flag, and read the word
_Poictiers_ under the Britisher’s galleries. In a minute or two the
latter retook the _Frolic_, and, lowering her boats, placed prize crews
on board both her and the Yankee sloop. After some repairing, she set
sail and carried her captives to Bermuda.
As in all the separate engagements of the time, comparisons were made
between the armaments and crews of the fighters, and the press of Great
Britain and America began the customary argument. Probably the _Wasp_
had a few more men, but to quote:
“The _Frolic_ mounted sixteen 32-pound carronades, four 12-pounders on
the main-deck and two 12-pound carronades. She was, therefore, superior
to the _Wasp_ by exactly four 12-pounders. The number of men on board,
as stated by the officers of the _Frolic_, was 110. The number of
seamen on the _Wasp_ was 102. But it could not be ascertained whether
in this 110 were included marines and officers, for the _Wasp_ had,
besides her 102 seamen, officers and marines, making the whole crew
about 135. What, however, is decisive as to their comparative force is
that the officers of the _Frolic_ acknowledged that they had as many
men as they knew what to do with, and, in fact, the _Wasp_ could have
spared fifteen men.... The exact number of killed and wounded on board
the _Frolic_ could not be determined, but from the observations of our
officers and the declarations of those of the _Frolic_ the number could
not be less than about thirty killed, including two officers, and of
the wounded between forty and fifty, the captain and lieutenant being
of the number. The _Wasp_ had five killed and five slightly wounded.”
Captain Jones in his report speaks of the bravery of his officers,
the gallantry of his adversary, Captain Whinyates, and makes little
mention of himself. Upon his exchange and return to the United States
he was received with every honor belonging to a victor, and the sum
of $25,000 was voted by Congress to be divided as prize money among
his crew. The _Wasp_ soon flew the British flag, but was lost at sea.
Strange to relate, this was also the fate of the second _Wasp_ that was
soon afloat in the American service, and that had a career which was
surpassed by none of the smaller vessels of the day.
IV
THE “UNITED STATES” AND THE “MACEDONIAN”
[October 25th, 1812]
[Illustration: MEDAL PRESENTED BY CONGRESS TO CAPTAIN STEPHEN DECATUR]
“Then quickly met our nation’s eyes
The noblest sight in nature--
A first-rate frigate as a prize
Brought home by brave Decatur.”
--_Old Song._
Eighty-four years ago, throughout the country, the name Decatur
was toasted at every table, was sung from the forecastle to the
drawing-room, from the way-side tavern to the stage of the city
playhouse. Today, written or spoken, it stands out like a watchword,
reminiscent of the days of brave gallantry and daring enterprise at sea.
Those writers who have been tempted by their Americanism and pride to
take up the navy as a field have repeated over and over again, more
than likely, everything that could be said about Stephen Decatur.
On his father’s side he was of French descent, as his name shows,
his grandfather being a native of La Rochelle in France, and his
grandmother an American lady from Rhode Island. He was named after his
father, Stephen Decatur, who was born at Newport, but who had at an
early age removed to Philadelphia, where he had married the beautiful
Miss Pine.
On the establishment of an American navy he was appointed to the
_Delaware_, sloop of war. This was after he had commanded one or two
merchant vessels and had proved himself a seaman. When the frigate
_Philadelphia_ was built by subscriptions of loyal-hearted merchants,
the command of her was tendered to the elder Decatur by the particular
request of the subscribers. The value of inheritance could not be shown
more strongly than by looking at the career of the son born to him on
the 5th of January, 1779. At the time of the birth of Stephen Decatur,
Jr., his parents were residing on the eastern shore of Maryland during
the days the British were in possession of the town of Philadelphia.
After the evacuation of that place they returned, and here their son
was educated with the idea of making a sailor of him from the very
first.
Young Decatur entered the navy in March, 1798, and joined the frigate
_United States_, commanded by Commodore John Barry, who, by-the-way,
was instrumental in securing the appointment for him. It was not long
before he was promoted to be a lieutenant, and made a cruise on the
Spanish Main on the brig _Norfolk_ during the war against the French
cruisers. Returning after the peace was concluded with France, he was
ordered to the _Essex_ as first lieutenant, and sailed with Commodore
Dale’s squadron to the Mediterranean. This trip he made twice more,
for on the return of that squadron he was ordered to the _New York_
under Commodore Morris, who took the same station. After a short stay
Decatur returned to the _United States_, and soon afterwards he was
given his first command, the brig _Argus_, and with her proceeded to
join Commodore Preble’s squadron, and was transferred to the command
of the schooner _Enterprise_, exchanging vessels with Lieutenant
Isaac Hull. The story of the capture and blowing up of the frigate
_Philadelphia_, which under Captain Bainbridge had run ashore and been
taken by the Tripolitans, has been described times without number.
There is not space to write about it here. It is a tale in itself. But
after the success of Decatur’s attempt, in which he overcame obstacles
apparently insurmountable, the eyes of the country were turned upon
him, and the great things that he afterwards accomplished were
predicted.
Decatur was one of those men whose courage and lofty spirit make it
impossible for them to remain spectators or mere directors of events
in which they are interested. It was necessary for him to be in the
midst of the fight, sword or pistol in hand, like a common seaman. The
story of his duel with the Turkish commander in the harbor of Tripoli,
where, with a sword broken at the hilt, he fought a hand-to-hand fight
and emerged victorious, gives a little insight into his character. Upon
his return to his country, after some short service he was appointed
to the command of the _Chesapeake_, succeeding Commodore Barron, who
had struck to the British frigate _Leopard_ in 1807. It was here that
the bad feeling between these officers that led to the tragic ending of
Decatur’s life began. As soon as the frigate _United States_ was put
in commission, Decatur was relieved of his command of the _Chesapeake_
(which, to tell the truth, he did not much relish), and thus found
himself, on the outbreak of the war with Great Britain, with plenty of
opportunities before him to add to his laurels.
In October of the year 1812 the frigate _United States_ was one of a
small squadron that was cruising not far from the island of Madeira. On
the twelfth day of the month she parted with the _President_, 44, and
later with the 16-gun brig _Argus_, both of which had sailed with her
from the port of Boston, all well officered, well manned, and eager to
meet the enemy. Bearing away southward into the paths of the British
West-Indiamen, Decatur, on the _United States_, hoped to intercept a
rich prize or two, or, better, if possible, to fall in with one of His
Majesty’s vessels, which were constantly hovering in that neighborhood.
Sharp lookouts were kept at the mast-head at all hours, and the crew
were spoiling for action.
Sunday morning, the 25th, dawned bright and clear. There was a stiff
breeze blowing, and the frigate was under easy canvas, steering a
course southeast by east. An observation showed her to be in latitude
29°, longitude 29° 30´ west. As soon as daylight was fairly broad, off
to windward, close to the horizon, the lookout descried a sail, and in
a few minutes it was discovered that the stranger was an English ship
of war carrying all but her lighter canvas. Quickly the _United States_
blossomed out from the topgallant yard to her main-course; and although
the breeze was strong, studding-sails were set, and, tossing the heavy
sea to left and right, she was soon hard upon the chase. The _United
States_ was a good sailer--all of our ships were in those days--and
long before seven o’clock it was seen that she was overhauling the
enemy rapidly. So great was the enthusiasm of her officers and men that
the cheers they gave were borne by the wind to the Englishman before a
single gun of the action had been fired. Through the glass it could be
seen that the enemy were at quarters. At nine in the morning Decatur
luffed a little, took in his lighter sails, and fired his gun-deck
battery; but the balls fell short. Both vessels were now on the same
tack, close on the wind, and Decatur found that it was impossible for
the _United States_ to gain the weather-gage.
Broadsides were exchanged as the distance was lessened, and for half
an hour the commanders continued firing, doing no vital damage.
Suddenly the enemy changed his course, squared his yards, and crossed
Decatur’s bows, letting drive his forward battery. Still the _United
States_ held on; and here the Englishman made a fatal error. It is
given by some authorities that Captain John Carden, the commander
of the _Macedonian_, supposed his opponent to be the _Essex_, which
only mounted carronades; therefore he commenced action at long-range.
It did not take long, however, to apprise him that he was out in his
reckoning, for although the distance was so great that carronades and
muskets were of no avail, almost every shot from the heavy metal of the
American struck its mark, despite the pitching cross-sea. Finding it
was too late to run, Captain Carden bravely bore down upon the _United
States_ to engage her at close quarters, as at the distance at which
the action had commenced he was being literally chopped to pieces. It
was reported that during the engagement, which then began in earnest,
so incessant were the broadsides of the American vessel the Englishman
supposed her to be on fire, and three or four times cheered in their
turn as the news ran through the ship; but they were soon undeceived.
The splendid gunnery of the Americans was apparent as the vessels
neared. The rigging and spars of the _Macedonian_ were riddled and cut,
many of her guns were dismounted, and in a few minutes her mizzen-mast
went by the board. Pitching to and fro, shrouded in the smoke which
blew towards her from the enemy’s guns, the _United States_ kept up
her destructive fire. For an instant the smoke cleared away, and there
hung the main-yard-arm of the English frigate in two pieces; her
main-topmast was gone, her fore-topmast was tottering, and no colors
were seen floating above her deck; her bowsprit was swaying to and
fro, held only by the jib-forestay, and sailing was impossible. She
ceased to gather headway, lurching and yawing to one side and the other
helplessly.
Strange to say, the _United States_ remained almost unhurt. Decatur
ceased his fire as he saw the enemy’s plight, furled his mizzen-topsail
(the mizzen-topmast being badly wounded), drew away, tacked, and came
under the lee of the English ship. She gave him a feeble broadside, and
Decatur luffed again across her bows. As he did so, Carden, perceiving
further resistance to be vain, hauled down his colors, which had again
been hoisted on a spar at the stump of the mizzen-mast.
Decatur, his face flushed with victory, hailed in person: “What ship is
that?”
“His Majesty’s frigate _Macedonian_, thirty-eight, John S. Carden,” was
the response.
Immediately a boat was lowered, and an officer was sent on board. In
the two hours of the engagement she had suffered terribly. Not less
than one hundred round-shot were counted in her hull, many of them
between wind and water. She had nothing standing but her main-mast
and fore-yard. Her boats were useless, with exception of one small
quarter-boat; and out of the officers and crew, three hundred in
number, thirty-six were killed and sixty-eight were wounded. The
American loss was five killed and six wounded.
The _Macedonian_ was but two years old, a fine vessel of her class,
rated thirty-eight, and carrying forty-nine guns--eighteen on her
gun-deck, and thirty-two-pound carronades above. The _United States_
was heavier and stronger, both in metal and men, it cannot be denied,
having a crew of four hundred and seventy-eight. But, even taking into
account the disparity in the weight of metal and the number of crew,
the action proved conclusively that American-built ships and American
seamen were to open the eyes of the world in conflicts on the sea.
Now comes the courtesy, the almost stilted politeness, that always
seems as if prepared especially for dramatic effect before translation
into history. As the brave Carden stepped upon the deck of the _United
States_ he proffered his sword to Decatur.
“No, sir,” exclaimed the latter, doffing his cocked hat, “I cannot
receive the sword of a man who has so bravely defended his ship; but,”
he added, smiling graciously, “I will receive your hand.”
As an honored guest, Decatur led the vanquished to his cabin, where
refreshments, to quote from another account of the affair, “were set
out and partaken of in a friendly spirit by the two commanders.”
Contrary to the opinion formed by the first inspection, Decatur found
his prize capable of being refitted, and he determined to bring her to
an American port. The _United States_ was speedily repaired. In charge
of Lieutenant Allen, who had made a jury-rigging for the _Macedonian_
turning her for the nonce into a bark, captor and captive set sail for
the United States. On the 4th of December his prize entered the harbor
of Newport, and it was upon this occasion that the old song was written
from which the stanza at the head of this article is taken.
Nothing could be more dramatic than the way the victory was announced
at Washington. Midshipman Hamilton, who was in the engagement with
Decatur, and served with signal bravery, was sent with the captured
flag of the _Macedonian_ to present it to his father, Paul Hamilton,
then Secretary of the Navy. He arrived in Washington on the evening of
the 8th of December. A ball was in progress, and the Secretary of the
Navy was present. The room was filled with beautiful women, with men
in all the color and glory of gold lace, epaulets, and side-arms, when
Hamilton entered. He carried the flag of the _Macedonian_ wrapped about
his shoulders. Instantly he was surrounded. The silk-stockinged dandies
caught him up on their shoulders, and it is even on record that,
strange to the customs of the times, dignity for once was cast aside,
and a cheer rang through the ballroom. In the possession of the author
is a letter (hitherto unpublished) written by Mrs. B. H. Latrobe,
grandmother of the ex-Mayor of Baltimore, to Mrs. Juliana Miller. It
gives such a graphic picture of the times that an extract from it
cannot fail of interest. The letter is dated Washington, December 14th,
and reads thus:
“The dulness of the city has, however, been removed in some degree
by a splendid entertainment on board the frigate _Constellation_.”
We were invited to be there at eleven, to pass the day. The vessel
lay about half a mile from the shore, and two very elegant barges
of twelve oars conveyed the company. This was the only unpleasant
part of the amusement, for the day proved extremely cold, and
a high wind was blowing. However, we all arrived safe about
twelve, and the deck was closed in with flags, awnings, etc., and
two stoves so effectually heated it as to make the temperature
delightful. The dancing soon commenced, and continued till three,
when the boatswain’s whistle called us to a magnificent dinner
below. The President and Mrs. Madison were seated at the end of a
very long table; but I cannot tell you all the company, and can
only say that the number was said to be five hundred. After dinner
the dancing commenced again, and continued till about six in the
evening, when the company broke up. On Tuesday a very splendid
ball was given to the navy officers Hull, Morris, Stewart, etc.
My husband could not be absent, as he holds an office in the Navy
Department, and I was not sorry we went, as it is not likely I
shall ever witness such another scene. At about five in the evening
my husband came home, and informed me that we must immediately
illuminate our house, as the account of a victory gained by
Commodore Decatur had just arrived. My house in ten minutes was
prepared for lighting up, and we prepared for the ball. The Avenue
was very brilliant on our way to the Capitol Hill, and, the company
assembling, the crowd was immense. Mrs. Madison was there, but not
the President. The evening went on, with crowding as usual upon
the toes and trains of those that did not dance, when, about ten
o’clock, a loud huzza announced the arrival of young Archibald
Hamilton, who had that moment appeared with the colors of the
_Macedonian_. He was borne into the room by many officers. Good
little Mrs. Hamilton, his mother, stood by me, and was so much
agitated at the sight of her son that she must have fallen had I
not stepped forward and offered her my arm. The young man sprang
into her arms, his sisters threw their arms around him, and the
scene was quite affecting. The colors were then held up by several
gentlemen over the heads of Hull, Morris, and Stewart, and ‘Hail,
Columbia!’ played, and there were huzzas until my head swayed.
“The aforesaid colors were then laid at the feet of Mrs. Madison.
_O tempora! O mores!_ This was rather overdoing the affair. I
forgot to say that the flag of the _Guerrière_ was festooned on
one side of the room, and of some other vessel. Now, between
ourselves, I think it wrong to exult so outrageously over our
enemies. We may have reason to laugh on the other side of our
mouths some of these days; and as the English are so much stronger
than we are with their navy, there are ten chances to one that we
are beaten. Therefore it is best to act moderately when we take a
vessel, and I could not look at those colors with pleasure, the
taking of which had made so many widows and orphans. In the fulness
of my feelings, I exclaimed to a gentleman who stood near me, ‘Good
heavens! I would not touch that color for a thousand dollars!’
He walked quickly away, I hearing another gentleman say, ‘Is it
possible, Mrs. Latrobe?’ I looked around, and it was a good stanch
Federalist from Rhode Island, Mr. Hunter, so that I shall escape
hanging after so treasonable a speech.”
Perhaps the circumstances were a valid excuse for the cheering; but
this letter is a strange side light on some of the feeling of the times.
All through the country Decatur became the hero of the hour. With a
record for intrepidity and gallantry behind him, gained by his actions
during the war with Tripoli, handsome and young, he became the idol of
the public. Congress, by a unanimous vote, gave him a gold medal. The
legislatures of Massachusetts, New York, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and
Virginia gave him thanks. The city of New York gave him the freedom of
the city and a magnificent sword, and tendered to his crew a banquet
at the City Hotel. Four hundred seamen sat down at the long tables,
and the memory of that feast of rejoicing was long kept green in
the service. As a picture of the day, a short account, taken from a
contemporaneous history, _The War_, of the banquet given to Commodores
Hull, Jones, and Decatur is of interest. The entertainment was given on
the day after the freedom of the city was presented to Captain Hull.
He and Decatur were present; Jones was absent. At five o’clock about
five hundred guests sat down at the tables, De Witt Clinton, the mayor,
presiding. “The room had the appearance of a marine palace,” said an
eye-witness. It was colonnaded around with masts of ships entwined
with laurels, and having the national flags of the world. Every table
had a ship in miniature with the American flag displayed. On the wall
was a mainsail of a ship, and when the third toast, “Our Navy,” was
given, with three cheers, this sail was furled, revealing “an immense
transparent painting of the three naval engagements in which Hull,
Jones, and Decatur were respectively engaged.” Too great to be spoiled,
Decatur still remained the quiet, simple hero, before whose eyes were
spelled two words--Country and Duty; the one he lived to serve, the
other to fulfil. And, alas! he died a victim to that curious, strained
sense of honor that kept men demanding explanations, and led them to
shoot one another under God’s sky, surrounded by their friends, in a
duel to the death. He was killed by Commodore Barron at Bladensburg,
Maryland, on March 22d, 1820. Commodore Bainbridge was Decatur’s
second, and he, with others, had made many ineffectual attempts to
avert the unfortunate meeting.
V
THE “CONSTITUTION” AND THE “JAVA”
[December 29th, 1812]
[Illustration: MEDAL PRESENTED BY CONGRESS TO CAPTAIN WILLIAM BAINBRIDGE]
William Bainbridge, commodore, was one of those commanders who were
graduated from the merchant service to take high place in the navy of
our country.
Owing to his own personal qualifications and character, he became
renowned. Bainbridge was born at Princeton, New Jersey, May 7th,
1774. He was descended from ancestors of high standing, who had for
several generations been residents of the State in which he was born,
his father being a prominent physician, who, shortly after the birth
of William, his fourth son, removed to New York. As a boy Bainbridge
conceived a great love for the sea; and although under the care of
his grandfather, John Taylor, he had been educated carefully for a
mercantile pursuit, his desires and importunities were gratified, and
at the age of fifteen he was placed on board a merchantman about to
sail from the port of Philadelphia.