CHAPTER I.

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THE NAVAL HISTORY

OF THE

UNITED STATES

BY

WILLIS J. ABBOT

With Many Illustrations

BY H. W. McVICAR AND W. C. JACKSON

_VOLUME TWO_

NEW YORK:

PETER FENELON COLLIER, PUBLISHER.

CHAPTER XII.

CAPTURE OF THE "SURVEYOR." -- WORK OF THE GUNBOAT FLOTILLA. --

OPERATIONS ON CHESAPEAKE BAY. -- COCKBURN'S DEPREDATIONS. --

CRUISE OF THE "ARGUS." -- HER CAPTURE BY THE "PELICAN." -- BATTLE

OF THE "ENTERPRISE" AND "BOXER." -- END OF THE YEAR 1813 ON THE

OCEAN.

With the capture of the "Chesapeake" in June, 1813, we abandoned our

story of the naval events along the coast of the United States, to

follow Capt. Porter and his daring seamen on their long cruise into

far-off seas. But while the men of the "Essex" were capturing whalers

in the Pacific, chastising insolent savages at Nookaheevah, and

fighting a gallant but unsuccessful fight at Valparaiso, other

blue-jackets were as gallantly serving their country nearer home. From

Portsmouth to Charleston the coast was watched by British ships, and

collisions between the enemies were of almost daily occurrence. In

many of these actions great bravery was shown on both sides.

Noticeably was this the case in the action between the cutter

"Surveyor" and the British frigate "Narcissus," on the night of June

12. The "Surveyor," a little craft manned by a crew of fifteen men,

and mounting six twelve-pound carronades, was lying in the York River

near Chesapeake Bay. From the masthead of the "Narcissus," lying

farther down the bay, the spars of the cutter could be seen above the

tree-tops; and an expedition was fitted out for her capture. Fifty

men, led by a veteran officer, attacked the little vessel in the

darkness, but were met with a most determined resistance. The

Americans could not use their carronades, but with their muskets they

did much execution in the enemy's ranks. But they were finally

overpowered, and the little cutter was towed down under the frigate's

guns. The next day Mr. Travis, the American commander, received his

sword which he had surrendered, with a letter from the British

commander, in which he said, "Your gallant and desperate attempt to

defend your vessel against more than double your number, on the night

of the 12th inst., excited such admiration on the part of your

opponents as I have seldom witnessed, and induced me to return you the

sword you had so nobly used, in testimony of mine.... In short, I am

at a loss which to admire most, the previous arrangement on board the

'Surveyor,' or the determined manner in which her deck was disputed,

inch by inch."

During the summer of 1813, the little gunboats, built in accordance

with President Jefferson's plan for a coast guard of single-gun

vessels, did a great deal of desultory fighting, which resulted in

little or nothing. They were not very seaworthy craft, the heavy guns

mounted amidships causing them to careen far over in even a sailor's

"capfull" of wind. When they went into action, the first shot from the

gun set the gunboat rocking so that further fire with any precision of

aim was impossible. The larger gunboats carried sail enough to enable

them to cruise about the coast, keeping off privateers and checking

the marauding expeditions of the British. Many of the gunboats,

however, were simply large gallies propelled with oars, and therefore

confined in their operations to bays and inland waters. The chief

scene of their operations was Chesapeake Bay.

This noble sheet of water had been, since the very opening of the year

1813, under the control of the British, who had gathered there their

most powerful vessels under the command of Admiral Cockburn, whose

name gained an unenviable notoriety for the atrocities committed by

his forces upon the defenceless inhabitants of the shores of

Chesapeake Bay. Marauding expeditions were continually sent from the

fleet to search the adjacent country for supplies. When this method of

securing provisions failed, Cockburn hit upon the plan of bringing his

fleet within range of a village, and then commanding the inhabitants

to supply his needs, under penalty of the instant bombardment of the

town in case of refusal. Sometimes this expedient failed, as when

Commodore Beresford, who was blockading the Delaware, called upon the

people of Dover to supply him at once with "twenty-five large bullocks

and a proportionate quantity of vegetables and hay." But the sturdy

inhabitants refused, mustered the militia, dragged some old cannon

down to the water-side, and, for lack of cannon-balls of their own,

valiantly fired back those thrown by the British, which fitted the

American ordnance exactly.

Soon after this occurrence, a large party from Cockburn's fleet landed

at Havre de Grace, and, having driven away the few militia, captured

and burned the town. Having accomplished this exploit, the marauders

continued their way up the bay, and turning up into the Sassafras

River ravaged the country on both sides of the little stream. After

spreading distress far and wide over the beautiful country that

borders Chesapeake Bay, the vandals returned to their ships, boasting

that they had despoiled the Americans of at least seventy thousand

dollars, and injured them to the amount of ten times that sum.

By June, 1813, the Americans saw that something must be done to check

the merciless enemy who had thus revived the cruel vandalism, which

had ceased to attend civilized warfare since the middle ages. A fleet

of fifteen armed gallies was fitted out to attack the frigate of

Cockburn's fleet that lay nearest to Norfolk. Urged forward by long

sweeps, the gunboats bore down upon the frigate, which, taken by

surprise, made so feeble and irregular a response that the Americans

thought they saw victory within their grasp. The gunboats chose their

distance, and opened a well-directed fire upon their huge enemy, that,

like a hawk attacked by a crowd of sparrows, soon turned to fly. But

at this moment the wind changed, enabling two frigates which were at

anchor lower down the bay to come up to the aid of their consort. The

American gunboats drew off slowly, firing as they departed.

This attack infused new energy into the British, and they at once

began formidable preparations for an attack upon Norfolk. On the 20th

of June they moved forward to the assault,--three seventy-four-gun

ships, one sixty-four, four frigates, two sloops, and three

transports. They were opposed by the American forces stationed on

Craney Island, which commands the entrance to Norfolk Harbor. Here the

Americans had thrown up earthworks, mounting two twenty-four, one

eighteen, and four six pound cannon. To work this battery, one hundred

sailors from the "Constellation," together with fifty marines, had

been sent ashore. A large body of militia and a few soldiers of the

regular army were also in camp upon the island.

The British set the 22d as the date for the attack; and on the morning

of that day, fifteen large boats, filled with sailors, marines, and

soldiers to the number of seven hundred, put off from the ships, and

dashed toward the batteries. At the same time a larger force tried to

move forward by land, but were driven back, to wait until their

comrades in the boats should have stormed and silenced the American

battery. But that battery was not to be silenced. After checking the

advance of the British by land, the Americans waited coolly for the

column of boats to come within point-blank range. On they came,

bounding over the waves, led by the great barge "Centipede," fifty

feet long, and crowded with men. The blue-jackets in the shore battery

stood silently at their guns. Suddenly there arose a cry, "Now, boys,

are you ready?" "All ready," was the response. "Then fire!" And the

great guns hurled their loads of lead and iron into the advancing

boats. The volley was a fearful one; but the British still came on

doggedly, until the fire of the battery became too terrible to be

endured. "The American sailors handled the great guns like rifles,"

said one of the British officers, speaking of the battle. Before this

terrific fire, the advancing column was thrown into confusion. The

boats, drifting upon each other, so crowded together that the oars-men

could not make any headway. A huge round shot struck the "Centipede,"

passing through her diagonally, leaving death and wounds in its track.

The shattered craft sunk, and was soon followed by four others. The

order for retreat was given; and, leaving their dead and some wounded

in the shattered barges that lay in the shallow water, the British

fled to their ships. Midshipman Tatnall, who, many years later, served

in the Confederate navy, waded out with several sailors, and, seizing

the "Centipede," drew her ashore. He found several wounded men in

her,--one a Frenchman, with both legs shot away. A small terrier dog

lay whimpering in the bow. His master had brought him along for a run

on shore, never once thinking of the possibility of the flower of the

British navy being beaten back by the Americans.

So disastrous a defeat enraged the British, who proceeded to wreak

their vengeance upon the little town of Hampton, which they sacked and

burned, committing acts of shameful violence, more in accordance with

the character of savages than that of civilized white men. The story

of the sack of Hampton forms no part of the naval annals of the war,

and in its details is too revolting to deserve a place here. It is a

narrative of atrocious cruelty not to be paralleled in the history of

warfare in the nineteenth century.

Leaving behind him the smoking ruins of Hampton, Cockburn with his

fleet dropped down the bay, and, turning southward, cruised along the

coast of the Carolinas. Anchoring off Ocracoke Inlet, the British sent

a fleet of armed barges into Pamlico Sound to ravage the adjoining

coast. Two privateers were found lying at anchor in the sound,--the

"Anaconda" of New York, and the "Atlas" of Philadelphia. The British

forces, eight hundred in number, dashed forward to capture the two

vessels. The "Atlas" fell an easy prey; but the thirteen men of the

"Anaconda" fought stoutly until all hope was gone, then, turning their

cannon down upon the decks of their own vessel, blew great holes in

her bottom, and escaped to the shore. After this skirmish, the British

landed, and marched rapidly to Newbern; but, finding that place well

defended by militia, made their way back to the coast, desolating the

country through which they passed, and seizing cattle and slaves. The

latter they are said to have sent to the West Indies and sold. From

Pamlico Sound Cockburn went to Cumberland Island, where he established

his winter quarters, and whence he continued to send out marauding

expeditions during the rest of the year.

Very different was the character of Sir Thomas Hardy, who commanded

the British blockading fleet off the New England coast. A brave and

able officer, with the nature and training of a gentleman, he was as

much admired by his enemies for his nobility, as Cockburn was hated

for his cruelty. It is more than possible, however, that the

difference between the methods of enforcement of the blockade on the

New England coast and on the Southern seaboard was due to definite

orders from the British admiralty: for the Southern States had entered

into the war heart and soul; while New England gave to the American

forces only a faint-hearted support, and cried eagerly for peace at

any cost. So strong was this feeling, that resolutions of honor to the

brave Capt. Lawrence were defeated in the Massachusetts Legislature,

on the ground that they would encourage others to embark in the

needless war in which Lawrence lost his life. Whatever may have been

the cause, however, the fact remains, that Hardy's conduct while on

the blockade won for him the respect and admiration of the very people

against whom his forces were arrayed.

[Illustration: Blue-Jackets at the Guns.]

On June 18 the British blockaders off New York Harbor allowed a little

vessel to escape to sea, that, before she could be captured, roamed at

will within sight of the chalk cliffs of England, and inflicted

immense damage upon the commerce of her enemy. This craft was the

little ten-gun brig "Argus," which left New York bound for France. She

carried as passenger Mr. Crawford of Georgia, who had lately been

appointed United States minister to France. After safely discharging

her passenger at L'Orient, the "Argus" turned into the chops of the

English Channel, and cruised about, burning and capturing many of the

enemy's ships. She was in the very highway of British commerce; and

her crew had little rest day or night, so plentiful were the ships

that fell in their way. It was hard for the jackies to apply the torch

to so many stanch vessels, that would enrich the whole crew with

prize-money could they but be sent into an American port. But the

little cruiser was thousands of miles from any American port, and no

course was open to her save to give every prize to the flames. After

cruising for a time in the English Channel, Lieut. Allen, who

commanded the "Argus," took his vessel around Land's End, and into St.

George's Channel and the Irish Sea. For thirty days he continued his

daring operations in the very waters into which Paul Jones had carried

the American flag nearly thirty-five years earlier. British merchants

and shipping owners in London read with horror of the destruction

wrought by this one vessel. Hardly a paper appeared without an account

of some new damage done by the "Argus." Vessels were kept in port

to rot at their docks, rather than fall a prey to the terrible Yankee.

Rates of insurance went up to ruinous prices, and many companies

refused to take any risks whatever so long as the "Argus" remained

afloat. But the hue and cry was out after the little vessel; and many

a stout British frigate was beating up and down in St. George's

Channel, and the chops of the English Channel, in the hopes of falling

in with the audacious Yankee, who had presumed to bring home to

Englishmen the horrors of war.

It fell to the lot of the brig-sloop "Pelican" to rid the British

waters of the "Argus." On the night of the thirteenth of August, the

American vessel had fallen in with a British vessel from Oporto, and

after a short chase had captured her. The usual result followed. The

prisoners with their personal property were taken out of the prize,

and the vessel was set afire. But, before the torch was applied, the

American sailors had discovered that their prize was laden with wine;

and their resolution was not equal to the task of firing the prize

without testing the quality of the cargo. Besides treating themselves

to rather deep potations, the boarding-crew contrived to smuggle a

quantity of the wine into the forecastle of the "Argus." The prize was

then fired, and the "Argus" moved away under easy sail. But the light

of the blazing ship attracted the attention of the lookout on the

"Pelican," and that vessel came down under full sail to discover the

cause.

Day was just breaking, and by the gray morning light the British saw

an American cruiser making away from the burning hulk of her last

prize. The "Pelican" followed in hot pursuit, and was allowed to come

alongside, although the fleet American could easily have left her far

astern. But Capt. Allen was ready for the conflict; confident of his

ship and of his crew, of whose half-intoxicated condition he knew

nothing, he felt sure that the coming battle would only add more

laurels to the many already won by the "Argus." He had often declared

that the "Argus" should never run from any two-master; and now, that

the gage of battle was offered, he promptly accepted.

At six o'clock in the morning, the "Pelican" came alongside, and

opened the conflict with a broadside from her thirty-two pound

carronades. The "Argus" replied with spirit, and a sharp cannonade

began. Four minutes after the battle opened, Capt. Allen was struck

by a round shot that cut off his left leg near the thigh. His officers

rushed to his side, and strove to bear him to his cabin; but he

resisted, saying he would stay on deck and fight his ship as long as

any life was left him. With his back to a mast, he gave his orders and

cheered on his men for a few minutes longer; then, fainting from the

terrible gush of blood from his wound, was carried below. To lose

their captain so early in the action, was enough to discourage the

crew of the "Argus." Yet the officers left on duty were brave and

skilful. Twice the vessel was swung into a raking position, but the

gunners failed to seize the advantage. "They seemed to be nodding over

their guns," said one of the officers afterward. The enemy, however,

showed no signs of nodding. His fire was rapid and well directed, and

his vessel manoeuvred in a way that showed a practised seaman in

command. At last he secured a position under the stern of the "Argus,"

and lay there, pouring in destructive broadsides, until the Americans

struck their flag,--just forty-seven minutes after the opening of the

action. The loss on the "Argus" amounted to six killed and seventeen

wounded.

No action of the war was so discreditable to the Americans as this. In

the loss of the "Chesapeake" and in the loss of the "Essex," there

were certain features of the action that redounded greatly to the

honor of the defeated party. But in the action between the "Argus" and

the "Pelican," the Americans were simply outfought. The vessels were

practically equal in size and armament, though the "Pelican" carried a

little the heavier metal. It is also stated that the powder used by

the "Argus" was bad. It had been taken from one of the prizes, and

afterwards proved to be condemned powder of the British Government. In

proof of the poor quality of this powder, one of the American officers

states that many shot striking the side of the "Pelican" were seen to

fall back into the water; while others penetrated the vessel's skin,

but did no further damage. All this, however, does not alter the fact

that the "Argus" was fairly beaten in a fair fight.

While the British thus snapped up an American man-of-war cruising at

their harbors' mouths, the Americans were equally fortunate in

capturing a British brig of fourteen guns off the coast of Maine. The

captor was the United States brig "Enterprise," a lucky little vessel

belonging to a very unlucky class; for her sister brigs all fell a

prey to the enemy. The "Nautilus," it will be remembered, was captured

early in the war. The "Vixen" fell into the hands of Sir James Yeo,

who was cruising in the West Indies, in the frigate "Southampton;" but

this gallant officer reaped but little benefit from his prize, for

frigate and brig alike were soon after wrecked on one of the Bahama

Islands. The "Siren," late in the war, was captured by the

seventy-four-gun ship "Medway," and the loss of the "Argus" has just

been chronicled. Of all these brigs, the "Argus" alone was able to

fire a gun in her own defence, before being captured; the rest were

all forced to yield quietly to immensely superior force.

In the war with Tripoli, the "Enterprise" won the reputation of being

a "lucky" craft; and her daring adventures and thrilling escapes

during the short naval war with France added to her prestige among

sailors. When the war with England broke out, the little brig was put

in commission as soon as possible, and assigned to duty along the

coast of Maine. She did good service in keeping off privateers and

marauding expeditions from Nova Scotia. In the early part of

September, 1813, she was cruising near Penguin Point, when she sighted

a brig in shore that had the appearance of a hostile war-vessel. The

stranger soon settled all doubts as to her character by firing several

guns, seemingly for the purpose of recalling her boats from the shore.

Then, setting sail with the rapidity of a man-of-war, she bore down

upon the American vessel. The "Enterprise," instead of waiting for the

enemy, turned out to sea, under easy sail; and her crew were set to

work bringing aft a long gun, and mounting it in the cabin, where one

of the stern windows had been chopped away to make a port. This action

rather alarmed the sailors, who feared that their commander, Lieut.

Burrows, whose character was unknown to them, intended to avoid the

enemy, and was rigging the long gun for a stern-chaser. An impromptu

meeting was held upon the forecastle; and, after much whispered

consultation, the people appointed a committee to go aft and tell the

commander that the lads were burning to engage the enemy, and were

confident of whipping her. The committee started bravely to discharge

their commission; but their courage failed them before so mighty a

potentate as the commander, and they whispered their message to the

first lieutenant, who laughed, and sent word forward that Mr. Burrows

only wanted to get sea-room, and would soon give the jackies all the

fighting they desired.

[Illustration: The Fight with the "Boxer."]

The Americans now had leisure to examine, through their

marine-glasses, the vessel which was so boldly following them to the

place of battle. She was a man-of-war brig, flying the British ensign

from both mastheads and at the peak. Her armament consisted of twelve

eighteen-pound carronades and two long sixes, as against the fourteen

eighteen-pound carronades and two long nines of the "Enterprise." The

Englishman carried a crew of sixty-six men, while the quarter-rolls of

the American showed a total of one hundred and two. But in the battle

which followed the British fought with such desperate bravery as to

almost overcome the odds against them.

For some time the two vessels fought shy of each other, manoeuvring

for a windward position. Towards three o'clock in the afternoon, the

Americans gained this advantage, and at once shortened sail, and edged

down toward the enemy. As the ships drew near, a sailor was seen to

climb into the rigging of the Englishman, and nail the colors to the

mast, giving the lads of the "Enterprise" a hint as to the character

of the reception they might expect. As the vessels came within range,

both crews cheered lustily, and continued cheering until within

pistol-shot, when the two broadsides were let fly at almost exactly

the same moment. With the first fire, both commanders fell. Capt.

Blyth of the English vessel was almost cut in two by a round shot as

he stood on his quarter-deck. He died instantly. Lieut. Burrows was

struck by a canister-shot, which inflicted a mortal wound. He refused

to be carried below, and was tenderly laid upon the deck, where he

remained during the remainder of the battle, cheering on his men, and

crying out that the colors of the "Enterprise" should never be struck.

The conflict was sharp, but short. For ten minutes only the answering

broadsides rung out; then the colors of the British ship were hauled

down. She proved to be the sloop-of-war "Boxer," and had suffered

severely from the broadsides of the "Enterprise." Several shots had

taken effect in her hull, her foremast was almost shot away, and

several guns were dismounted. Three men beside her captain were

killed, and seventeen wounded. But she had not suffered these injuries

without inflicting some in return. The "Enterprise" was much cut up

aloft. Her foremast and mainmast had each been pierced by an

eighteen-pound ball. Her captain lay upon the deck, gasping in the

last agonies of death, but stoutly protesting that he would not be

carried below until he received the sword of the commander of the

"Boxer." At last this was brought him; and grasping it he cried, "Now

I am satisfied. I die contented."

The two shattered brigs were taken into Portland, where the bodies of

the two slain commanders were buried with all the honors of war. The

"Enterprise" was repaired, and made one more cruise before the close

of the war; but the "Boxer" was found to be forever ruined for a

vessel of war, and she was sold into the merchant-service. The fact

that she was so greatly injured in so short a time led a London

paper, in speaking of the battle, to say, "The fact seems to be but

too clearly established, that the Americans have some superior mode of

firing; and we cannot be too anxiously employed in discovering to what

circumstances that superiority is owing."

[Illustration: The Surrender of the "Boxer."]

This battle practically closed the year's naval events upon the ocean.

The British privateer "Dart" was captured near Newport by some

volunteers from the gunboats stationed at that point. But, with this

exception, nothing noteworthy in naval circles occurred during the

remainder of the year. Looking back over the annals of the naval

operations of 1813, it is clear that the Americans were the chief

sufferers. They had the victories over the "Peacock," "Boxer," and

"Highflyer" to boast of; but they had lost the "Chesapeake," "Argus,"

and "Viper." But, more than this, they had suffered their coast to be

so sealed up by British blockaders that many of their best vessels

were left to lie idle at their docks. The blockade, too, was growing

stricter daily, and the outlook for the future seemed gloomy; yet, as

it turned out, in 1814 the Americans regained the ground they had lost

the year before.

CHAPTER XIII.

ON THE LAKES. -- CLOSE OF HOSTILITIES ON LAKES ERIE AND HURON. --

DESULTORY WARFARE ON LAKE ONTARIO IN 1813. -- HOSTILITIES ON

ONTARIO IN 1814. -- THE BATTLE OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN. -- END OF THE

WAR UPON THE LAKES.

In considering the naval operations on the Great Lakes, it must be

kept in mind, that winter, which checked but little naval activity on

the ocean, locked the great fresh-water seas in an impenetrable

barrier of ice, and effectually stopped all further hostilities

between the hostile forces afloat. The victory gained by Commodore

Perry on Lake Erie in September, 1813, gave the Americans complete

command of that lake; and the frozen season soon coming on, prevented

any attempts on the part of the enemy to contest the American

supremacy. But, indeed, the British showed little ability, throughout

the subsequent course of the war, to snatch from the Americans the

fruits of the victory at Put-in-Bay. They embarked upon no more

offensive expeditions; and the only notable naval contest between the

two belligerents during the remainder of the war occurred Aug. 12,

1814, when a party of seventy-five British seamen and marines

attempted to cut out three American schooners that lay at the foot of

the lake near Fort Erie. The British forces were at Queenstown, on

the Niagara River; but by dint of carrying their boats twenty miles

through the woods, then poling down a narrow and shallow stream, with

a second portage of eight miles, the adventurers managed to reach Lake

Erie. Embarking here, they pulled down to the schooners. To the hail

of the lookout, they responded, "Provision boats." And, as no British

were thought to be on Lake Erie, the response satisfied the officer of

the watch. He quickly discovered his mistake, however, when he saw his

cable cut, and a party of armed men scrambling over his bulwarks. This

first prize, the "Somers," was quickly in the hands of the British,

and was soon joined in captivity by the "Ohio," whose people fought

bravely but unavailingly against the unexpected foe. While the

fighting was going on aboard the vessels, they were drifting down the

stream; and, by the time the British victory was complete, both

vessels were beyond the range of Fort Erie's guns, and safe from

recapture. This successful enterprise certainly deserves a place as

the boldest and best executed cutting-out expedition of the war.

[Illustration: On the Way to Lake Erie.]

Long before this occurrence, Capt. Arthur Singleton, who had succeeded

to Perry's command, despairing of any active service on Lake Erie, had

taken his squadron of five vessels into Lake Huron, where the British

still held the supremacy. His objective point was the Island of

Michilimackinac (Mackinaw), which had been captured by the enemy early

in the war. On his way, he stopped and burned the British fort and

barracks of St. Joseph. At Mackinaw he was repulsed, with the loss of

seventy men; after which he returned to Lake Erie, leaving two

vessels, the "Scorpion" and "Tigress," to blockade the Nattagawassa

River. The presence of these vessels irritated the British, and they

at once set about preparations for their capture. On the night of the

3d of September the "Tigress" was captured after a sharp struggle,

which, as the British commanding officer said, "did credit to her

officers, who were all severely wounded." At the time of the attack,

the "Scorpion" was several miles away, and knew nothing of the

misfortune of her consort. Knowing this, the British sent their

prisoners ashore, and, hoisting the American flag over the captured

vessel, waited patiently for their game to come to them. They were not

disappointed in their expectations. On the 5th the "Scorpion" came up,

and anchored, unsuspectingly, within two miles of her consort. At

early dawn the next morning the "Tigress" weighed anchor; and, with

the stars and stripes still flying, dropped down alongside the

unsuspecting schooner, poured in a sudden volley, and, instantly

boarding, carried the vessel without meeting any resistance.

With these two skirmishes, the war upon Lake Erie and Lake Huron was

ended. But on Lake Ontario the naval events, though in no case

comparable with Perry's famous victory, were numerous and noteworthy.

In our previous discussion of the progress of the war upon Lake

Ontario, we left Commodore Chauncey in winter quarter at Sackett's

Harbor, building new ships, and making vigorous efforts to secure

sailors to man them. His energy met with its reward; for, when the

melting ice left the lake open for navigation in the spring of 1813,

the American fleet was ready for active service, while the best

vessels belonging to the British were still in the hands of the

carpenters and riggers. The first service performed by the American

fleet was aiding Gen. Pike in his attack upon York, where the

Americans burned an almost completed twenty-four-gun ship, and

captured the ten-gun brig "Gloucester." The land forces who took part

in this action were terribly injured by the explosion of the

powder-magazine, to which the British had applied a slow-match when

they found they could no longer hold their position. This battle was

fought April 27, 1813. One month later, the naval forces co-operated

with the soldiery in driving the British from Fort George, on the

Canada side of the Niagara River, near Lake Ontario. Perry came from

Lake Erie to take part in this action, and led a landing party under

the fire of the British artillery with that dashing courage which he

showed later at the battle of Put-in-Bay. The work of the sailors in

this action was cool and effective. Their fire covered the advance of

the troops, and silenced more than one of the enemy's guns. "The

American ships," writes a British historian, "with their heavy

discharges of round and grape, too well succeeded in thinning the

British ranks."

But by this time the British fleet was ready for sea, and left

Kingston on the 27th of May; while Chauncey was still at the extreme

western end of the lake. The enemy determined to make an immediate

assault upon Sackett's Harbor, and there destroy the corvette "Gen.

Pike," which, if completed, would give Chauncey supremacy upon the

lake. Accordingly the fleet under Sir James Lucas Yeo, with a large

body of troops under Sir George Prescott, appeared before the harbor

on the 29th. Although the forces which rallied to the defence of the

village were chiefly raw militia, the British attack was conducted

with so little spirit that the defenders won the day; and the enemy

retreated, leaving most of his wounded to fall into the hands of the

Americans. Yeo then returned to Kingston; and the American fleet came

up the lake, and put into Sackett's Harbor, there to remain until the

completion of the "Pike" should give Chauncey control of the lake.

While the Americans thus remained in port, the British squadron made

brief incursions into the lake, capturing a few schooners and breaking

up one or two encampments of the land forces of the United States.

Not until the 21st of July did the Americans leave their anchorage. On

that day, with the formidable corvette "Pike" at the head of the

line, Chauncey left Sackett's Harbor, and went up to Niagara. Some

days later, Yeo took his squadron to sea; and on the 7th of August the

two hostile fleets came in sight of one another for the first time.

Then followed a season of manoeuvring,--of challenging and

counter-challenging, of offering battle and of avoiding

it,--terminating in so inconclusive an engagement that one is forced

to believe that neither commander dared to enter the battle for which

both had been so long preparing. The American squadron consisted

largely of schooners armed with long guns. In smooth weather these

craft were valuable adjuncts to the larger vessels, while in rough

weather they were useless. Yeo's squadron was mostly square-rigged,

and was therefore equally serviceable in all kinds of weather. It

seems likely, therefore, that the Americans strove to bring on the

conflict in smooth weather; while the British were determined to wait

until a heavy sea should lessen the force of their foes. In this

dilemma several days passed away.

On the night of the 7th of August the wind came up to blow, and the

rising waves soon demonstrated the uselessness of schooners for

purposes of war. At early dawn a fierce gust of wind caused the

schooners "Hamilton" and "Scourge" to careen far to leeward. Their

heavy guns broke loose; then, crashing down to the submerged beams of

the schooners, pulled them still farther over; and, the water rushing

in at their hatches, they foundered, carrying with them to the bottom

all their officers, and all but sixteen of the men. This loss reduced

Chauncey's force to more of an equality with that of the British; yet

for two days longer the manoeuvring continued, without a shot being

fired. On the night of the 10th the two squadrons formed in order of

battle, and rapidly approached each other. At eleven o'clock a

cannonade was begun by both parties, and continued for about an hour;

though the shot did little material damage on either side. At midnight

the British, by a quick movement, cut out and captured two American

schooners, and sailed away, without suffering any damage.

A month then intervened before the next hostile meeting. In his

despatches to his superior authorities, each commander stoutly affirms

that he spent the time in chasing the enemy, who refused to give him

battle. Whether it was the British or the Americans that avoided the

battle, it is impossible to decide; but it seems reasonable to

believe, that, had either party been really determined upon bringing

matters to an issue, the other could have been forced into giving

battle.

On the 11th of September, the enemies met near the mouth of the

Genesee River, and exchanged broadsides. A few of the British vessels

were hulled, and, without more ado, hauled off into the shallow waters

of Ambert Bay, whither the Americans could not follow them. Then

ensued another long period of peace, broken at last by a naval action

in York Bay, on the 28th, in which the British were worsted and

obliged to fly, though none of their ships were destroyed or captured.

On Oct. 2, Chauncey accomplished a really important work, by capturing

five British transports, with two hundred and sixty-four men, seven

naval and ten army officers. With this achievement, the active work of

the Ontario squadron ended for the year, as Chauncey remained

blockading Yeo at Kingston, until the approach of winter rendered that

precaution no longer necessary.

The navigable season of 1814 opened with the British first upon the

lake. The long winter had been employed by the belligerents in adding

to their fleets; a work completed first by Yeo, who put out upon the

lake on the 3d of May, with eight square-rigged vessels, of which two

were new frigates. The Americans had given up their unseaworthy

schooners, and had a fleet of eight square-rigged vessels nearly

ready, but still lacking the cordage and guns for the three new craft.

Yeo thus had the lake to himself for a time, and began a vigorous

campaign by an attack upon Oswego, aided by a large body of British

troops. Succeeding in this enterprise, he set sail for Sackett's

Harbor, and, taking up his position just outside the bar, disposed his

vessels for a long and strict blockade. This action was particularly

troublesome to the Americans at that time; for their new frigates were

just ready for their guns and cables, which could not be brought

overland, and the arrival of which by water was seemingly prevented by

the blockade. It was in this emergency that the plan, already

described, for transporting the great cable for the "Niagara"

overland, on the backs of men, was decided upon. Yeo remained on guard

at the mouth of the harbor until the 6th of June, then raised the

blockade, and disappeared down the lake. For six weeks the Americans

continued working on their fleet, to get the ships ready for service.

During this time the British gunboat "Black Snake" was brought into

the harbor, a prize to Lieut. Gregory, who had captured it by a

sudden assault, with a score of sailors at his back. On the 1st of

July, the same officer made a sudden descent upon Presque Isle, where

he found a British vessel pierced for fourteen guns on the stocks,

ready for launching. The raiders hastily set fire to the ship, and

retreated before the enemy could get his forces together.

It was July 31 before Chauncey set sail from Sackett's Harbor. He now

had under his command a squadron of eight vessels, two of which were

frigates, two ship sloops-of-war, and eight brig-sloops of no mean

power. Yeo had, to oppose this force, a fleet of no less respectable

proportions. Yet, for the remainder of the year, these two squadrons

cruised about the lake, or blockaded each other in turn, without once

coming to battle. As transports, the vessels were of some service to

their respective governments; but, so far as any actual naval

operations were concerned, they might as well never have been built.

The war closed, leaving the two cautious commanders still waiting for

a satisfactory occasion for giving battle.

Such was the course of the naval war upon the Great Lakes; but the

thunder of hostile cannon and the cheers of sailors were heard upon

yet another sheet of fresh water, before the quarrel between England

and the United States was settled. In the north-east corner of New

York State, and slightly overlapping the Canada line, lies Lake

Champlain,--a picturesque sheet of water, narrow, and dotted with

wooded islands. From the northern end of the lake flows the Richelieu

River, which follows a straight course through Canada to the St.

Lawrence, into which it empties. The long, navigable water-way thus

open from Canada to the very heart of New York was to the British a

most tempting path for an invading expedition. By the shore of the

lake a road wound along; thus smoothing the way for a land force,

whose advance might be protected by the fire of the naval force that

should proceed up the lake. Naturally, so admirable an international

highway early attracted the attention of the military authorities of

both belligerents; and, while the British pressed forward their

preparations for an invading expedition, the Americans hastened to

make such arrangements as should give them control of the lake. Her

European wars, however, made so great a demand for soldiers upon Great

Britain, that not until 1814 could she send to America a sufficient

force to undertake the invasion of the United States from the north.

In the spring of that year, a force of from ten thousand to fifteen

thousand troops, including several thousand veterans who had served

under Wellington, were massed at Montreal; and in May a move was made

by the British to get control of the lake, before sending their

invading forces into New York. The British naval force already in the

Richelieu River, and available for service, consisted of a brig, two

sloops, and twelve or fourteen gunboats. The American flotilla

included a large corvette, a schooner, a small sloop, and ten

gunboats, or galleys, propelled with oars. Seeing that the British

were preparing for active hostilities, the Americans began to build,

with all possible speed, a large brig; a move which the enemy promptly

met by pushing forward with equal energy the construction of a

frigate. While the new vessels were on the stocks, an irregular

warfare was carried on by those already in commission. At the opening

of the season, the American vessels lay in Otter Creek; and, just as

they were ready to leave port, the enemy appeared off the mouth of the

creek with a force consisting of the brig "Linnet" and eight or ten

galleys. The object of the British was to so obstruct the mouth of the

creek that the Americans should be unable to come out. With this end

in view, they had brought two sloops laden with stones, which they

intended to sink in the narrow channel. But, luckily, the Americans

had thrown up earthworks at the mouth of the river; and a party of

sailors so worked the guns, that, after much manoeuvring, the British

were forced to retire without effecting their purpose.

About the middle of August, the Americans launched their new brig, the

"Eagle;" and the little squadron put out at once into the lake, under

command of Capt. Thomas Macdonough. Eight days later, the British got

their new ship, the "Confiance," into the water. She possessed one

feature new to American naval architecture,--a furnace in which to

heat cannon-balls.

By this time (September, 1814), the invading column of British

veterans, eleven thousand strong, had begun its march into New York

along the west shore of the lake. Two thousand Americans only could be

gathered to dispute their progress; and these, under the command of

Brigadier-Gen. Macomb, were gathered at Plattsburg. To this point,

accordingly, Macdonough took his fleet, and awaited the coming of the

enemy; knowing that if he could beat back the fleet of the British,

their land forces, however powerful, would be forced to cease their

advance. The fleet that he commanded consisted of the flagship

"Saratoga," carrying eight long twenty-four-pounders, six

forty-two-pound and twelve thirty-two-pound carronades; the brig

"Eagle," carrying eight long eighteens, and twelve thirty-two-pound

carronades; schooner "Ticonderoga," with eight long twelve-pounders,

four long eighteen-pounders, and five thirty-two-pound carronades;

sloop "Preble," with seven long nines; and ten galleys. The commander

who ruled over this fleet was a man still in his twenty-ninth year.

The successful battles of the War of 1812 were fought by young

officers, and the battle of Lake Champlain was no exception to the

rule.

The British force which came into battle with Macdonough's fleet was

slightly superior. It was headed by the flagship "Confiance," a

frigate of the class of the United States ship "Constitution,"

carrying thirty long twenty-fours, a long twenty-four-pounder on a

pivot, and six thirty-two or forty-two pound carronades. The other

vessels were the "Linnet," a brig mounting sixteen long twelves; and

the "Chubb" and "Finch" (captured from the Americans under the names

of "Growler" and "Eagle"),--sloops carrying respectively ten

eighteen-pound carronades and one long six; and six eighteen-pound

carronades, four long sixes, and one short eighteen. To these were

added twelve gunboats, with varied armaments, but each slightly

heavier than the American craft of the same class.

The 11th of September had been chosen by the British for the combined

land and water attack upon Plattsburg. With the movements of the land

forces, this narrative will not deal. The brunt of the conflict fell

upon the naval forces, and it was the success of the Americans upon

the water that turned the faces of the British invaders toward Canada.

The village of Plattsburg stands upon the shore of a broad bay which

communicates with Lake Champlain by an opening a mile and a half wide,

bounded upon the north by Cumberland Head, and on the south by Crab

Island. In this bay, about two miles from the western shore,

Macdonough's fleet lay anchored in double line, stretching north and

south. The four large vessels were in the front rank, prepared to meet

the brunt of the conflict; while the galleys formed a second line in

the rear. The morning of the day of battle dawned clear, with a brisk

north-east wind blowing. The British were stirring early, and at

daybreak weighed anchor and came down the lake. Across the low-lying

isthmus that connected Cumberland Head with the mainland, the

Americans could see their adversaries' topmasts as they came down to

do battle. At this sight, Macdonough called his officers about him,

and, kneeling upon the quarter-deck, besought Divine aid in the

conflict so soon to come. When the little group rose from their knees,

the leading ship of the enemy was seen swinging round Cumberland Head;

and the men went to their quarters to await the fiery trial that all

knew was impending.

The position of the American squadron was such that the British were

forced to attack "bows on," thus exposing themselves to a raking fire.

By means of springs on their cables, the Americans were enabled to

keep their broadsides to the enemy, and thus improve, to the fullest,

the advantage gained by their position. The British came on gallantly,

and were greeted by four shots from the long eighteens of the "Eagle,"

that had no effect. But, at the sound of the cannon, a young game-cock

that was running at large on the "Saratoga" flew upon a gun, flapped

his wings, and crowed thrice, with so lusty a note that he was heard

far over the waters. The American seamen, thus roused from the painful

revery into which the bravest fall before going into action, cheered

lustily, and went into the fight, encouraged as only sailors could be

by the favorable omen.

Soon after the defiant game-cock had thus cast down the gage of

battle, Macdonough sighted and fired the first shot from one of the

long twenty-four pounders of the "Saratoga." The heavy ball crashed

into the bow of the "Confiance," and cut its way aft, killing and

wounding several men, and demolishing the wheel. Nothing daunted, the

British flagship came on grandly, making no reply, and seeking only to

cast anchor alongside the "Saratoga," and fight it out yard-arm to

yard-arm. But the fire of the Americans was such that she could not

choose her distance; but after having been badly cut up, with both her

port anchors shot away, was forced to anchor at a distance of a

quarter of a mile. But her anchor had hardly touched bottom, when she

suddenly flashed out a sheet of flames, as her rapid broadsides rung

out and her red-hot shot sped over the water toward the American

flagship. Her first broadside killed or wounded forty of the

Americans; while many more were knocked down by the shock, but

sustained no further injury. So great was the carnage, that the

hatches were opened, and the dead bodies passed below, that the men

might have room to work the guns. Among the slain was Mr. Gamble, the

first lieutenant, who was on his knees sighting a gun, when a shot

entered the port, split the quoin, drove a great piece of metal

against his breast, and stretched him dead upon the deck without

breaking his skin. By a singular coincidence, fifteen minutes later a

shot from one of the "Saratoga's" guns struck the muzzle of a

twenty-four on the "Confiance," and, dismounting it, hurled it against

Capt. Downie's groin, killing him instantly without breaking the skin;

a black mark about the size of a small plate was the sole visible

injury.

In the mean time, the smaller vessels had become engaged, and were

fighting with no less courage than the flag-ships. The "Chubb" had

early been disabled by a broadside from the "Eagle," and drifted

helplessly under the guns of the "Saratoga." After receiving a shot

from that vessel, she struck, and was taken possession of by

Midshipman Platt, who put off from the flagship in an open boat,

boarded the prize, and took her into Plattsburg Bay, near the mouth of

the Saranac. More than half her people were killed or wounded during

the short time she was in the battle. The "Linnet," in the mean time,

had engaged the "Eagle," and poured in her broadsides with such effect

that the springs on the cables of the American were cut away, and she

could no longer bring her broadsides to bear. Her captain therefore

cut his cables, and soon gained a position from which he could bring

his guns to bear upon the "Confiance." The "Linnet" thereupon dashed

in among the American gunboats, and, driving them off, commenced a

raking fire upon the "Saratoga." The "Finch," meanwhile, had ranged

gallantly up alongside the "Ticonderoga," but was sent out of the

fight by two broadsides from the American. She drifted helplessly

before the wind, and soon grounded near Crab Island. On the island was

a hospital, and an abandoned battery mounting one six-pound gun. Some

of the convalescent patients, seeing the enemy's vessel within range,

opened fire upon her from the battery, and soon forced her to haul

down her flag. Nearly half her crew were killed or wounded. Almost at

the same moment, the United States sloop "Preble" was forced out of

the fight by the British gunboats, that pressed so fiercely upon her

that she cut her cables and drifted inshore.

[Illustration: Hiram Paulding fires the Guns.]

The "Ticonderoga" fought a gallant fight throughout. After ridding

herself of the "Finch," she had a number of the British gunboats to

contend with; and they pressed forward to the attack with a gallantry

that showed them to be conscious of the fact, that, if this vessel

could be carried, the American line would be turned, and the day won

by the English. But the American schooner fought stubbornly. Her

gallant commander, Lieut. Cassin, walked up and down the taffrail,

heedless of the grape and musket-balls that whistled past his head,

pointing out to the gunners the spot whereon to train the guns, and

directing them to load with canister and bags of bullets when the

enemy came too near. The gunners of the schooner were terribly

hampered in their work by the lack of matches for the guns; for the

vessel was new, and the absence of these very essential articles was

unnoticed until too late. The guns of one division were fired

throughout the fight by Hiram Paulding, a sixteen-year-old

midshipman, who flashed his pistol at the priming of the guns as soon

as aim was taken. When no gun was ready for his services, he rammed a

ball into his weapon and discharged it at the enemy. The onslaught of

the British was spirited and determined. Often they pressed up within

a boat-hook's length of the schooner, only to be beaten back by her

merciless fire. Sometimes so few were left alive in the galleys that

they could hardly man the oars to pull out of the fight. In this way

the "Ticonderoga" kept her enemies at bay while the battle was being

decided between the "Saratoga" and the "Confiance."

For it was upon the issue of the conflict between these two ships,

that victory or defeat depended. Each had her ally and satellite.

Under the stern of the "Saratoga" lay the "Linnet," pouring in raking

broadsides. The "Confiance," in turn, was suffering from the

well-directed fire of the "Eagle." The roar of the artillery was

unceasing, and dense clouds of gunpowder-smoke hid the warring ships

from the eyes of the eager spectators on shore. The "Confiance" was

unfortunate in losing her gallant captain early in the action, while

Macdonough was spared to fight his ship to the end. His gallantry and

activity, however, led him to expose himself fearlessly; and twice he

narrowly escaped death. He worked like a common sailor, loading and

firing a favorite twenty-four-pound gun; and once, while on his knees,

sighting the piece, a shot from the "Confiance" cut in two the

spanker-boom, a great piece of which fell heavily upon the captain's

head, stretching him senseless upon the deck. He lay motionless for

two or three minutes, and his men mourned him as dead; but suddenly

his activity returned, and he leaped to his feet, and was soon again

in the thick of the fight. In less than five minutes the cry again

arose, that the captain was killed. He had been standing at the breach

of his favorite cannon, when a round shot took off the head of the

captain of the gun, and dashed it with terrific force into the face of

Macdonough, who was driven across the deck, and hurled against the

bulwarks. He lay an instant, covered with the blood of the slain man;

but, hearing his men cry that he was killed, he rushed among them, to

cheer them on with his presence.

And, indeed, at this moment the crew of the "Saratoga" needed the

presence of their captain to cheer them on to further exertion. The

red-hot shot of the "Confiance" had twice set fire to the American

ship. The raking fire from the "Linnet" had dismounted carronades and

long guns one by one, until but a single serviceable gun was left in

the starboard battery. A too heavy charge dismounted this piece, and

threw it down the hatchway, leaving the frigate without a single gun

bearing upon the enemy. In such a plight the hearts of the crew might

well fail them. But Macdonough was ready for the emergency. He still

had his port broadside untouched, and he at once set to work to swing

the ship round so that this battery could be brought to bear. An

anchor was let fall astern, and the whole ship's company hauled in on

the hawser, swinging the ship slowly around. It was a dangerous

manoeuvre; for, as the ship veered round, her stern was presented to

the "Linnet," affording an opportunity for raking, which the gunners

on that plucky little vessel immediately improved. But patience and

hard pulling carried the day; and gradually the heavy frigate was

turned sufficiently for the after gun to bear, and a gun's crew was at

once called from the hawsers to open fire. One by one the guns swung

into position, and soon the whole broadside opened with a roar.

Meanwhile the "Confiance" had attempted the same manoeuvre. But her

anchors were badly placed; and, though her people worked gallantly,

they failed to get the ship round. She bore for some time the

effective fire from the "Saratoga's" fresh broadside, but, finding

that she could in no way return the fire, struck her flag, two hours

and a quarter after the battle commenced. Beyond giving a hasty cheer,

the people of the "Saratoga" paid little attention to the surrender of

their chief enemy, but instantly turned their guns upon the "Linnet."

In this combat the "Eagle" could take no part, and the thunder of her

guns died away. Farther down the bay, the "Ticonderoga" had just

driven away the last of the British galleys; so that the "Linnet" now

alone upheld the cause of the enemy. She was terribly outmatched by

her heavier foe, but her gallant captain Pring kept up a desperate

defence. Her masts and rigging were hopelessly shattered; and no

course was open to her, save to surrender, or fight a hopeless fight.

Capt. Pring sent off a lieutenant, in an open boat, to ascertain the

condition of the "Confiance." The officer returned with the report

that Capt. Downie was killed, and the frigate terribly cut up; and as

by this time the water, pouring in the shot-holes in the "Linnet's"

hull, had risen a foot above the lower deck, her flag was hauled

down, and the battle ended in a decisive triumph for the Americans.

Terrible was the carnage, and many and strange the incidents, of this

most stubbornly contested naval battle. All of the prizes were in a

sinking condition. In the hull of the "Confiance" were a hundred and

five shot-holes, while the "Saratoga" was pierced by fifty-five. Not a

mast that would bear canvas was left standing in the British fleet;

those of the flagship were splintered like bundles of matches, and the

sails torn to rags. On most of the enemy's vessels, more than half of

the crews were killed or wounded. The loss on the British side

probably aggregated three hundred. Midshipman William Lee of the

"Confiance" wrote home after the battle, "The havoc on both sides was

dreadful. I don't think there are more than five of our men, out of

three hundred, but what are killed or wounded. Never was a shower of

hail so thick as the shot whistling about our ears. Were you to see my

jacket, waistcoat, and trousers, you would be astonished to know how I

escaped as I did; for they are literally torn all to rags with shot

and splinters. The upper part of my hat was also shot away. There is

one of the marines who was in the Trafalgar action with Lord Nelson,

who says it was a mere flea-bite in comparison with this."

The Americans, though victorious, had suffered greatly. Their loss

amounted to about two hundred men. The "Saratoga" had been cut up

beyond the possibility of repair. Her decks were covered with dead and

dying. The shot of the enemy wrought terrible havoc in the ranks of

the American officers. Lieut. Stansbury of the "Ticonderoga" suddenly

disappeared in the midst of the action; nor could any trace of him be

found, until, two days later, his body, cut nearly in two by a round

shot, rose from the waters of the lake. Lieut. Vallette of the

"Saratoga" was knocked down by the head of a sailor, sent flying by a

cannon-ball. Some minutes later he was standing on a shot-box giving

orders, when a shot took the box from beneath his feet, throwing him

heavily upon the deck. Mr. Brum, the master, a veteran man-o'-war's

man, was struck by a huge splinter, which knocked him down, and

actually stripped every rag of clothing from his body. He was thought

to be dead, but soon re-appeared at his post, with a strip of canvas

about his waist, and fought bravely until the end of the action. Some

days before the battle, a gentleman of Oswego gave one of the sailors

a glazed tarpaulin hat, of the kind then worn by seamen. A week later

the sailor re-appeared, and, handing him the hat with a semi-circular

cut in the crown and brim, made while it was on his head by a

cannon-shot, remarked calmly, "Look here, Mr. Sloane, how the damned

John Bulls have spoiled my hat!"

The last British flag having been hauled down, an officer was sent to

take possession of the "Confiance." In walking along her gun-deck, he

accidentally ran against a ratline, by which one of her starboard guns

was discharged. At this sound, the British galleys and gunboats, which

had been lying quietly with their ensigns down, got out oars and moved

off up the lake. The Americans had no vessels fit for pursuing them,

and they were allowed to escape. In the afternoon the British officers

came to the American flagship to complete the surrender. Macdonough

met them courteously; and, on their offering their swords, put them

back, saying, "Gentlemen, your gallant conduct makes you worthy to

wear your weapons. Return them to their scabbards." By sundown the

surrender was complete, and Macdonough sent off to the Secretary of

the Navy a despatch, saying, "_Sir,_--The Almighty has been pleased to

grant us a signal victory on Lake Champlain, in the capture of one

frigate, one brig, and two sloops-of-war of the enemy."

Some days later, the captured ships, being beyond repair, were taken

to the head of the lake, and scuttled. Some of the guns were found to

be still loaded; and, in drawing the charges, one gun was found with a

canvas bag containing two round shot rammed home, and wadded, without

any powder; another gun contained two cartridges and no shot; and a

third had a wad rammed down before the powder, thus effectually

preventing the discharge of the piece. The American gunners were not

altogether guiltless of carelessness of this sort. Their chief error

lay in ramming down so many shot upon the powder that the force of the

explosion barely carried the missiles to the enemy. In proof of this,

the side of the "Confiance" was thickly dotted with round shot, which

had struck into, but failed to penetrate, the wood.

The result of this victory was immediate and gratifying. The land

forces of the British, thus deprived of their naval auxiliaries,

turned about, and retreated to Canada, abandoning forever their

projected invasion. New York was thus saved by Macdonough's skill and

bravery. Yet the fame he won by his victory was not nearly

proportionate to the naval ability he showed, and the service he had

rendered to his country. Before the popular adulation of Perry,

Macdonough sinks into second place. One historian only gives him the

pre-eminence that is undoubtedly his due. Says Mr. Theodore Roosevelt,

in his admirable history, "The Naval War of 1812," "But Macdonough in

this battle won a higher fame than any other commander of the war,

British or American. He had a decidedly superior force to contend

against, and it was solely owing to his foresight and resource that we

won the victory. He forced the British to engage at a disadvantage by

his excellent choice of position, and he prepared beforehand for every

possible contingency. His personal prowess had already been shown at

the cost of the rovers of Tripoli, and in this action he helped fight

the guns as ably as the best sailor. His skill, seamanship, quick eye,

readiness of resource, and indomitable pluck are beyond all praise.

Down to the time of the civil war, he is the greatest figure in our

naval history. A thoroughly religious man, he was as generous and

humane as he was skilful and brave. One of the greatest of our sea

captains, he has left a stainless name behind him."

CHAPTER XIV.

ON THE OCEAN. -- THE WORK OF THE SLOOPS-OF-WAR. -- LOSS OF THE

"FROLIC." -- FRUITLESS CRUISE OF THE "ADAMS." -- THE "PEACOCK"

TAKES THE "EPERVIER." -- THE CRUISE OF THE "WASP." -- SHE

CAPTURES THE "REINDEER." -- SINKS THE "AVON." -- MYSTERIOUS END

OF THE "WASP."

The opening of the year 1814 found the American coast still rigidly

blockaded by the British men-of-war. Two or three of the enemy lay off

the mouth of every considerable harbor, and were not to be driven from

their post by the icy winds and storms of midwinter on the American

coast. It was almost impossible for any American vessel to escape to

sea, and a matter of almost equal difficulty for such vessels as were

out to get into a home port. The frigate "President" had put to sea

early in December, 1813, and after a cruise of eight weeks, during

which the traditional ill-luck of the ship pursued her remorselessly,

managed to dash into New York Harbor past the blockading squadron. At

Boston the blockade was broken by the "Constitution." She left port on

the 1st of January, ran off to the southward, and cruised for some

weeks in the West Indies. Here she captured the British man-of-war

schooner "Pictou," fourteen guns, and several merchant-vessels. She

also fell in with the British thirty-six-gun frigate "Pique," which

fled, and escaped pursuit by cutting through a narrow channel during a

dark and squally night. The "Constitution" then returned to the coast

of the United States, and narrowly escaped falling into the clutches

of two British frigates. She managed to gain the shelter of Marblehead

Harbor, and there remained until the latter part of the year.

But, while the larger vessels were thus accomplishing little or

nothing, two or three small sloops-of-war, of a class newly built,

slipped through the enemy's lines, and, gaining the open sea, fought

one or two notable actions. Of these, the first vessel to get to sea

was the new sloop-of-war "Frolic;" but her career was short and

inglorious, for she had been at sea but a few weeks when she fell in

with the enemy's frigate "Orpheus" and the schooner "Shelburne." A

chase ensued, in which the American vessel threw overboard her guns

and anchors, and started the water; but to no avail, for she was

overhauled, and forced to surrender. Her service afloat was limited to

the destruction of a Carthagenian privateer, which sunk before her

guns, carrying down nearly a hundred men.

The "Adams," a vessel that had suffered many vicissitudes,--having

been built for a frigate, then cut down to a sloop-of-war, and finally

been sawed asunder and converted into a corvette,--put to sea on the

18th of January, under the command of Capt. Charles Morris, formerly

of the "Constitution." She laid her course straight to the eastward,

and for some time cruised off the western coast of Africa and the

Canary Isles. She met with but little success in this region,

capturing only three brigs,--the cargo of one of which consisted of

wine and fruit; and the second, of palm-oil and ivory. Abandoning the

African coast, the corvette turned westward along the equator, and

made for the West Indies. A large Indiaman fell in her way, and was

brought to; but, before the Americans could take possession of their

prize, a British fleet of twenty-five sail, with two men-of-war, hove

in sight, and the "Adams" was forced to seek safety in flight. She put

into Savannah for provisions and water, but, hearing that the enemy

was in force near by, worked out to sea, and made sail for another

cruise. Capt. Morris took up a position on the limits of the Gulf

Stream, near the Florida coast, in the expectation of cutting out an

Indiaman from some passing convoy. The expected fleet soon came, but

was under the protection of a seventy-four, two frigates, and three

brigs,--a force sufficient to keep at bay the most audacious of

corvettes. Morris hung about the convoy for two days, but saw no

chance of eluding the watchful guards. He then crossed the Atlantic to

the coast of Ireland. Here the "Adams" narrowly escaped capture; for

she was sighted by a frigate, which gave chase, and would have

overhauled her, had not the Americans thrown overboard some small

cannon, and cut away their anchors. Thus lightened, the corvette sped

away, and soon left her pursuers behind.

Continued ill-fortune now reduced the spirits of the sailors of the

"Adams" to very low ebb. They were forced to struggle unceasingly

against the fierce gales which in winter sweep the Atlantic. Their

stock of food and water was giving out; and, to add to their distress,

scurvy, the sailors' worst enemy, began to show itself in the ship.

They had boldly run into the very waters in which the "Argus" had won

so rich a reward, yet not a sail gladdened the eyes of the lookout on

the "Adams." It was then with great disappointment that the jackies

saw the prow of the corvette turned homeward, after a cruise that

would bring them neither honor nor prize-money. The passage homeward

was quickly made, and on the 16th of August the vessel was in

soundings off the coast of Maine. Night fell, with a dense fog

concealing all landmarks from view. Through the darkness the corvette

sped on at a pace of eleven miles an hour, until, just as day was

breaking, the cry of "Breakers ahead!" was followed by a heavy blow,

indicating that the ship had struck. The force of the blow had not

been sufficient to stave in the bottom,--a fortunate fact, for the

hold was full of prisoners. Nevertheless, she was hard and fast

aground, on a ledge of rock that lifted her bow six feet above her

stern. Morris, who had rushed upon deck at the first alarm, was unable

to make out the ship's position, and feared that they were on Cashes

Ledge, a reef so far from the land that it would have been impossible

to save in the boats more than half the crew. He had determined,

however, to instantly lower the boats and send them off in search of

land, when a gust of wind, blowing away the fog, showed a beetling

cliff not a hundred yards away. Rugged and inhospitable as was the

coast thus exposed, it was better than an expanse of ocean; and at

once Morris set to work landing his prisoners, and the sick, of whom

the "Adams" had nearly sixty. With spare sails, tents were put up on

the beach; and, stores having been landed, the comfort of all was

assured, in case the ship should go to pieces. What the desolate shore

was to which they were thus forced to turn for shelter, no one knew.

All hands now turned to at the capstan, in the hopes of getting the

vessel off; and about noon, the tide having reached its flood, she

gradually slid off the ledge into deep water. After trying the pumps,

to see if any serious leak had been started, the difficult task of

taking the ship out of the labyrinth of reefs in which she lay was

begun. For more than two miles their course lay through a narrow and

tortuous channel, bordered on either side with jagged reefs; but the

corvette safely threaded her way between the rocks, and soon lay

floating in deep water. The next morning the fog blew away; and the

voyagers discovered to their astonishment that they were off Mount

Desert, instead of near Portsmouth as they had expected.

To return into the cluster of reefs after the little colony of

invalids and prisoners that had been left behind, would have been mere

folly: so sending two fishing-boats to search out the shore party, and

carry them to the nearest village, the "Adams" continued her course,

intending to put into the Penobscot River. While making for this

point, a sail was sighted, which proved to be the British brig-sloop

"Rifleman." The corvette gave chase, but the Englishman kept well in

the offing; and, as the condition of the American crew was such that

to lead them into action would have been imprudent, Morris abandoned

the pursuit, and, putting into the Penobscot, dropped anchor off

Hampden. Here, for the present, we will leave the "Adams."

The "Peacock"--a second of the new sloops-of-war, bearing the name of

a captured British vessel--put out from New York in March, and made

her way to the southward, selecting as her cruising station the waters

off the coast of Florida. For some time it seemed that the exertions

of the sailors were to be of no avail. Not a sail was to be seen, and

the chances for prize-money seemed to be small indeed. But on the 29th

of March three merchant-vessels were made out in the offing; while a

heavy-built, square-rigged, trim-looking craft that hovered about them

was evidently a man-of-war. The strangers seemed to have sighted the

American vessel; for the merchantmen were seen to hastily haul up and

run off to the north-east, while the man-of-war edged away for the

American ship.

The stranger was His British Majesty's brig sloop-of-war "Epervier,"

of eighteen guns, and carrying a crew of one hundred and twenty-eight

men. The "Peacock" was a ship-sloop of twenty-two guns, with a crew of

one hundred and sixty-six men. The advantage, therefore, lay with the

Americans; but, in the battle that ensued, the damage they inflicted

upon the enemy was out of any proportion to their excess of strength.

The two ships bore down gallantly upon each other, and at a little

after ten in the morning passed, exchanging heavy broadsides. The shot

of each took effect in the rigging; but the "Peacock" suffered the

more, having her foreyard totally disabled,--an injury that compelled

her to run large during the rest of the action, and forego all

attempts at manoeuvring. The two vessels having passed each other, the

"Epervier" eased off, and returned to the fight, running on a parallel

course with the American ship. The interchange of broadsides then

became very rapid; but the British marksmanship was poor, and few of

their shot took effect. The "Epervier," on the contrary, suffered

severely from the American fire, which took effect in her hull,

dismounting several guns, and so injuring the brig that a British

naval officer, writing of the action some years later, said, "The most

disgraceful part of the affair was that our ship was cut to pieces,

and the enemy hardly scratched."

The injury aloft which both vessels sustained caused the battle to

take on the character of an action at long range. Under such

conditions, the victory was assured to the side showing the best

gunnery. For a moment only did it seem that the vessels were likely to

come to close quarters, and the English captain seized that occasion

to call up his boarders. But they refused, saying, "She's too heavy

for us." And a few minutes later the Englishman hauled down his flag,

having lost nine killed or mortally wounded, and fourteen wounded. The

Americans had suffered but little; only two men being injured, and

these but slightly. The shot of the enemy had passed through the

rigging of the "Peacock," while the "Epervier" had been hulled

forty-five times.

The "Epervier" proved to be a valuable prize. In her hold specie to

the amount of one hundred and eighteen thousand dollars was found;

and, when the brig was sold to the United States Government, she

brought fifty-five thousand dollars: so that the prize-money won by

that action kept the sailors in good-humor for many months to come.

But, before the prize could be safely carried into an American port,

she had a gantlet to run, in which she narrowly escaped capture. After

the wreck of battle had been cleared away, the brig and her captor

made for Savannah, but were sighted and chased by two British

frigates. The "Peacock," in the hope of drawing away the pursuers,

left her prize, and headed out to sea. One frigate only followed her,

and the other pressed on hotly after the "Epervier," which, to avoid

capture, was forced to run into shallow water, whither the heavy

frigate could not follow her. But she was not to escape so easily; for

the boats of the frigate were lowered, filled with armed men, and set

out in pursuit of the brig, which moved but slowly before the light

breeze then blowing. The boats soon overhauled the fugitive, and

escape seemed hopeless; for the "Epervier" was manned by a prize-crew

of only sixteen men. But Lieut. Nicholson, who was in command,

determined to try the effect of bluster. Accordingly he leaped upon

the taffrail, with a speaking-trumpet in his hand, and shouted out

orders as if calling a huge crew to quarters. The British, who were

within easy range, stopped their advance, and, fearing a destructive

broadside from the brig's guns, turned and fled precipitately. The

"Epervier" continued her course, and reached Savannah in safety on the

1st of May. The "Peacock" reached the same port four days later.

At the moment when the captured "Epervier," flying the stars and

stripes, was proudly making her way up the harbor of Savannah amid the

plaudits of the people of the little city, there sailed from

Portsmouth, N.H., a vessel that was destined to fight a good fight for

the honor of that starry banner; and, after winning a glorious

victory, to disappear forever from the face of the ocean, carrying to

some unknown grave a crew of as brave hearts as ever beat under

uniforms of navy blue.

This was the new sloop of war "Wasp," named after the gallant little

craft that had been taken by the British after her capture of the

"Frolic." She was a stanch three-master, carrying eleven guns to a

broadside. Her crew was purely American, not a foreigner among them;

but all trained seamen from the seaboard villages and towns of New

England,--the homes at that time of probably the hardiest seafaring

population in the world. Capt. Blakely, who commanded the vessel, had

been attached to the "Enterprise" for some time, but had been ordered

to the command of the "Wasp" a few days before the former vessel

fought her successful battle with the "Boxer." Blakely, while in

command of the "Enterprise," had greatly desired to meet an enemy

worthy of his metal. Great, then, was his chagrin, when the

"Enterprise," two weeks after he quitted her, fought her gallant

battle. In a letter written in January, 1814, he says, "I shall ever

view as one of the most unfortunate events of my life having quitted

the 'Enterprise' at the moment I did. Had I remained in her a

fortnight longer, my name might have been classed with those who stand

so high. I cannot but consider it a mortifying circumstance that I

left her but a few days before she fell in with the only enemy upon

this station with which she could have creditably contended. I confess

I felt heartily glad when I received my order to take command of the

'Wasp,' conceiving that there was no hope of doing any thing in the

'Enterprise.' But when I heard of the contest of the latter ship, and

witnessed the great delay in the equipment of the former, I had no

cause to congratulate myself. The 'Peacock' has ere this spread her

plumage to the winds, and the 'Frolic' will soon take her revels on

the ocean; but the 'Wasp' will, I fear, remain for some time a dull,

harmless drone in the waters of her country."

Notwithstanding his impatience, Blakely was forced to endure the

restraints of Portsmouth navy-yard for nearly three months, while the

"Wasp" was fitting out; but when she did finally get to sea, on May 1,

1814, she proved herself to be far from a "dull, harmless drone."

Slipping unobserved through the British blockading line, the "Wasp"

made straight for the European coast before a fresh wind, and was soon

cruising in the chops of the English channel, where the "Argus" had

won her laurels and met with her defeat. Many English merchantmen were

captured and burned, and the terror that spread in English shipping

circles recalled the days of the "Argus."

At daylight on the 28th of June, the "Wasp" sighted two merchantmen,

and straightway gave chase. Soon a third vessel was discovered on the

weather-beam; and, abandoning the vessels first sighted, the American

bore down upon the stranger. She proved to be the "Reindeer," a

British brig-sloop of eighteen guns, carrying a crew of one hundred

and eighteen men. Although the British vessel was by no means a match

in weight of metal for the "Wasp," her captain, William Manners,

brought her into action with a cool gallantry which well justified his

reputation as one of the bravest men in the British navy.

[Illustration: Boarding the "Reindeer."]

At ten o'clock in the morning the ships were near enough to each other

to exchange signals, but several hours were spent in manoeuvring for

the weather-gage; so that it was not until after three in the

afternoon that the action fairly opened. The day was admirably

suitable for a naval battle. Light clouds floated across the sky, and

the gentle breeze that was blowing had sufficient strength to propel

the ships without careening them. The surface of the ocean was

unusually calm for that quarter, in which a rather choppy sea is

usually running. Before the light breeze the "Wasp" came down upon her

foe, bows on, with her decks cleared for action, and the men at their

quarters. On the top-gallant forecastle of the "Reindeer" was mounted

a twelve-pound carronade, and the action was opened by the discharge

of this piece. In the position she then held, the "Wasp" was unable to

reply; and her crew had to bear five effective shots from this gun

without being able to fire a shot in return,--an ordeal that less

well-disciplined crews might not have endured. For nine minutes the

Americans returned not a shot; but then the "Wasp" luffed up, firing

the guns from aft forward as they bore. The two ships were now lying

broadside to broadside, not twenty yards apart, and every shot told.

For ten minutes this position was held, and the two crews worked like

Furies in loading and firing the great guns. The roar of the cannon

was incessant, and the recoil of the heavy explosions deadened what

little way the ships had on when fire was opened. Capt. Manners was

too old an officer not to know, that, in an artillery duel of that

kind, the victory would surely rest with the side that carried the

heaviest guns: so he ran his vessel aboard the "Wasp" on the starboard

quarter, intending to board and carry the day with the stubborn,

dashing gallantry shown by British seamen when once led to an enemy's

deck. At the ringing notes of the bugle, calling up the boarders, the

British gathered aft, their faces begrimed with gunpowder, their arms

bare, and their keen cutlasses firmly clutched in their strong right

hands. The Americans took the alarm at once, and crowded forward to

repel the enemy. The marines, whose hard duty it is in long-range

fighting to stand with military impassiveness, drawn up in line on

deck, while the shot whistle by them, and now and then cut great gaps

in their straight lines,--the marines came aft, with their muskets

loaded and bayonets fixed. Before them were sailors with sharp-pointed

boarding-pikes, ready to receive the enemy should he come aboard;

while close under the bulwarks were grouped the boarders, ready with

cutlass and pistol to beat back the flood of men that should come

pouring over the side. The grating of the ships' sides told that the

vessels were touching; and the next instant the burly British seamen,

looming up like giants, as they dashed through the dense murkiness of

the powder-smoke, were among the Americans, cutting and firing right

and left. From the deck of the "Reindeer" the marines kept up a

constant fire of musketry, to which the sea-soldiers of the "Wasp"

responded vigorously. Marksmen posted in the tops of each vessel

picked off men from their enemy's decks, choosing generally the

officers.

[Illustration: The Captain of the "Reindeer."]

Sharp and bloody though the British attack was, the boarders could

make no way against the stubborn stand of the Americans. Capt.

Manners, seeing his men beaten back, sprang forward to rally them. He

was desperately wounded. A gun-shot had passed through his thighs, and

a grape-shot had cut across the calves of his legs; but, maimed and

bleeding to death as he was, he leaped into the rigging, and, cheering

and waving his sword, called to his men to follow him to the decks of

the Yankee. The Britons rallied nobly under the encouragement of their

brave captain, and again advanced to the assault. But the figure of

the daring officer, as he stood thus before his men, waving his sword

and calling on them to come on, caught the eye of one of the men in

the "Wasp's" maintop; and the next instant a ball crashed into the

captain's brain, and he fell heavily to the deck, with his dying eyes

turned upwards toward the flag in whose service he had given his life.

Seeing the British captain fall and the men waver, Capt. Blakely with

a cheer called up the boarders of the "Wasp;" and in an instant a

stream of shouting sailors, cutlass in hand, was pouring over the

hammock-nettings, and driving the foe backward on his own decks. The

British still fought stubbornly; but their numbers were terribly

thinned, and their officers had fallen one by one, until now the

captain's clerk was the highest officer left. Seeing his men falling

back before the resistless torrent of boarders, this gentleman finally

struck the flag; and the battle ended, twenty-seven minutes after the

"Reindeer" had fired the opening gun, and eighteen after the "Wasp"

had responded.

[Illustration: The End of the "Reindeer."]

The execution and damage done on the "Reindeer" by the "Wasp's" shot

were appalling. Of her crew of one hundred and eighteen men,

thirty-three were killed or fatally wounded, and thirty-four were

wounded. The havoc wrought among her officers has already been

mentioned. Evidence of the accuracy and skill of the American gunners

was to be seen in the fact that the brig was completely cut to pieces

in the line of her ports. Her decks were swept clean of boats, spars,

and rigging. Her masts were badly shattered, and her foremast soon

went by the board. The "Wasp" had suffered severely, but was in much

better condition than her captured adversary. Eleven of her crew were

killed or mortally wounded, and fifteen were wounded severely or

slightly. She had been hulled by six round and many grape shot, and

her foremast had been cut by a twenty-four-pound shot. A few hours'

work cleared from her decks all trace of the bloody fight, and she was

in condition for another action. But it would have been folly to try

to get the crippled "Reindeer" to port from that region, swarming with

British cruisers: so Capt. Blakely took the prisoners on the "Wasp,"

put a few of the wounded on a neutral vessel that happened to pass,

and, burning the prize, made his way to the harbor of L'Orient. He had

fought a brave fight, and come out victor after a desperate contest.

But, though defeated, the plucky British might well boast of the

gallant manner in which they engaged an enemy so much their superior

in strength. History nowhere records a more gallant death than that of

the British captain, who fell leading his men in a dashing but vain

attempt to retrieve the day by boarding. In its manoeuvring, in the

courage and discipline of the crews, and in the gallantry of the two

captains, the action of the "Wasp" and the "Reindeer" may well go down

to history as a model naval duel of the age of sails.

The "Wasp" remained in port for several weeks, occupying the time in

refitting, and filling the gaps in her crew by enlistment from the

American privateers which then were to be seen occasionally in every

port of the world. She then put out to sea, and soon fell in with a

convoy of ten British merchantmen, under the protection of the

seventy-four "Armada." Though he had no intention of giving battle to

the line-of-battle ship, Blakely determined to capture one of the

merchantmen; and to this end the "Wasp" hung upon the skirts of the

convoy, making rapid dashes now at one vessel, then at another, and

keeping the seventy-four in constant anxiety. Finally the swift little

cruiser actually succeeded in capturing one of the vessels, and

escaping before the heavy seventy-four could get to the scene of the

conflict. The prize proved to be a valuable one, for she was laden

with iron and brass cannon and military stores.

Towards nightfall of the same day, Sept. 1, 1814, four more sail were

sighted; and the "Wasp" at once made off in chase of the most

weatherly. At eight o'clock the "Wasp" had gained so rapidly upon the

chase, that the latter began firing with her stern chaser, and soon

after opened with one of her lee guns. All the time the enemy kept up

a vigorous signalling with rockets, lanterns, and guns. By half-past

nine the "Wasp" was within hailing-distance, and an officer posted on

the bow hailed the stranger several times; but as she returned no

satisfactory answer, and refused to heave to, the "Wasp" opened upon

her with a twelve-pound carronade, and soon after poured a broadside

into her quarter. The two ships ploughed through the black water,

under full sail, side by side. The Americans had no idea of the

identity of their assailant, but, by the flashes of the guns, could

see that she was a heavy brig. Her ports gleamed brightly with

battle-lanterns; and the crowds of sailors in the tops, and the

regularity of her fire, showed that she was a man-of-war with a

well-disciplined crew, and no mere marauding privateer. For a time

this running fight continued at such short range that the only

American injured was struck by a wad from the enemy's cannon. The

British gunners were poor marksmen, and the "Wasp" suffered but

little; but it was evident that the American fire was taking effect,

for gun after gun on the enemy was silenced. At ten o'clock the

Americans, receiving no response to their carronade, stopped firing;

and Capt. Blakely, seizing a speaking-trumpet, shouted across the

water, "Have you struck?" No answer came, and the enemy began a feeble

fire. The "Wasp" let fly another broadside, and Blakely repeated the

question. This time an affirmative response came through the darkness;

and the "Wasp" stopped firing, and made preparations to take

possession of her prize. Just as the boat was being lowered from the

davits, the lookout's cry of "Sail, ho!" checked the proceedings.

Through the black night a cloud of canvas could be seen far astern,

denoting the presence of another ship, probably an enemy. The drums of

the "Wasp" beat fiercely; and the men trooped back to their quarters,

ready for a second battle. But in the mean time two more sail hove in

sight, and there remained to the "Wasp" nothing but flight. She

accordingly made off into the darkness, receiving one broadside from

one of the newly arrived men-of-war as she departed. So suddenly was

she forced to fly, that she was unable to learn the name and condition

of the vessel she had forced to surrender.

It became known in the United States later that the "Wasp's" adversary

in the battle in the darkness was the British sloop-of-war "Avon," of

eighteen guns. She was badly cut up by the fire of the American

gunners, losing her mainmast early in the action. At the time she

surrendered, she was in a sinking condition; and, had it not been for

the timely arrival of the brig-sloop "Castilian" and the "Tartarus,"

both British, the crew of the "Avon" would have been prisoners on the

"Wasp," or carried to the bottom in the shattered hulk of their own

ship. The loss on the "Avon" was ten killed and thirty-two wounded,

while on the "Wasp" but three men were injured.

Of all this the gallant Capt. Blakely was ignorant; and, indeed, it is

probable that he never knew with whom he had fought his last battle.

For the subsequent history of the "Wasp" is more tragic in its

unfathomable mystery than is the fate of the bravest ship ever sent to

the bottom by the broadsides of an enemy. What was the end of the

"Wasp," and where her bones now lie, no one knows. For some little

time after her battle with the "Avon," her movements can be traced.

Sept. 12, she captured the British brig "Three Brothers," and scuttled

her; two days later, the brig "Bacchus" met the same fate at her

hands. Sept. 21, she took the brig "Atlanta," eight guns; and, this

being a valuable prize, Midshipman Geisinger of the "Wasp" was put on

board, and took her safely to Savannah. He brought the last news that

was heard of the ill-fated cruiser for many years. Months passed, and

lengthened into years; and still the "Wasp" came not into port, nor

could any trace of her whereabouts be found. As time passed on, the

attempts to account for her delay changed into theories as to the

cause of her total disappearance. All sorts of rumors were afloat.

According to one account, the ship was wrecked on the African coast,

and her gallant lads were ending their weary lives as slaves to the

turbaned Moors of Barbary. Another theory was based on the rumor that

an English frigate went into Cadiz much crippled, and with her crew

severely injured, and reported that she had been engaged with a heavy

American corvette, which had so suddenly disappeared that she was

thought to have sunk with all on board. But, as time passed on, the

end of the "Wasp" was forgotten by all save a few whose hearts ached

for some of the gallant lads thus blotted from the face of the earth.

Years after, the fate of the daring cruiser was again brought into

remembrance by fresh news curiously found. When the officers and crew

of the "Essex," after that vessel's gallant battle with the "Phoebe"

and "Cherub," were sent to the United States under parole, two

officers remained at Valparaiso, to give testimony before the

prize-court. These gentlemen were Lieut. McKnight, and Mr. Lyman a

master's mate. After going to Brazil in the "Phoebe," the two officers

took passage in a Swedish brig bound for England. Months passed; and,

nothing being heard from them, their friends became alarmed for their

safety. In that time, before the day of the telegraph and steam

transportation, many things might have easily detained the two

officers for a year or more, and nothing be heard of them. But, when

two years had passed, inquiries began to be made as to their fate,

both by their friends and the naval authorities. The first step was to

find the vessel upon which they had left Brazil. This was a work of

time; so that it was many years after the disappearance of the

officers when the brig was found lying at a London dock. She was the

brig "Adonis," and the master proved to be the same who had commanded

her when the two officers had taken passage. He readily recalled the

circumstance, but claimed that the two passengers had left him in

mid-ocean to go aboard an American man-of-war; and in proof of this he

brought out the log-book, and, turning back to the year 1814, pointed

out the following entries:--

[Illustration: The End of the "Wasp."]

"AUG. 23.--Left Rio de Janeiro; Stephen Decatur McKnight and

James Lyman, passengers for England.

"OCT. 9.--At eight o'clock in the morning discovered a strange

sail giving chase to us, and fired several guns; she gaining very

fast. At half-past ten o'clock hove to, and was boarded by an

officer dressed in an English doctor's uniform; the vessel also

hoisted an English ensign. The officer proceeded to examine my

ship's papers, etc., likewise the letter-bags, and took from one

of them a letter to the victualling office, London. Finding I had

two American officers as passengers, he immediately left the

ship, and went on board the sloop-of-war. He shortly after

returned, took the American gentlemen with him, and went a second

time on board the ship. In about half an hour he returned, with

Messrs. McKnight and Lyman; and they informed me that the vessel

was the United States sloop-of-war 'Wasp,' commanded by Capt.

Blakely, or Blake, last from France, where she had refitted; had

lately sunk the 'Reindeer,' English sloop-of-war, and another

vessel, which sunk without their being able to save a single

person, or learn the vessel's name; that Messrs. McKnight and

Lyman had now determined to leave me and go on board the 'Wasp;'

paid me their passage in dollars, at 5_s._ 9_d._; and, having

taken their luggage on board, the 'Wasp' made sail to the

southward. Shortly after they had left, I discovered that Lieut.

McKnight had left his writing-desk behind; and I immediately made

signal for the 'Wasp' to return, and stood towards her. They,

observing my signal, stood back, came alongside, and sent their

boat on board for the writing-desk; after which they sent me a

log-line and some other presents, and made all sail in a

direction for the line, and, I have reason to suppose, for the

convoy that passed on Thursday previous."

And so the "Wasp," with her ill-fated crew thus re-enforced, passed

forever from the sight of man. What was her course after leaving the

"Adonis," none may ever know. Whether some chance spark, touching the

deadly stores of her magazine, sent vessel and crew to a sudden but

merciful death; or whether, after gallantly battling with some fierce

tropical hurricane, she drifted about the trackless ocean a helpless

hulk, with a slowly dying crew, carried hither and yon before the

winds and the currents, until her timbers, rotting asunder, gave a

watery sepulchre to her crew of lifeless bodies, must remain a mystery

until the day when the sea shall give up its dead. But, until that day

comes, the gallant deeds done by vessel and crew for the flag under

which they served should keep the names of the "Wasp" and her men ever

memorable in the annals of the great nation whose infancy they so

gallantly protected.

CHAPTER XV.

OPERATIONS ON THE NEW ENGLAND COAST. -- THE BOMBARDMENT OF

STONINGTON. -- DESTRUCTION OF THE UNITED STATES CORVETTE "ADAMS."

-- OPERATIONS ON CHESAPEAKE BAY. -- WORK OF BARNEY'S BARGE

FLOTILLA. -- ADVANCE OF THE BRITISH UPON WASHINGTON. --

DESTRUCTION OF THE CAPITOL. -- OPERATIONS AGAINST BALTIMORE. --

BOMBARDMENT OF FORT McHENRY.

The remaining work of the British blockading squadrons along the

Atlantic Coast demands some attention, and some account must be given

of certain land actions which were inseparably connected with the

course of naval events. This narrative can well be divided into two

parts, each dealing with the operations of one section of the

blockading fleet; thus tracing the course of events up to the close of

the war on the New England coast, before taking up the proceedings on

the Chesapeake station.

It will be remembered that Decatur had been checked in his attempt to

break the blockade at the eastern end of Long Island Sound, and was

forced to take the frigates "United States" and "Macedonian," and the

sloop-of-war "Hornet," into New London Harbor. Early in December,

1813, he determined to try to slip out; and choosing a dark night,

when wind and tide were in his favor, he dropped down the bay, and was

about to put to sea, when bright blue lights blazed up on either side

of the harbor's mouth, and the plan was exposed by the treachery of

some party never detected. After this failure, the two frigates

returned up the river, where they remained until the end of the war.

The "Hornet" managed to get to sea, and did good service before peace

was declared.

In April, 1814, the British blockaders on the New England coast began

active operations by sending an expedition up the Connecticut River to

Pautopaug Point, where the invaders landed, spiked the guns of a small

battery, and destroyed twenty-two vessels. Thence they proceeded down

the river, burning a few more craft on the way, and escaped safely to

their ships; although a party of militia, and sailors and marines from

Decatur's vessels, attempted to cut them off. Shortly after this

occurrence, a fleet of American gunboats attacked the blockading

squadron off New London, and succeeded in inflicting serious damages

upon the enemy.

In June, the enemy's depredations extended to the Massachusetts coast.

The little village of Wareham was the first sufferer. A sudden descent

made by boats' crews from the frigates "Superb" and "Nimrod" so

completely surprised the inhabitants, that the enemy burned the

shipping at the wharves, set fire to a factory, and retreated before

the villagers fully comprehended the blow that had fallen upon them.

Like occurrences took place at other coastwise towns; and, in every

case, the militia proved powerless to check the enemy. All up and down

the New England coast, from Maine to the mouth of the Connecticut

River, the people were panic-stricken; and hardly a night passed

without witnessing the flames of some bonfire kindled by the British

out of American property.

[Illustration: The Descent on Wareham.]

In August, 1814, Commodore Hardy appeared off Stonington with a fleet

of several vessels, headed by the seventy-four "Ramillies." Casting

anchor near shore, he sent to the mayor and selectmen the following

curt note: "Not wishing to destroy the unoffending inhabitants

residing in the town of Stonington, one hour is granted them, from the

receipt of this, to remove out of town." This message naturally caused

great consternation; and, while messengers were sent in all directions

to call together the militia, the answer was returned to the fleet:

"We shall defend the place to the last extremity. Should it be

destroyed, we will perish in its ruins." And, having thus defied the

enemy, the farmers and fishermen who inhabited the town set about

preparing for its defence. The one battery available for service

consisted of two eighteen-pounders and a four-pounder, mounted behind

earth breastworks. The gunners were put under the command of an old

sailor, who had been impressed into the British navy, where he served

four years. The skill he thus acquired in gunnery, he now gladly used

against his former oppressors. It was near nightfall when the British

opened fire; and they kept up a constant cannonade with round shot,

bombs, Congreve rockets, and carcasses until near midnight, without

doing the slightest damage. The bursting shells, the fiery rockets,

and the carcasses filled with flaming chemicals, fairly filled the

little wooden village with fire; but the exertions of the people

prevented the spread of the flames. The fleet ceased firing at

midnight, but there was no peace for the villagers. Militia-men were

pouring in from the country round about, laborers were at work

throwing up breastwork, carriers were dashing about in search of

ammunition, and all was activity, until, with the first gleam of

daylight, the fire of the ships was re-opened. The Americans promptly

responded, and soon two eighteen-pound shot hulled the brig

"Despatch." For an hour or two a rapid fire was kept up; then, the

powder giving out, the Americans spiked their largest gun, and,

nailing a flag to the battery flagstaff, went in search of more

ammunition. The British did not land; and the Americans, finding six

kegs of powder, took the gun to a blacksmith, who drilled out the

spike, and the action continued. So vigorous and well directed was the

fire of the Americans, that the "Despatch" was forced to slip her

cables and make off to a place of safety. That afternoon a truce was

declared, which continued until eight the next morning. By that time,

the Americans had assembled in sufficient force to defeat any landing

party the enemy could send ashore. The bombardment of the town

continued; but the aim of the British was so inconceivably poor, that,

during the three days' firing, no damage was done by their shot. A

more ludicrous fiasco could hardly be imagined, and the Americans were

quick to see the comical side of the affair. Before departing, the

British fired over fifteen tons of lead and iron into the town. A

quantity of this was picked up by the Americans, and offered for sale.

In a New York paper appeared the advertisement,--

"Just received, and offered for sale, about three tons of round

shot, consisting of six, nine, twelve, eighteen, twenty-four, and

thirty-two pounds; very handsome, being a small proportion of

those which were fired from His Britannic Majesty's ships on the

unoffending inhabitants of Stonington, in the recent _brilliant_

attack on that place. Likewise a few carcasses, in good order,

weighing about two hundred pounds each. Apply," etc.

A popular bard of the time set forth in rollicking verse the exploits

of the British gunners:--

"They killed a goose, they killed a hen,

Three hogs they wounded in a pen;

They dashed away,--and pray what then?

That was not taking Stonington.

"The shells were thrown, the rockets flew;

But not a shell of all they threw--

Though every house was full in view--

Could burn a house in Stonington."

With this affair, in which the British expended ammunition to the

amount of fifty thousand dollars, and lost twenty men killed and fifty

wounded, active offensive operations along the Connecticut coast

ended. Farther north, however, the British still raided towns and

villages, showing more spirit in their attacks than did Hardy at

Stonington. Eastport, Me., was captured in July, and converted into a

veritable British colony. The inhabitants who remained in the town

were forced to take an oath of allegiance to Great Britain;

fortifications were thrown up, and an arsenal established; King

George's officials were placed in the custom-house, and thenceforward

until the end of the war the town was virtually British. Encouraged by

this success, the enemy undertook a more difficult task. A formidable

fleet of men-of-war and transports, bearing almost ten thousand

troops, was fitted out at Halifax for the purpose of reducing to

British rule all that part of Maine lying between Passamaquoddy Bay

and the Penobscot River. This expedition set sail from Halifax on the

26th of August, bound for Machias; but on the voyage down the coast of

Maine the brig "Rifleman" was encountered, and from her the presence

of the United States corvette "Adams" in the Penobscot River was

learned. It will be remembered that the "Adams," before entering the

river, had chased the British brig. Upon learning this, the British

naval commander, Admiral Griffiths, pressed forward to the mouth of

the Penobscot, and, anchoring there, despatched a land and naval

expedition up the river for the capture of the corvette.

When the news of this advancing force reached Capt. Morris, the

"Adams" was partially out of water, dismantled, and in the hands of

the ship carpenters, who were repairing the injuries she had received

on the rocks off Mount Desert. The ship herself was utterly

defenceless, but Morris made strenuous attempts to collect a land

force to defend her. He managed to rally a few hundred militia-men,

who, with the sailors and marines, were routed by the enemy on the

night of the 3d of September. Finding that the enemy's forces were not

to be driven back by so small a body of men, Morris retreated, first

setting fire to the corvette, which was totally destroyed before the

British came up.

The retreating sailors were then forced to march over rugged roads to

Portsmouth, N.H.; and, as walking was an exercise they were little

accustomed to, many suffered severely from the unusual exertion. The

difficulty of getting provisions along the road led the men to

separate into several parties; but, notwithstanding the opportunities

thus afforded for desertion, all who were not broken down by the long

march ultimately reported for duty at the Portsmouth navy-yard.

Along the Southern seaboard the course of the war was even more

disastrous to the Americans. Intelligence which reached the national

authorities in the spring of 1814 led them to believe that the British

were planning an expedition for the capture of Washington. Grave as

was the danger, the authorities were slow to move; and though in July

the Government called for fifteen thousand troops, and gave their

command to Gen. Winder, yet the actual defensive force about the

national capital consisted of but a few hundred militia. The naval

defence was intrusted to the veteran Commodore Barney, who had served

with distinction in the Revolution, and during the early years of the

second war with Great Britain had commanded the Baltimore privateer

"Rossie." The force put under Barney's command consisted of twenty-six

gunboats and barges, manned by nine hundred men. Chiefly by his own

energetic exertions, this force was ready for service in April; and by

June the crews were drilled and disciplined, and the commanders

schooled in the tactics of squadron evolutions. On the 1st of that

month occurred the first brush with the enemy. The American flotilla

was then lying in Chesapeake Bay, a little below the mouth of the

Patuxent; and, a portion of the enemy's squadron coming within range,

Barney ordered out his forces in chase. The British, outnumbered, fled

down the bay; but, though Barney was rapidly overhauling them, he saw

his hopes of victory shattered by the sudden appearance of His

Britannic Majesty's seventy-four gun ship "Dragon." Thus re-enforced,

it became the turn of the British to pursue; and the Americans

retreated, firing constantly as they fled. The British continuing

their advance, Barney was forced to take shelter in the Patuxent

River; and he was gradually forced up that stream as far as the mouth

of St. Leonard's Creek. The enemy then, feeling certain that the

Americans were fairly entrapped, anchored at the mouth of the river,

and awaited re-enforcements. These soon arrived; and on the 8th of the

month the enemy's forces, consisting of a frigate, brig, and two

schooners, moved up the river to the mouth of the creek. Farther they

could not go, owing to shoal-water; but they fitted out a small

flotilla of barges, and sent them on up the creek. With this enemy

Commodore Barney was ready to come to close quarters; and he moved

down upon the British, who quickly retreated to the shelter of their

ships. Two or three such sham attacks were made by the enemy, but not

until the 10th of the month did they actually give battle to the

Americans.

On the morning of that day the British advanced in force to the

attack; and the peaceful little creek was ablaze with flags and bright

uniforms, and the wooded shores echoed back the strains of martial

music. Twenty-one barges, one rocket-boat, and two schooners formed

the British column of attack, which moved grandly up the creek, with

the bands playing patriotic airs, and the sailors, confident of

victory, cheering lustily. Eight hundred men followed the British

colors. Against this force Barney advanced with but five hundred

sailors. His sloop and gun-vessels he left at anchor, as being too

unwieldy for the narrow shoal-waters of St. Leonard's Creek; and he

met the enemy's flotilla with but thirteen barges. The enemy opened

the action at long range with rockets and howitzers. The former were

terrible missiles in an action of this character, corresponding to the

shells of modern naval warfare. Some idea of their destructiveness may

be derived from the fact, that one of them, fired at long range,

exploded and set fire to a boat, after having first passed through the

body of one of her crew. Barney had no rockets; and, as the combat at

long range was telling upon his men, he at once dashed forward into

the midst of the enemy. Soon the barges were engaged in desperate

hand-to-hand conflicts. The sailors, grappling with their adversary's

craft, fought with pistol and cutlass across the gunwales. Barney, in

a small barge with twenty men, dashed about, now striking a blow in

aid of some overmatched American boat, then cheering on some laggard,

or applauding some deed of gallantry that occurred in his sight. Major

William Barney, son of the commodore, saw an American barge on fire,

and deserted by her crew who feared the explosion of her magazine.

Running his boat alongside, he jumped into the flaming craft; and by

dint of bailing in water, and rocking her from side to side, he

succeeded in saving the barge. For more than an hour the action raged,

both sides fighting with great vigor and gallantry; but the Americans

having pierced the British line, the enemy, falling into confusion,

turned, and strained every muscle to gain the protection of their

ship's guns. The Americans followed in hot pursuit; but their

course was abruptly checked at the mouth of the creek by a British

schooner, whose eighteen guns commanded respect. For a moment the

pursuing barges fell back; then, choosing advantageous positions, they

opened fire upon the schooner with such effect that she soon turned to

escape. She succeeded in getting under the protecting guns of the

frigate and sloop-of-war, but was so cut to pieces in the short action

that she was run aground and abandoned. The larger vessels now opened

fire upon Barney's forces; and the flotilla, after a few shots of

defiance, returned to its quarters up the creek.

[Illustration: The Battle of the Barges.]

For the next two weeks all was quiet along the shores of the Patuxent

and St. Leonard's Creek. The enemy had learned wisdom from their late

defeat, and contented themselves with blockading the mouth of the

creek, and leaving Barney undisturbed in his retreat. But the doughty

commodore had no idea of being thus confined, and during the time of

quiet made preparations for an attempt to break the blockade. Land

forces from Washington were sent down to aid in this attempt; and two

pieces of artillery were to be mounted on a hill at the mouth of the

creek, and thence throw red-hot shot into the enemy's ships. The land

forces, however, rendered not the slightest assistance; and a too

cautious colonel posted the battery at such a point that no shot could

reach the enemy without first passing through a hill. Accordingly,

when Barney led his flotilla gallantly down to the attack, he found

that the issue of the conflict rested upon the sailors alone. From the

battery, which was expected to draw the enemy's fire, not a single

effective shot was fired. The sailors fought nobly, using their heavy

long twelves and eighteens with great effect. But they were sadly

hampered by their position; for the mouth of the creek was so narrow

that but eight barges could lie abreast, and the others coming down

from above soon packed the little stream from shore to shore, giving

the enemy a mark that the poorest gunner could hardly miss. Against

the storm of grape and canister that the British poured upon them, the

sailors had absolutely no protection. The barges were without

bulwarks, and the blue-jackets at the guns and at the oars were

exposed to the full force of the British fire. Yet in this exposed

situation the gallant fellows kept up the fight for nearly an hour,

only withdrawing when the last ray of hope for help from the shore

battery had vanished. Shortly after the Americans abandoned the

attack, the blockading squadron got under way and stood down the bay.

From the way in which one of the frigates was working her pumps, the

Americans saw that their fire had not been entirely without effect.

Barney's flotilla had now given the British so much trouble that they

determined to destroy it without delay; and an expedition of more than

five thousand men--composed of regulars, marines, and a few

negroes--was carried up the Patuxent, and landed at Benedict, where an

armed brig had been stationed to cover the disembarkation. It was

early dawn when the signal to land was given, and the river was

covered in an instant with a well-manned and warlike flotilla. It was

hard work for the British sailors, for a strong current was running;

but by three o'clock in the afternoon the whole army was landed, and

encamped in a strong position on a hill overlooking the village.

Though no American troops were anywhere in the vicinity, the landing

was conducted with the utmost caution. As the prow of each boat grated

on the sand, the soldiers leaped on the beach, and instantly drew up

in line, ready to repel any attack. After the infantry was landed,

about a hundred artillerymen followed, and the same number of sailors

dragging howitzers.

It is easily understood that this powerful force was not organized

solely to destroy Barney's pitiful little flotilla. The real purpose

of the British commander was to press on into the interior, and

capture Washington, which the Americans had foolishly left without any

defences whatever. It came to Barney's ears that Admiral Cockburn had

boasted that he would destroy the American flotilla, and dine in

Washington the following Sunday. This news the American commodore sent

off to the authorities at the capital, and they then began to make

futile preparations to repel the invader. In the mean time the British

commenced their march up the shores of the Patuxent, meeting with no

opposition. Barney, knowing that the defence of the national capital

was of far greater importance than the fate of his flotilla, landed

with four hundred men, and hastened to the American lines before

Washington. He left the barges under the command of the second

lieutenant, Mr. Frazier, with instructions to set fire to every boat

on the appearance of the enemy, and then join the commodore with all

the men left under his charge. Accordingly, when the invading column

reached Nottingham, Mr. Frazier took the flotilla still higher up the

creek,--a move that vastly disconcerted the British, who saw their

prey eluding them. "But in the main object of our pursuit we were

disappointed," wrote a British officer. "The flotilla which had been

stationed opposite to Nottingham retired, on our approach, higher up

the stream; and we were consequently in the situation of a huntsman

who sees his hounds at fault, and has every reason to apprehend that

his game will escape." But the game never fell into the hands of the

ardent hunters; for the next day Mr. Frazier fulfilled his orders by

setting fire to every barge, and, after seeing several of the larger

boats blow up, mustered his men, and cut across the country, to join

his superior officer. The British naval forces soon after reached Pig

Point, the scene of this destruction, and there remained; while the

land forces immediately turned away from the river, and marched upon

Washington.

[Illustration: Sharp-Shooters.]

It is not necessary to give in detail the incidents of the series of

skirmishes by which the British fought their way to the American

capital. They were opposed by raw militia, and the few sailors and

marines under Barney. The former fled with promptitude at the very

first fire, but the sailors and marines fought gallantly. The fighting

was sharpest at Bladensburg; and here Barney's blue-jackets won praise

from everybody, even from the enemy whose advance they disputed.

Barney himself led the Americans, and sighted a favorite gun of the

sailors' battery, until he fell desperately wounded. This battery

commanded the road by which the main column of British advanced; and

by its hail of grape and canister it beat back the advancing

regiments, and for some time checked their further progress. The

British thereupon opened with rockets, and sent out sharp-shooters to

pick off the Yankee gunners. One of these riflemen was observed by the

Americans to deliberately build for himself a small redoubt of stones

from an old wall; and, lying down behind it, he began a deliberate

fire upon the Americans. His first bullet went through the cap of one

of the sailors, and the second sent a poor fellow to his long account.

The marines answered with their muskets; but the fellow's stone

rampart saved him, and he continued his fire. Barney vowed to put an

end to that affair, and, carefully sighting one of his cannon, pulled

the lanyard. The heavy round shot was seen to strike the

sharp-shooter's defence, and stones and man disappeared in a cloud of

dust. Meantime, the enemy had thrown out flanking parties under cover

of the woods, and had nearly surrounded the little band of sailors. A

musket-ball struck Barney in the thigh, and he began to grow faint

with loss of blood; and, finding that the militia had fled, and the

sailors were becoming exhausted, the commodore ordered a retreat. The

blue-jackets left the field in good order; but their gallant commander

had gone but a few steps, when the pain of his wound forced him to lie

down under a tree, and await the coming of the enemy. The British soon

came up, led by Gen. Ross and Capt. Wainwright of the navy. After

learning Barney's rank, and courteously offering to secure surgical

aid, the general turned to his companion, and, speaking of the

stubborn resistance made by the battery, said, "I told you it was the

flotilla men."--"Yes. You were right, though I could not believe you,"

was the response. "They have given us the only fighting we have had."

Meanwhile, the British, having routed the Americans at every point,

pressed on to Washington. The inhabitants fled before them, and the

town was almost deserted when the British marched in with banners

flying and bands playing. The enemy held the city for only a day; but

in that time they did such deeds of vandalism, that even the people

and the press of London cried out in indignation. The President's

house, the Capitol, all the public buildings except the Patent

Office, were burned to the ground. The navy-yard, with the uncompleted

ships on the stocks, was likewise burned; but in this the enemy only

acted in accordance with the rules of war. It was their destruction of

the public buildings, the national archives, and the Congressional

library, that aroused the wrathful indignation of all fair-minded

people, whether Americans or Europeans. "Willingly," said one London

newspaper, "would we throw a veil of oblivion over our transactions at

Washington. The Cossacks spared Paris, but we spared not the capital

of America." A second English journal fitly denounced the proceedings

as "a return to the times of barbarism."

[Illustration: The March on Washington.]

But, if the invaders are rightly to be blamed for the useless

vandalism they encouraged, the American authorities are still more

culpable for their neglect of the most ordinary precautions of war.

That a national capital, close to the sea, should be left virtually

unprotected while the enemy was massing his forces only a few miles

away, seems almost unbelievable. But so it was with Washington; for

five hundred flotilla men were forced to bear the brunt of the attack

of five thousand British. True it is that the military authorities had

massed seven thousand militia-men for the defence of the city; but

such was the trepidation of these untrained soldiers, that they fled

before the main body of the British had come into the fight. That the

sailors and marines fought bravely, we have the testimony of the

British themselves. Mr. Gleig, a subaltern in the attacking army,

writes, "Of the sailors, however, it would be injustice not to speak

in the terms which their conduct merits. They were employed as

gunners; and not only did they serve their guns with a quickness and

precision which astonished their assailants, but they stood till some

of them were actually bayonneted with fuses in their hands; nor was it

till their leader was wounded and taken, and they saw themselves

deserted on all sides by the soldiers, that they quitted the field."

Therefore, in the battle of Bladensburg, the blue-jackets won nothing

but honor, though the results of the battle were so mortifying to the

national pride of the people of the United States.

On the 25th of August the British left the smoking ruins of Washington

behind them, and made for their fleet lying in the Patuxent. They

feared that the outraged nation would rise upon them, and turn their

march into a bloody retreat, like that of the British soldiery from

the historic field of Lexington. Accordingly their departure was by

night, immediately after a furious storm of rain and wind. Strict

orders were issued to all the Americans in Washington, warning them,

under penalty of death, not to leave their houses until the sun rose

the next morning. Then the British stealthily marched out of the town.

"No man spoke above his breath," says subaltern Gleig. "Our very steps

were planted lightly, and we cleared the town without exciting

observation." A two days' march brought them to Benedict, where the

fleet lay in waiting for their reception.

[Illustration: The Burning of Washington.]

In the mean time, a portion of the British fleet had ascended the

Potomac as far as Alexandria, and, finding that town defenceless,

proceeded to dictate to the inhabitants the terms upon which they

could save their village from desolation. The British demanded that

all naval stores and ordnance, all the shipping and its furniture, all

merchandise, and all provisions in the town should be surrendered.

Several vessels had been scuttled, to prevent their falling into the

hands of the enemy; these, the British demanded, should be raised,

repaired, and delivered to them Time, however, did not permit the

fulfilment of this condition; but to the others, harsh and humiliating

though they were, the inhabitants were forced to accede. Heavy laden

with the spoils of the village, the pillagers weighed anchor and

started down the Potomac. But they were not destined to carry away

their booty unmolested. News of the expedition reached Baltimore, and

a large party of the sailors at the navy-yard were sent to the banks

of the Potomac to cut off the enemy's retreat. They were officered by

four men famous in American naval annals,--Perry, Rodgers, Porter, and

Creighton. At Indian Head, just below Mount Vernon, the Potomac River

narrows and flows swiftly between densely wooded bluffs. At this point

the Americans threw up redoubts, and, mounting all the cannon that

could be gathered on such short notice, prepared to dispute the

enemy's passage. When the British fleet hove in sight, they were

greeted with a storm of shot from the unsuspected batteries; and they

recoiled in confusion. Practised American hunters lined the woody

shores, and picked off the British sailors with musket-balls. For some

time the fleet was thus checked in its progress. Finally the admiral

determined that only by a bold dash could he escape; and accordingly,

massing his vessels and concentrating his fire on the chief battery,

he dashed past, and rejoined his superior officer, Cockburn, not

without paying dearly for his exploit at Alexandria.

While the British were thus devastating the shores of Chesapeake Bay,

they cast more than one longing look toward the thriving city of

Baltimore, which, by its violent patriotism, had done much to urge on

the war. From the shipyards of Baltimore came more than one stout

naval vessel that had forced the enemy to haul down his colors. But

that which more than any thing else aroused the hatred of the British

was the share Baltimore took in fitting out and manning those swift

privateers, concerning whose depredations upon British commerce we

shall have something to say in a later chapter. "It is a doomed town,"

said Vice-admiral Warren. "The truculent inhabitants of Baltimore must

be tamed with the weapons which shook the wooden turrets of

Copenhagen," cried the editor of a great London paper. But,

nevertheless, Baltimore did not fall before the invader, although for

some time the army and navy of the enemy were united in the attempt to

bring desolation upon the obnoxious city.

[Illustration: Planning the Attack.]

After the fall of Washington, the depredations of the British along

the shores of Chesapeake Bay redoubled, and the marauding expeditions

thus employed were really feelers thrown out to test the strength of

the defenses of Baltimore. That the marauders found some opposition,

is evident from a passage in the journal of a British officer. "But

these hasty excursions, though generally successful, were not always

performed without loss to the invaders." On one of these expeditions,

Sir Peter Parker, captain of the frigate "Menelaus," lost his life. He

had been ordered down to the mouth of the bay just after the fall of

Washington. "I must first have a frolic with the Yankees," said he.

And accordingly, after a jovial dinner aboard his frigate, he led a

night expedition of sailors and marines ashore, expecting to surprise

a small body of Maryland militia stationed at Moorfields. Sir Peter's

frolic turned out disastrously; for the Marylanders were on the watch,

and received the invaders with a fierce volley. Sir Peter was

gallantly cheering on his men, when a musket-ball cut the main artery

in his thigh. "They have hit me, Pearce," he said faintly to his

lieutenant; "but it's nothing. Push on, my brave boys, and follow me."

But even thus cheering, he fell back, the words died away in his

throat, and he bled to death before a surgeon could be found. It is

but right to say, that, though he sailed in Cockburn's command, he had

none of the cruel brutality which his admiral too often showed.

On the 12th of September a more serious assault was made upon

Baltimore. The British naval and military forces united in the attack,

which was made by land and sea. A force of nine thousand men,

including two thousand marines and two thousand sailors, was landed

fifteen miles from Baltimore, and under the command of Gen. Ross and

Admiral Cockburn marched gayly inland, never doubting that they would

find the Americans unprepared, and repeat their exploits at

Washington. In this expectation they were sadly disappointed; for the

Maryland militia, aided by a few regulars and seamen, outfought the

British at every point, and checked their farther advance. Among the

slain was Gen. Ross, who was shot down as he was leading the advance

of the British skirmishers. In the mean time, the British fleet had

been taking its share in the engagement by attempting to reduce Fort

McHenry. A large flotilla of frigates, schooners, sloops, and

bomb-ketches entered the Patapsco River on the morning of the 12th,

and, casting anchor out of the reach of the fort's guns, opened a

furious fire. The fort was manned by militia-men and a large

detachment of the gallant sailors from Barney's flotilla. When the

continual falling of shells within the fort told that the enemy had

come within range, the guns of Fort McHenry opened in response. But,

to the intense chagrin of the Americans, it was found that their works

mounted not a single gun that would carry to the enemy's fleet. There

then remained to the garrison only the trying duty of holding their

post, and enduring without response a galling fire from the enemy. All

the garrison stood to the guns without flinching; while the shrieking

shells fell on all sides, and, exploding, scattered deadly missiles in

all directions. One shell struck and dismounted one of the

twenty-four-pounders, killing and wounding several of its men. Admiral

Cochrane, who commanded the attacking fleet, saw this incident, and

ordered three of his bomb-vessels to move up nearer to the fort. This

gave the Americans the opportunity for which they had been longing,

and instantly every gun in the fort opened upon the three luckless

ketches. Half an hour of this fire sufficed to drive the three vessels

back to their original station.

Night fell, but brought no cessation of the bombardment. But the

enemy, while never slackening his fire, had determined to take

advantage of the darkness to send out a landing party to take two

small batteries on the banks of the Patapsco, and then assault Fort

McHenry from the rear. Twelve hundred and fifty men, with

scaling-ladders and fascines, left the fleet in barges, and moved up

the Patapsco towards Fort Covington and the City Battery. But their

plan, though well laid, was defeated by the vigilance and courage of

the garrisons of the two threatened positions,--sailors all, and many

of them men from Barney's flotilla, a training-school which seems to

have given to the region about Chesapeake Bay its most gallant

defenders. Just as the storming party turned the prows of the barges

towards the shore, they were discovered; and from McHenry, Covington,

and the City Battery burst a thunderous artillery-fire, that shook the

houses in Baltimore, and illumined the dark shores of the river with a

lurid glare. Bold as the British sailors were, they could advance no

farther under so terrible a fire. Two of the barges were shot to

pieces, leaving their crews struggling in the water. A ceaseless hail

of grape and canister spread death and wounds broadcast among the

enemy; and, after wavering a moment, they turned and fled to their

ships. Cochrane, seeing his plan for taking the American positions by

assault thus frustrated, redoubled the fury of his fire; hoping that,

when daybreak made visible the distant shore, nothing but a heap of

ruins should mark the spot where Fort McHenry stood the night before.

A night bombardment is at once a beautiful and a terrible spectacle.

The ceaseless flashing of the great guns, lighting up with a lurid

glare the dense clouds of smoke that hang over the scene of battle;

the roar of the artillery; the shriek of the shell as it leaves the

cannon's mouth, slowly dying into a murmur and a dull explosion, as,

with a flash of fire, the missile explodes far away,--combine to form

a picture, that, despite the horrors of wounds and death, rouses the

enthusiasm and admiration of the beholder. When viewed from the deck

of one of an attacking fleet, the scene is even more impressive. At

each discharge of the great guns, the vessel reels and trembles like a

huge animal in agony. The surging waters alongside reflect in their

black depths the flash of the cannon and the fiery trail of the flying

shell. Far in the distance can be seen the flashes of the enemy's

guns, each of which may mean the despatch of a missile bringing death

and pain in its track. One who has witnessed such a spectacle can

readily understand the fascination which men find in the great game of

war.

[Illustration: The Star Spangled Banner.]

Pacing the deck of the one of the British vessels was a young

American, whose temperament was such that he could fully appreciate

all the beauties of the scene, even though harassed by anxious fears

lest the British should be successful. This man was Francis S. Key,

who had visited the fleet with a flag of truce, but was unable to get

away before the bombardment began. When the sun set on the evening of

the 13th, Key saw his country's flag waving proudly over the ramparts

at which the British guns had been so furiously pounding. Would that

flag still be there when the sun should rise again? That was the

question which Key asked himself as he anxiously walked the deck

throughout the night, striving to pierce the darkness, and make out,

by the lurid lightnings of the cannon, whether the flag was still

there. As the night wore on, Key took an old letter from his pocket,

and on the blank sheet jotted down the lines of the immortal national

song, "The Star Spangled Banner." Its words merely voice the writer's

thoughts; for often during that night he looked anxiously shorewards,

to see if

"the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof, through the night, that our flag was still there."

When the anxiously awaited daylight came, Fort McHenry still stood;

and over it waved defiantly the starry folds of the United States

flag. The British saw that, by land and sea, their attack had failed;

and early in the morning the fleet, after taking on board the remnant

of the land forces, sailed suddenly away, and left Baltimore safe.

They had bombarded Fort McHenry for twenty-five hours, throwing nearly

two thousand shells. Yet, wonderful as it may appear, only four of the

Americans were killed, and twenty-four wounded. With this failure the

British ended their chief offensive operations along the shores of the

Chesapeake. The greater part of the fleet and the soldiery then moved

southward, to take part in the operations along the Gulf coast, that

culminated in the disastrous defeat of the invaders at New Orleans.

CHAPTER XVI.

DESULTORY HOSTILITIES ON THE OCEAN. -- ATTACK UPON FORT BOWYER.

-- LAFITTE THE PIRATE. -- BRITISH EXPEDITION AGAINST NEW ORLEANS.

-- BATTLE AT THE RIGOLETS. -- ATTACK ON NEW ORLEANS, AND DEFEAT

OF THE BRITISH. -- WORK OF THE BLUE-JACKETS. -- CAPTURE OF THE

FRIGATE "PRESIDENT." -- THE "CONSTITUTION" TAKES THE "CYANE" AND

"LEVANT." -- THE "HORNET" TAKES THE "PENGUIN." -- END OF THE WAR.

The naval incidents of the latter part of 1814 conferred little honor

upon either of the belligerents. Seldom did the meetings between

hostile ships rise to the dignity of battles. One or two small

American brigs fell a prey to British frigates; but in every instance

the disparity of force was so great that the weaker surrendered

without striking a blow. Such was the case with the sixteen-gun brig

"Rattlesnake," which escaped from one British frigate by throwing

overboard all her guns, only to immediately fall a prey to the

"Leander." In July of the same year, the United States brig "Siren"

was captured by the British frigate "Medway," off the coast of Africa,

after a long chase, during which the American hove overboard every

thing movable on the brig. Not all these petty encounters ended so

favorably for the enemy. Off New York a cutting-out party of

volunteers surprised and captured the British tender "Eagle," a small

craft carrying one thirty-two-pound howitzer, and fourteen men. Ten

days later, the frigate "Tenedos," which had done such good service on

the blockade, suffered the loss of her tender, which was gallantly

carried away by the crew of a Yankee gunboat. Some very desperate

combats between American privateers and British naval vessels were

fought about this time, and will be duly noted in detail in the

chapter treating of the exploits of the private armed navy.

As the autumn came on, the British naval forces began to rendezvous in

the Gulf of Mexico, preparatory to the campaign before New Orleans. On

Sept. 14, a squadron of four British sloops-of-war appeared off

Mobile, and opened fire upon Fort Bowyer, which guarded the entrance

to Mobile Bay. The attack was vigorous, and the defence determined. A

British land expedition moved upon the fort from the landward side;

and the little garrison found itself surrounded by enemies, many of

whom were Indians, whose savage assistance the British had accepted

from the very opening of the war. A small force, only, defended the

fort. Percy, the British admiral, knew the weakness of the garrison;

and, thinking of the ninety-two guns he could bring to bear against

the twenty worked by the Americans, announced proudly, that he would

give the garrison just twenty minutes to surrender. The twenty minutes

passed quickly, and still the fort responded savagely to the fire of

its assailants. The flag of the British ship "Hermes" was shot away;

and soon after, a round shot cut her cable, and she drifted upon a

sand-bank, and lay helpless, and exposed to a raking fire. Her

captain, having set her afire, abandoned her; and she soon blew up.

The other vessels kept up the attack gallantly for a time. The

flagstaff of the fort was shot away; but the flag soon re-appeared,

waving from a sponge-staff. The Americans then redoubled their fire,

which soon told so severely upon the British ships that they were

forced to withdraw. In the mean time, the assault of the Indians and

troops had been checked, and the forces driven back in disorder, thus

leaving the victory to the Americans.

It is not within the province of this work to treat of the military

operations that led up to the battle of New Orleans. But the last

months of 1814 witnessed a series of naval incidents trivial in

themselves, but deriving importance from their connection with Gen.

Jackson's great victory. Over certain incidents in the preparations of

the Americans for repelling the invasion hangs a shade of romance.

To the southward of the quaint, rambling, rose-covered city of New

Orleans, the tawny flood of the Mississippi winds towards the gulf in

huge serpentine curves. The shores between which it flows rise scarce

higher than the surface of the river itself; and a slight increase in

the volume of water, or a strong wind, will serve to turn the whole

region into a great, watery marsh. From the mouth of the great river,

the whole coast of Louisiana, extending north and west, is a grassy

sea, a vast expanse of marsh-grass, broken here and there by inlets of

the Mexican Gulf, and sluggish, winding bayous that lead up into the

higher lands of the State,--waterways that lead even to the back door

of the Crescent City herself, but known only to oyster-gatherers, or

in 1814 to the adventurous men who followed the banner of Lafitte the

Baratarian pirate.

Pirate he was called then; but it is doubtful whether his misdeeds

ever exceeded smuggling, or, at worst, privateering under the

protecting flag of some belligerent nation. When all nations were

warring, what was easier than for a few gallant fellows, with

swift-sailing feluccas, to lurk about the shores of the gulf, and now

under the Spanish flag, now under the French, or any colors which

suited the case, sally out and capture the richly laden Indiamen that

frequented those summer seas? And when a power known as the United

States Government, that had its quarters more than a thousand miles

from the country of the Creoles, passed an outrageous law known as the

embargo, what was more natural than that the Baratarians, knowing the

mysterious waterways that led up to the Crescent City, should utilize

their knowledge to take ships and cargoes in and out without the

formality of a custom-house examination? Such were the times that led

to the formation and growth of the "piratical" colony of Barataria.

Its leaders and rulers were John and Pierre Lafitte; one of whom lived

in New Orleans in the character of a prosperous merchant, while the

other led the expeditions which brought in merchandise to stock the

former's stores. Under the influence of the warlike state of Europe,

the trade of these worthies throve, and their settlement at Grande

Isle took on the appearance of a prosperous colony and naval station.

Storehouses and dwellings stood close to the sea. The fertile face of

the island was cut up into fruitful plantations and orange-groves.

Breastworks, well dotted with the muzzles of cannon, commanded the

approach by sea. More than once, from behind those ramparts, the

Baratarians had proved that they could fight, and that they

acknowledged the authority of no flag. The Creoles of New Orleans

looked indulgently upon the conduct of the outlaws; but the few

Americans in the city were highly incensed to see the authority of the

United States thus set aside, and vowed that when the war was over the

audacious adventurers should be crushed. However, the end came even

sooner.

On the 3d of September, a British armed brig anchored near the

buccaneers' retreat, and sent a flag of truce ashore. Lafitte, with

great dignity, received the envoys in his tent, and assured them of

his protection, though the whole village was up in arms clamoring for

the death of the intruders. The British officer then announced that he

had come to secure the aid of Lafitte and his followers in the

campaign against New Orleans. He offered the pirate captain

forgiveness for all piracies committed against the British

flag,--whereat the chief smiled sardonically,--also thirty thousand

dollars in cash, a captain's commission in the British navy, and lands

for himself and his followers. It was a tempting bribe; for at that

moment Lafitte's brother lay in the _calaboza_ at New Orleans awaiting

trial for piracy, and the Americans were preparing rapidly for a

descent upon the Baratarian stronghold. But, little as he liked the

American flag, Lafitte liked the British still less: so, asking the

Englishman to wait a few days for his answer, he sent a report of the

occurrence to the New Orleans authorities, and offered to co-operate

with the Americans, if he could be assured of pardon for all offences

committed against the government. This document caused some hesitation

at New Orleans; but the military authorities determined to refuse the

offer, and break up the outlaws' nest. Accordingly, a few days later,

the war schooner "Carolina," six gunboats, a tender, and a launch,

dropped down the Mississippi, and, rounding into the deep blue waters

of the gulf, headed for Barataria. Lafitte had too many friends in New

Orleans not to know of the force thus sent against him; and, when the

Americans reached Grande Terre, they found the pirates at their

batteries, and the Baratarian flotilla drawn up in order of battle.

The contest was sharp, but ended in the rout of the Baratarians. Their

village was burned, their fortifications razed; and, when the

triumphant Americans returned to New Orleans, they brought in their

train ten armed prizes and a number of prisoners, although Lafitte was

not to be found among the latter. Thereafter, the Baratarians, as an

organization, vanished from history. Lafitte was afterwards

occasionally heard of as a desperado on the more western shores of the

Mexican Gulf; and it is further noticeable, that two guns were served

by Baratarians under their old lieutenant, Dominique Yon, on that

bloody day when Packenham's forces were beaten back on the field of

Chalmette.

Early in December the movement of the British upon New Orleans took

definite shape. On the 8th of that month, the calm waters of the Gulf

of Mexico, off the Chandeleur Islands, were the scene of a grand

rendezvous of British naval and military forces. All the vessels of

Cockburn's Chesapeake fleet were there, with other men-of-war,

transports, and schooners, to the number of fifty vessels. At the head

was the towering two-decker "Tonnant," carrying the Admiral's flag.

Frigates, corvettes, and sloops-of-war came trooping in the rear; and

the transports bore seven thousand men for the capture of the Southern

city. The British were in high good-humor as the anchors were let fall

and the ships swung round with their heads to the tide. The voyage

across the gulf from the rendezvous at Jamaica had been like a holiday

trip. The weather had been fine, and the sea smooth; and the soft air

of that semi-tropical region was a never-ending source of delight to

sailors who had been suffering the hardships of a Northern station.

The point at which the British fleet had come to anchor lay about

fifty miles due east of New Orleans. In that day of sailing-vessels,

no enemy could breast the waters of the rolling Mississippi and crush

the resistance of the city's defenders, as did Farragut in 1862.

Knowing that they could not hope to take their ships up to the levee

of the city, the enemy determined to cast anchor near the entrance of

Lake Borgne, and send through a chain of lakes and bayous a mammoth

expedition in barges, to a point within ten miles of the city. But

this well-laid plan had been betrayed to the Americans by Lafitte; and

a little band of American sailors, under the command of Lieut. Catesby

Jones, had taken up a position at the Rigolets, and were prepared to

dispute the farther progress of the invading forces. Five gunboats,

and one hundred and eighty-five men, constituted the American force,

which for a time held the British in check. Finally, the enemy,

finding that the swift American cutters could easily evade the

lumbering war-vessels, fitted out a fleet of forty-five barges, manned

by a thousand veteran British sea-dogs, who had seen service in half

a dozen naval wars. The Americans had news of the contemplated attack,

and made skilful preparations to meet it. The gunboats were moored in

a fore and aft line, at a point near the Rigolets. Their broadsides

bore upon the enemy, and the shallowness of the water was such that by

no means could they be surrounded. The sailors were prepared for a

desperate conflict, and spent the night before the battle in tricing

up the boarding-nettings, sharpening cutlasses, and getting small-arms

in good trim. In the morning the British came on to the attack. It was

a long pull from the fleet to the place of battle: so their commander

brought his flotilla to anchor just out of range of the American guns;

and there the grim old veterans devoured their dinners, and took their

rations of grog, with appetites undisturbed by the thought of the

coming conflict. Dinner over, the enemy weighed anchor, and dashed

forward, with long, swift strokes, into the very flashes of the

Americans' cannon. The Americans knew that their one chance of victory

was to keep the overwhelming forces of their foe out of boarding

distance, and they worked their guns with a rapidity born of

desperation. Musket-bullets, grape-shot, and canister poured in a

murderous fire upon the advancing boats. But the sturdy old British

veterans knew that the best way to stop that fire was to get at the

base of it; and they pressed on undauntedly, responding vigorously,

meanwhile, with their bow guns. Soon they were up to the gunwales of

the American flotilla, and the grappling-irons were fixed; then, with

sharp blows of cutlasses, deadly play of the pikes, and a ceaseless

rattle of small-arms, they poured upon the decks of the Americans. The

boarding-nettings could not long check so furious a foe, and fell

before the fierce slash of the cutlasses. The decks once gained, the

overpowering numbers of the Englishmen crushed all further resistance;

and the flotilla was finally taken, after about one hundred of the

enemy and fifty Americans had fallen.

The American flotilla being thus shattered, there remained no further

obstacle to prevent the landing of the invading army. Of the advance

of that brilliant body of veteran troops over sands and marshes, and

through sluggish bayous and canals half-full of stagnant water, until

they emerged on the bank of the river, nine miles below New Orleans,

it is not my purpose to speak further. Nor does an account of Gen.

Jackson's vigorous measures of defence and glorious victory come

within the province of this narrative. The interesting story of

Jackson's creation of an army from leather-shirted Kentucky riflemen,

gay Creoles from the Creole Quarter of the Crescent City, swarthy

Spaniards and mulattoes, nondescript desperadoes from the old band of

Lafitte, and militia and regulars from all the Southern States, forms

no part of the naval annals of the war. It is enough to say that the

flower of the British army, led by a veteran of the Peninsula,

recoiled before that motley crew of untrained soldiers, and were

beaten back, leaving their gallant leader and thousands of their brave

men dead upon the field. The navy was not without some share in this

glorious triumph. On the 23d of December the schooner "Carolina"

dropped down from New Orleans, and opened fire upon the enemy. "Now,

then, for the honor of America, give it to them!" sung out her

commander, as the first broadside was fired. The attack, unexpected as

it was, created a panic in the British camp. A feeble reply was made

with rockets and musketry; but even this was soon discontinued, and

the enemy took refuge under the steep bank of the levee, whither the

plunging shot could not follow them. All night the "Carolina" kept up

her fire; and, when at daybreak she moved away, she left the camp of

the enemy in confusion. During the day she renewed the attack, and

persisted in her fire until the British threw up a heavy battery on

the river's bank, and replied. The lads of the "Carolina" promptly

accepted the challenge thus offered, and for a time a spirited combat

was maintained. But the battery threw red-hot shot, and the schooner

was soon set on fire and destroyed. Meanwhile the corvette "Louisiana"

had come down to the scene of action, and in the subsequent

engagements did some effective work. When the final onslaught of the

British was made, on Jan. 7, 1815, the guns of the "Louisiana" were

mounted on the opposite bank of the river, and the practised sailors

worked them with deadly effect, until the flight of the American

militia on that side exposed the battery to certain capture. The

sailors then spiked their guns, and marched off unmolested. The

sailors of the "Carolina," on that day of desperate fighting, were in

the centre of Jackson's line, between the Creoles and the swarthy

Baratarians under Dominique Yon. Here they worked their howitzers, and

watched the scarlet lines of the enemy advance and melt away before

that deadly blaze; advance and fall back again in hopeless rout. And

among the many classes of fighting men whom Jackson had rallied before

that British line, none did battle more valiantly for the honor of

the nation and the safety of the flowery city of New Orleans than did

those blue-jackets ashore.

It is a fitting commentary upon the folly of war, that the battle of

New Orleans was fought after the two warring nations had signed a

treaty of peace. The lives of some hundreds of brave Englishmen and

Americans were needlessly sacrificed in a cause already decided. Far

across the Atlantic Ocean, in the quaint old Dutch city of Ghent,

representatives of England and the United States met, and, after some

debate, signed the treaty on the 24th of December, 1814. But there was

then no Atlantic cable, no "ocean greyhounds" to annihilate space and

time; and it was months before the news of the treaty reached the

scene of war. In the mean time, the hostilities were continued by land

and sea.

The year 1815 found the American navy largely increased by new

vessels, though the vigilance of the British blockaders kept most of

these close in port. The "Constitution" was at sea, having run the

blockade at Boston. In New York Harbor were the "President,"

"Peacock," "Hornet," and "Tom Bowline," awaiting a chance to slip out

for a cruise to the East Indies. It was decided that the vessels

should run out singly, and the "President" was selected to make the

first attempt. The night of the 14th of January was dark and foggy,

and the blockading fleet was nowhere to be seen. Then, if ever, was

the time for escape; and the Yankee tars weighed anchor and started

out through the Narrows. In the impenetrable darkness of the night,

baffled by head-winds and perplexing currents, the pilots lost their

reckoning, and the orders to the man at the wheel were quick and

nervous, until an ominous grating of the ship's keel, followed by the

loss of headway, told that the frigate was aground. For a time the

ship lay helpless, straining all her timbers as each wave lifted her

slightly, and then let the heavy hull fall back upon the shoal. By ten

o'clock the rising tide floated her off; but, on examination, Capt.

Decatur found that she was seriously injured. To return to port was

impossible with the wind then blowing: so all sail was crowded on, in

the hopes of getting safely away before the blockading squadron should

catch sight of the ship. As luck would have it, the blockaders had

been forced from their posts by the gale of the day before, and the

"President" had laid her course so as to infallibly fall into their

clutches. Before daylight the lookout reported two sail in sight, and

at daybreak the ship was fairly surrounded by the enemy's vessels. All

at once gave chase to the luckless American; and a few hours were

enough to show that her sailing qualities were so seriously injured by

her pounding on the bar, that the enemy was rapidly overhauling her.

Decatur adopted every known expedient to increase his ship's speed,

but to no avail. After she had been lightened by starting the water,

cutting away boats and anchors, chopping up and heaving overboard the

ponderous cables, together with spars and provisions, the enemy still

gained; and the foremost pursuer, a razee, opened fire. The

"President" responded with her stern-chasers, but her shot had no

effect. "It is said that on this occasion," writes Cooper, "the shot

of the American ship were observed to be thrown with a momentum so

unusually small, as to have since excited much distrust of the quality

of her gunpowder. It is even added, that many of these shot were

distinctly seen, when clear of the smoke, until they struck." At six

o'clock in the evening, the frigate "Endymion" led the British

squadron in chase, and had gained a position so close upon the

American's beam that her broadsides were rapidly crippling the

fugitive. Thereupon Decatur determined upon a desperate expedient,

that sounds like some of his reckless exploits in the war with

Tripoli. His plan was to bring the "President" about, and run boldly

alongside the enemy. Every thing was to be sacrificed to the end of

getting to close quarters. When once the two ships had grappled, the

Americans were to board, carry the British ship in a hand-to-hand

battle, and then, abandoning the crippled "President," escape in the

captured frigate. So desperate a plan needed the cordial co-operation

of every man: so it was first presented to the commissioned officers,

who gladly embraced the desperate project. The sailors were then sent

aft, and Decatur addressed them from the quarter-deck.

"My lads," said he, "that ship is coming up with us. As our ship won't

sail, we'll go on board of theirs, every man and boy of us, and carry

her into New York. All I ask of you is to follow me. This is a

favorite ship of the country. If we allow her to be taken, we shall be

deserted by our wives and sweethearts. What, let such a ship as this

go for nothing! 'Twould break the heart of every pretty girl in New

York."

[Illustration: "President" and "Endymion."]

With hearty cheers, the jackies returned to their guns. All were ready

for the coming struggle. Over the main hatch was mounted a howitzer,

with its black muzzle peering down into the hold, ready to scuttle the

ship when the boarders should spring upon the enemy's deck. The sun,

by this time, had sunk below the horizon, and the darkness of night

was gathering over the ocean. The two ships surged toward each

other,--great black masses, lighted up on either side by rows of open

ports, through which gleamed the uncertain light of the

battle-lanterns. On the gun-deck the men stood stern and silent; their

thoughts fixed upon the coming battle, or perhaps wandering back to

the green fields and pleasant homes they had so recently left, perhaps

forever. The gray old yeoman of the frigate, with his mates, walked

from gun to gun, silently placing a well-sharpened cutlass, a dirk,

and a heavy leather boarding-cap at each man's side. The marines were

drawn up in a line amidships; their erect, soldierly air and rigid

alignment contrasting with the careless slouchiness of the sailors.

Butts for the sailors' ridicule as they were during a cruise, the

marines knew that, in hand-to-hand conflicts, their part was as

dashing as that of their tormentors of the forecastle.

When the "President" had come within a quarter of a mile of her

adversary, Decatur perceived that his enemy was determined to decide

the contest at long range. As the "President" hauled down nearer, the

"Endymion" sheered off, keeping up meanwhile a vigorous cannonade. To

this the Americans responded in kind; and so much superior was the

gunnery of the Yankee tars, that the rigging of the enemy was seen to

be fast going to pieces, while her guns were being silenced one by

one. But her fire did sad havoc among the men of the "President," and

particularly among the officers. The first broadside carried away

Decatur's first lieutenant, Mr. Babbitt, who was struck by a

thirty-two-pound shot, which cut off his right leg below the knee, and

hurled him through the wardroom hatch to the deck below, fracturing

his wounded leg in two places. Shortly after, Decatur was knocked to

the deck by a heavy splinter. For some time he lay unconscious; then

opening his eyes, and seeing a throng of anxious seamen about him, he

ordered them to their stations, and resumed his duties. The fire of

the "Endymion" then slackened; and she lay upon the water, with her

sails cut from the yards. At that moment Lieut. Howell turned to a

midshipman standing at his side, and said gayly, "Well, we have

whipped that ship, at any rate." A flash from the bow of the

Englishman followed; and he added, "No: there she is again." The

midshipman turned to reply, and saw Howell stretched dead at his feet,

killed by the last shot of the battle.

[Illustration: The "President" tries to escape.]

The enemy was now helpless, and it would have been easy enough for the

"President" to choose her position and compel her adversary to strike;

but the presence of two more Englishmen, rapidly coming up astern,

forced the Americans to abandon their prey and continue their flight.

It was then late in the evening, and the night was dark and starless.

Every light was extinguished on the American frigate, in the hope that

by so doing she might slip away under cover of the night. But the

British lookouts were sharp-eyed; and by eleven o'clock two frigates

had closed in on the crippled ship, and a third was rapidly coming up

astern. All were pouring in rapid broadsides, and the dark waters were

lighted up like a fiery sea by the ceaseless flashing of the guns.

Thus surrounded and overpowered, there remained open to the Americans

no course but to surrender; and at eleven o'clock at night the

"President" made signal that she had struck. Her fate, like that of

the "Chesapeake," had accorded with the superstitious sailors' notion

that she was an unlucky ship. In the long running fight, neither the

Americans nor the British had escaped without severe loss. On the

"President" were twenty-four killed and fifty-six wounded; the first,

second, and third lieutenants being among the slain. The "Endymion"

had eleven men killed and fourteen wounded. The two frigates were

ordered to proceed to Bermuda; but the "President's" bad luck seemed

to follow her, for on the way she encountered a terrific gale, by

which her masts were carried away, and her timbers so strained that

all the upper-deck guns had to be thrown overboard to save the ship.

The loss of the "President," at the very mouth of the New York Harbor,

was certainly a most inauspicious opening for the naval operations of

1815. The people of New York and Philadelphia, to whom had come

neither the news of peace nor of the glorious success of the American

arms at New Orleans, were plunged into despondency. "Now that Great

Britain is at peace with Europe," thought they, "she can exert all her

power in the task of subjugating America;" and mournful visions of a

return to British rule darkened their horizon. But, even while they

were thus saddened by Decatur's defeat, a gallant vessel--the monarch

of the American navy--was fighting a good fight for the honor of the

nation; and out of that fight she came with colors flying and two

captive men-of-war following in her wake.

It will be remembered that the "Constitution" left Boston in December,

1814, for an extended cruise. The gallant frigate, always a favorite

among man-o'-war's men, carried with her on this cruise a full crew of

native Americans,--thorough seamen, and as plucky fighters as ever

pulled a lanyard or carried a cutlass. Her course lay due east; and in

January, 1815, she was in the Bay of Biscay, where she fell in with,

and captured, two prizes. After this she cruised about for a month,

without encountering an enemy. American privateers and cruisers had

fairly driven British merchantmen from the seas, and the tars of the

"Constitution" found their time hanging heavily on their hands. The

captain was an able and considerate officer, and much freedom was

allowed the jackies in their amusements. With boxing, broadsword, and

single-stick play, drill and skylarking, the hours of daylight were

whiled away; and by night the men off duty would gather about the

forecastle lantern to play with greasy, well-thumbed cards, or warble

tender ditties to black-eyed Susans far across the Atlantic.

Patriotic melodies formed no small part of Jack's musical

_repertoire_. Of these, this one, written by a landsman, was for a

long time popular among the tuneful souls of the forecastle, and was

not altogether unknown in the wardroom.

"Now coil up y'r nonsense 'bout England's great navy,

And take in y'r slack about oak-hearted tars;

For frigates as stout, and as gallant crews have we,

Or how came their "Macedon" decked with our stars?

Yes, how came her "Guerriere," her "Peacock," and "Java,"

All sent broken-ribbed to old Davy of late?

How came it? Why, split me, than Britons we're braver;

And that they shall feel, too, whenever we meet.

Then charge the can cheerily,

Send it round merrily:

Here's to our country, and captains commanding;

To all who inherit

Of Lawrence the spirit

Disdaining to strike while a stick is left standing."

Many were the verses of this notable production; for, to be popular in

the forecastle, a song must play a lengthy part in "teasing time." One

verse, however, is enough to show the manly, if perhaps unreasoning,

pride the blue-jackets took in the triumphs of the navy.

But the time of the sailors on this closing cruise of the war was not

destined to be spent in sport and singing alone. The noble frigate was

not to return to the stagnation of a season of peace in port, without

adding yet another honor to her already honorable record. On the

morning of the 20th of February, as the ship was running aimlessly

before a light wind, some inexplicable impulse led Capt. Stewart to

suddenly alter his course and run off some sixty miles to the

south-west. Again the "Constitution's" good luck seemed to justify the

sailors' belief, for at noon she ran into a group of vessels. The

first vessel was sighted on the larboard bow, and, as the frigate

overhauled her, proved to be a full-rigged ship. Soon after a second

sail, also a ship, was sighted; and a few minutes more sufficed to

show that both were men-of-war. The one first sighted was the

frigate-built corvette "Cyane," of thirty-four guns; and the second

was the sloop-of-war "Levant," of twenty-one guns. For either of

these vessels singly, the "Constitution," with her fifty-two guns and

crew of four hundred and fifty men, was more than a match. Yet to

attack the two was a bold movement, and this Stewart determined to

undertake. Hardly had the character of the strangers been made out,

when the corvette was seen making signals to the sloop; and the two

vessels, then about ten miles apart, made all sail to get together

before the enemy should overhaul them. This juncture was precisely

what Stewart wished to prevent; and in a trice the shrill notes of the

boatswain's whistle sent the sailors in swarms into the rigging, and

the frigate was as if by magic clothed with a broad expanse of canvas.

Quickly she felt the effect, and bounded through the water after the

distant ships like a dolphin chasing a school of flying-fish. The old

tars on the forecastle looked knowingly over the side at the foamy

water rushing past, and then cast approving glances aloft where every

sail was drawing. But their complacency was shattered by a loud crash

aloft, which proved to be the main royal-mast which had given way

under the strain. Another spar was rigged speedily, and shipped by the

active tars, and soon the snowy clouds aloft showed no signs of the

wreck. At sundown the three vessels were so near each other that their

colors could be seen. Stewart ran up the stars and stripes, to which

the strangers responded by setting the British flag at their

mastheads.

The purpose of the enemy was to delay the opening of the action until

night should give him opportunity to manoeuvre unobserved; but the

"Constitution," suspecting this, pressed forward hotly, and opened

fire a few minutes after six o'clock. By skilful seamanship Stewart

kept the windward gage of both enemies; and the fight opened with the

"Cyane" on the port-quarter, and the "Levant" on the port-bow of the

American frigate. Fifteen minutes of fierce cannonading followed, the

combatants being within musket-shot most of the time. Every gun was

engaged; and the heavy broadsides shook the ships, and thundered far

over the placid surface of the ocean, which was now faintly illumined

by the rising moon. The triangular space between the ships was filled

with the dense sulphurous smoke of the burning powder; so that the

gunners could see nothing of the enemy at whom they were hurling their

ponderous iron bolts. The men in the tops could now and again catch a

glimpse of the top hamper of the enemy's ships, but those on the

gun-deck were working almost at random. After a few minutes of rapid

firing, the fire of the enemy slackened; and Stewart directed his

gunners to cease until the smoke should have cleared away. At this

command a silence, almost oppressive after the heavy cannonading,

ensued, broken only by the occasional report of a gun from the unseen

enemy, sounding like minute-guns of distress. Anxiously Stewart waited

for the smoke to blow away. When it did so, the "Cyane" was seen

luffing up, to come under the frigate's stern, and get in a raking

broadside. The movement was discovered just in time to be checked.

Stewart gave a heavy broadside to the "Levant;" then, bracing back his

topsails, backed his ship down abreast of the "Cyane," pouring in

rapid broadsides, before which the fire of the corvette died away. Two

raking broadsides that crashed into the stern of the "Levant" sent

that craft out of the action, to refit. The frigate then pressed down

upon the "Cyane," and with a few heavy broadsides forced her to

strike.

Capt. Douglass of the "Levant" then proved his bravery by standing by

his captured consort; although he could have escaped easily, while the

"Constitution" was taking possession of her prize. No thought of

flight seems to have occurred to the gallant Briton, though he must

have known that there was but little hope of his coming out of the

combat victorious. Still he gallantly came back into the fight,

meeting the "Constitution" ploughing along on the opposite tack.

Broadsides were exchanged at such close range that the Yankee gunners

could hear the ripping of the planks on the enemy's decks as the solid

shot crashed through beam and stanchion. Having passed each other, the

ships wore, and returned to the attack; but the weight of the

American's metal told so severely upon the "Levant" that her flag was

hauled down, and, firing a gun to leeward, she gave up the fight.

As an exhibition of seamanship, this action is unrivalled in naval

annals. For Stewart to have taken his ship into action with two

hostile vessels, and so handle her as not only to escape being raked,

but actually rake his enemies, was a triumph of nautical skill. The

action was hard fought by both parties. The loss upon the British

vessels has never been exactly determined; but it was undoubtedly

large, for the hulls were badly cut up by the American's fire. The

"Constitution" had but three men killed, and twelve wounded. The

officers all escaped unhurt.

After a few hours' pause to repair damages, Stewart took his prizes

into Porto Praya in the Cape Verde Islands, where they arrived on the

10th of March. The day after the ships reached port, a heavy fog

settled over the water, cutting off vision in all directions. As the

first lieutenant of the "Constitution" was walking the quarter-deck,

he heard a young midshipman among the prisoners suddenly exclaim,

"There's a large ship in the offing." The lieutenant peered about on

every side, but could see nothing, until, looking upward, he saw the

top-gallant sails of a large ship moving along above the fog-bank.

Capt. Stewart was quickly notified; and, coolly remarking that the

stranger was probably a British frigate, he ordered that the men be

sent to quarters, and the ship prepared for action. The lieutenant

hastened on deck to execute the orders, but had hardly reached his

station when he saw the sails of two more ships gliding along above

the fog-bank. Hastily he returned to the captain's cabin with the

report. Stewart showed no emotion or alarm, although he knew well that

the fact that he was in a neutral port would be no protection against

the British, should they once discover his presence. The affair of the

"Essex" was still fresh in his mind. Calmly he ordered the lieutenant

to make sail and take the ship to sea, signalling to the two prizes to

follow. The orders were given quietly on deck; and in fifteen minutes

the "Constitution," under full press of sail, was making her way out

of Porto Praya roads. On the shore were more than a hundred prisoners

whom Stewart had landed under parole. Regardless of the dictates of

honor, these men rushed to a Portuguese battery, and opened fire on

the ships as they passed out. Hearing the cannonade, the lookouts on

the enemy's vessels looked eagerly for its cause, and caught sight,

above the fog, of the rapidly receding topsails of the fugitives. At

this sight the British set out in pursuit; and the fog soon clearing

away revealed to the Americans two ships-of-the-line and a frigate

following fast in their wake. The "Constitution" and the "Cyane"

easily kept out of reach of their pursuers; but the "Levant" dropped

behind, and finally, at a signal from Stewart, tacked, and stood back

for Porto Praya. The enemy then abandoned the pursuit of the two

foremost vessels, and followed the "Levant," but failed to overhaul

her before she entered the harbor. This, however, checked the British

not a whit. For the laws of nations and the authority of the

Portuguese flag that floated over the little town, they cared nothing.

On they came, and opened fire on the "Levant," which had dropped

anchor under what was supposed to be a neutral battery. The Americans

soon discovered their error. Not only did the British disregard the

neutrality of the port, but the paroled prisoners on shore took

possession of the battery, and opened fire upon the beleaguered craft.

Thus caught between two fires, no hope remained to the Americans; and,

after a few minutes' gallant but useless defence, the flag of the

"Levant" was hauled down, and she passed again into the hands of the

British.

It was late in May before the "Constitution" reached New York. Peace

had then been declared; but none the less were Stewart and his men

feasted and honored. The old frigate had won for herself a name ever

to be remembered by the people of the nation, in whose service she had

received and dealt so many hard knocks. "Old Ironsides," they called

her; and even to-day, when a later war has given to the navy vessels

whose sides are literally iron, the "Constitution" still holds her

place in the hearts of the American people, who think of her lovingly

by the well-won title of "Old Ironsides."

While we have been following thus Stewart and his gallant frigate in

their final cruise, some smaller vessels were doing good work for the

credit of the American flag. It will be remembered, that, when the

"President" left New York Bay on her short and disastrous cruise of

January, 1815, she left behind her, at anchor, the "Peacock," the

"Hornet," and the "Tom Bowline." These vessels, knowing nothing of the

fate of their former consort, awaited only the coming of a gale

sufficient to drive away the blockading squadron. On the 22d of

January it came up to blow; and the three craft, under storm canvas,

scudded over the bar, and made for the rendezvous at Tristan d'Acunha.

On the way thither they separated, the "Hornet" cruising alone. On the

23d she sighted a strange sail on the horizon, and, clapping on all

sail, bore down upon her. At the same time the stranger sighted the

"Hornet," and made for her, evidently with hostile intent. The two

vessels approached each other until within musket-shot, when the

stranger hoisted English colors, and fired a gun. Capt. Biddle of the

American ship was ready for the fray, and opened fire with a

broadside. The response of the enemy was vigorous and effective. For

fifteen minutes the firing was constant; but the enemy, seeing that

the Americans were getting the better of the fight, then strove to

close and board. This Biddle determined to avoid, but called up the

boarders to beat back the enemy, should they succeed in closing. "At

the instant," he writes, in his official report, "every officer and

man repaired to the quarter-deck, when the two vessels were coming in

contact, and eagerly pressed me to permit them to board the enemy; but

this I would not permit, as it was evident, from the commencement of

the action, that our fire was greatly superior, both in quickness and

effect. The enemy's bowsprit came between our main and mizzen rigging,

on our starboard side, affording him an opportunity to board us, if

such was his design; but no attempt was made. There was a considerable

swell on; and, as the sea lifted us ahead, the enemy's bowsprit

carried away our mizzen-shrouds, stern davits, and spanker-boom, and

he hung upon our larboard quarter. At this moment an officer called

out that they had surrendered. I directed the marines and musketry men

to cease firing; and while on the taffrail, asking if they had

surrendered, I received a wound in the neck."

This wound, to which the captain so casually alludes, merits more than

a passing reference. The fire of both ships had ceased when Biddle

stepped upon the taffrail; but he had stood there only a moment, when

two or three of the officers on the quarter-deck cried out that a man

on the Englishman was aiming at him. Biddle did not hear the caution;

but two American marines saw the enemy's movement, and, quickly

bringing up their muskets, sent two balls crashing into the brain of

the English marksman. He fell back dead, but had fired his piece

before falling. The bullet struck Biddle in the neck, inflicting a

painful, but not serious, wound. The blood flowed freely, however; and

two sailors, rushing up, were about to carry their commander to the

cock-pit, when he stopped them. Determined to do something to stanch

the flowing blood, a sailor tore his shirt into bandages, with which

he bound up his captain's wound. But let us return to Biddle's

narrative.

"The enemy just then got clear of us; and his foremast and bowsprit

being both gone, and perceiving us wearing to give him a fresh

broadside, he again called out that he had surrendered. It was with

difficulty that I could restrain my crew from firing into him again,

as he had certainly fired into us after having surrendered. From the

firing of the first gun, to the last time the enemy cried out that he

had surrendered, was exactly twenty-two minutes by the watch. She

proved to be His Britannic Majesty's brig "Penguin," mounting sixteen

thirty-two-pound carronades, two long twelves, a twelve-pound

carronade on the top-gallant forecastle, with a swivel on the capstan

in the tops."

On boarding the prize, Biddle found that she had suffered too severely

from the American fire to ever be of service again. He accordingly

removed the prisoners and wounded to his own ship, and scuttled the

"Penguin." Hardly was this operation accomplished, when two sail were

sighted, bearing rapidly down upon the scene of action. Nothing

daunted, the lads of the "Hornet" went to their guns, but were

heartily glad to find that the two vessels approaching were the

"Peacock" and "Tom Bowline." On their arrival, the latter vessel was

converted into a cartel, and sent into Rio de Janeiro with prisoners;

while the "Hornet" and "Peacock" cruised on toward the Indian Seas. On

April 28 a heavy line-of-battle ship was sighted, and gave chase. In

the flight the two sloops parted; the "Peacock" going off unmolested,

while the "Hornet" fled, hotly pursued by the enemy. For a time it

seemed as if the little craft must fall a prey to her huge pursuer,

which had come up within a mile, and was firing great shot at the

scudding sloop-of-war. Overboard went cables, guns, spars, shot, every

thing that would lighten the "Hornet." The sails were wet down, and

every thing that would draw was set. By consummate skill Biddle at

last succeeded in evading his pursuer; and on the 9th of June the

"Hornet" entered New York Bay, without a boat or anchor, and with but

one gun left. But she brought the report that the last naval battle of

the war had ended in victory for the Americans.

[Illustration: Foundered at Sea.]

Meanwhile the "Peacock" was returning from a cruise not altogether

void of interest. On parting with the "Hornet," she had struck off to

the southward, and in the Straits of Sundra, between Borneo and

Sumatra, had fallen in with the East India Company's cruiser

"Nautilus," of fourteen guns. Between these two vessels an unfortunate

and silly rencounter followed. The captain of the "Nautilus" knew of

the declaration of peace; and, as the "Peacock" bore down upon his

vessel, he shouted through a speaking-trumpet that peace had been

declared. To this Capt. Warrington of the "Peacock" paid no attention,

considering it a mere ruse on the part of the enemy, and responded by

simply ordering the British to haul down their flag. This the

Englishman very properly refused to do, and gallantly prepared for the

unequal combat. Two broadsides were then interchanged, by which the

"Nautilus" was severely cut up, and eight of her crew killed. She then

struck her colors. Capt. Warrington, on sending a boat aboard his

adversary, found that the declaration of peace was no ruse, but a

truthful statement of facts. His conduct had been almost criminally

headstrong; and, though he was profuse in formal apologies, the wrong

done could never be righted. The "Peacock" then continued her homeward

voyage.

When this vessel reached port, the last of the cruisers had returned;

and the war was over in fact, as it had long been over technically. It

has become the fashion to say that it was a useless war, that served

no purpose, because the treaty by which it was ended contained no

reference to the hateful doctrine of the right of search, which, more

than any thing else, had brought on the conflict. Yet, though the

conduct of the war had not led the British to formally renounce their

claims in this respect, the exploits of the American navy had shown

that the Yankee blue-jackets were prepared to, and would, forcibly

resent any attempt on the part of the British to put those claims into

practice. The British had entered upon the war gaily, never dreaming

that the puny American navy would offer any serious resistance to

Great Britain's domination upon the ocean. Yet now, looking back over

the three years of the war, they saw an array of naval battles, in the

majority of which the Americans had been victorious; and in all of

which the brilliancy of American naval tactics, the skill of the

officers, and the courage and discipline of the crews, put the younger

combatants on a plane with the older and more famous naval service.

Fenimore Cooper, in his "History of the Navy of the United States,"

thus sums up the results of this naval war: "The navy came out of this

struggle with a vast increase of reputation. The brilliant style in

which the ships had been carried into action, the steadiness and

accuracy with which they had been handled, and the fatal accuracy of

their fire on nearly every occasion had produced a new era in naval

warfare. Most of the frigate actions had been as soon decided as

circumstances would at all allow; and in no instance was it found

necessary to keep up the fire of a sloop-of-war an hour, when singly

engaged. Most of the combats of the latter, indeed, were decided in

about half that time. The execution done in these short conflicts was

often equal to that made by the largest vessels of Europe in general

actions; and, in some of them, the slain and wounded comprised a very

large proportion of their crews.... The ablest and bravest captains of

the English fleet were ready to admit that a new power was about to

appear upon the ocean, and that it was not improbable the battle for

the mastery of the seas would have to be fought over again."

CHAPTER XVII.

PRIVATEERS AND PRISONS OF THE WAR. -- THE "ROSSIE." -- SALEM

PRIVATEERS. -- THE "GEN. ARMSTRONG" GIVES BATTLE TO A BRITISH

SQUADRON, AND SAVES NEW ORLEANS. -- NARRATIVE OF A BRITISH

OFFICER. -- THE "PRINCE DE NEUFCHATEL." -- EXPERIENCES OF

AMERICAN PRISONERS OF WAR. -- THE END.

No narrative of the naval exploits of the Americans in the second war

with Great Britain can be complete without some account of the

achievements of the fleets of privateers which for three years swept

the seas, destroying a vast amount of the enemy's property; and, while

accomplishing their end by enriching their owners, did, nevertheless,

much incidental good to the American cause. Seldom has the business of

privateering been so extensively carried on as in the War of 1812. For

this the reason lay in the rich bait offered by the world-wide

commerce of Great Britain, whose fleets whitened every known sea.

Privateering must ever be a weapon wielded by the weaker nation

against the stronger. And Congress, in the very Act by which it

declared war, authorized the President to issue letters of marque and

reprisal to private armed vessels.

The declaration of war had hardly been made public, when the hundreds

of shipyards from Maine to Savannah resounded with the blows of

hammers and the grating of saws, as the shipwrights worked, busily

refitting old vessels, or building new ones, destined to cruise

against the commerce of John Bull. All sorts of vessels were employed

in this service. The Atlantic and Gulf Coasts fairly swarmed with

small pilot-boats, mounting one long gun amidships, and carrying crews

of twenty to forty men. These little craft made rapid sallies into the

waters of the Gulf Stream, in search of British West Indiamen homeward

bound. Other privateers were huge three-masters, carrying heavy

batteries, and able to outsail any of the enemy's ships. On leaving

port for a long cruise, these vessels would carry enormous crews, so

that captured vessels might be manned and sent home. After a

successful cruise, such a privateer returned to port seldom bringing

more than one-fifth of the crew with which she had set out. But the

favorite rig for a privateer was that of the top-sail schooner,--such

a rig as the "Enterprise" carried during the war with France. The

famous shipyards of Baltimore turned out scores of clean-cut,

clipper-built schooners, with long, low hulls and raking masts, which

straightway took to the ocean on privateering cruises. The armament of

these vessels generally consisted of six to ten carronades and one

long pivot-gun, going by the pet name of "Long Tom," mounted

amidships. The crew was usually a choice assortment of cut-throats and

seafaring vagabonds of all classes,--ready enough to fight if plunder

was to be gained, but equally ready to surrender if only honor was to

be gained by fighting. Yet history records a few actions in which the

privateersmen showed a steadiness and courage worthy of seamen of the

regular service.

The limitations of this work do not permit a complete account of the

work of the privateers during the war. Although an interesting

subject, and one of historical importance, but a few pages can be

devoted to it here. Properly treated, it would fill a volume; and,

indeed, one of the most noted privateersmen has left a narrative of

the exploits of the principal privateers, which forms a very

considerable tome. The fact that two hundred and fifty private armed

cruisers under the American flag captured or destroyed over sixteen

hundred British vessels will indicate the importance and extent of the

subject. For us a mere sketch of the exploits of some of the principal

privateers must suffice.

One of the first things to attract the attention of the reader, in the

dingy files of some newspaper of 1812-15, is the grotesque names under

which many of the privateers sailed. The grandiloquent style of the

regular navy vanishes, and in its place we find homely names; such as

"Jack's Favorite," "Lovely Lass," "Row-boat," "Saucy Jack," or

"True-blooded Yankee." Some names are clearly political allusions,--as

the "Orders in Council" and the "Fair Trade." The "Black Joke," the

"Shark," and the "Anaconda" must have had a grim significance for the

luckless merchantmen who fell a prey to the vessels bearing these

names. "Bunker Hill" and "Divided we fall," though odd names to sail

under, seemed to bring luck to the two vessels, which were very

successful in their cruises. "United we stand" was a luckless craft,

however, taking only one prize; while the achievements of the

"Full-blooded Yankee" and the "Sine qua non" were equally limited. Of

the "Poor Sailor," certainly little was to be expected; and it is with

no surprise that we find she captured only one prize.

Among the most successful privateers was the "Rossie" of Baltimore,

commanded by the Revolutionary veteran Capt. Barney, who left her,

finally, to assume command of the American naval forces on Chesapeake

Bay. She was a clipper-built schooner, carrying fourteen guns, and a

crew of one hundred and twenty men. The destruction wrought by this

one cruiser was enormous. In a ninety days' cruise she captured, sunk,

or otherwise destroyed British property to the amount of a million and

a half dollars, and took two hundred and seventeen prisoners. All this

was not done without some hard fighting. One prize--His Britannic

Majesty's packet-ship "Princess Amelia"--was armed with nine-pounders,

and made a gallant defence before surrendering. Several men were

killed, and the "Rossie" suffered the loss of her first lieutenant.

The prisoners taken by the "Rossie" were exchanged for Americans

captured by the British. With the first body of prisoners thus

exchanged, Barney sent a cool note to the British commander at New

Brunswick, assuring him that before long a second batch of his

captured countrymen should be sent in.

Several Northern seaports shared with Baltimore the business of

fitting out and manning privateers. The hardy seamen of Maine and

Massachusetts were ever ready for a profitable venture of this kind;

and, as the continuation of the war caused the whale-fishery to

languish, the sailors gladly took up the adventurous life of

privateersmen. The profits of a successful cruise were enormous; and

for days after the home-coming of a lucky privateer the little seaport

into which she came rang with the boisterous shouts of the carousing

sailors. "We still, in imagination, see our streets filled with

privateersmen," writes a historian of Portsmouth, "in groups, with

blue ribbons tied around their hats, inscribed in large letters,

'SUCCESS TO THE "FOX,"' or whatever vessel they were to sail in. And

then another scene, of sailors paid off with so much money that they

knew not what to do with it. It was one of these men that, in Market

Square, put his arm around a cow, kissed her, and put a five-dollar

bill in her mouth, for a good cud. Sometimes they might be seen,

finely dressed, walking down the sunny streets, carrying parasols."

One Portsmouth privateer came to grief in the West Indies, and was

captured by a British vessel of heavier metal. In the hold of the

privateer was a considerable sum of money in gold coin, the existence

of which was known only to the captain and his body-servant, a bright

negro. The British, on capturing the vessel, put a prize-crew on

board, and, while taking the Yankee captain upon their own ship, left

his negro servant on the prize. Watching his opportunity, the negro

brought up the gold coin, and dropped it unobserved into a tub of

greasy black slush with which he had been slushing down the masts.

Some days later, the captured vessel reached the port to which she had

been sent, and was tied up at a wharf to await condemnation. The

faithful servant lingered about the ship for a time, saying that he

had no place to go. At last he was gruffly ordered to leave; but,

before going, he astonished the mate by begging for the tub of slush,

which he said might enable him to earn a few cents along the docks.

The mate carelessly told him to take the stuff, and be off; which he

promptly did, carrying away with him his tub of slush, with its

concealed treasure. It is worthy of note, that this negro, far from

home and from the owners of the money, paid it into a bank to the

credit of the captain whom he had served.

Salem, Mass., was another great port for privateers to hail from. Not

less than twenty-five of these predatory gentry fitted out at the

quiet little seaside village; and, when the war was ended, few of the

inhabitants were unable to tell some tale of personal adventures,

cruising against the enemy. Indeed, Salem had the honor of receiving

the first prize captured on the ocean after the declaration of war;

for into the harbor came, on the 10th of June, 1812, the trim

privateer schooner "Fame," followed close by two ships, from the

halliards of which waved the British flag surmounted by the stars and

stripes. Then the whole town turned out as one man to greet and cheer

the captors; but, long before the war was ended, the appearance of a

prize in the harbor aroused little excitement. One of the most

successful of the rovers sailing from this port was the "Dolphin,"

whose record during the war shows a list of twenty-two captured

vessels. Her faculty for making long cruises, and turning up in the

most unexpected places, made her the dread of all British

sea-captains. She was manned by a gallant set of lads, who had no fear

of hard fighting; and many of her prizes were won at the cannon's

mouth. In January, 1813, the "Dolphin" fell in with a British ship and

brig cruising together off Cape St. Vincent. Though the enemy

outnumbered the privateersmen, and carried heavier metal, yet the

"Dolphin" went gallantly into the fight, and after a severe battle

succeeded in taking both vessels. Great was the astonishment of the

British at being thus snapped up by a Yankee privateer almost under

the guns of the Rock of Gibraltar. The luckless Britons were carried

to America as prisoners; but so kind was the treatment they met with

at the hands of the privateers, that on leaving the "Dolphin," at

Boston, they published a card in which they said, "Should the fortune

of war ever throw Capt. Stafford or any of his crew into the hands of

the British, it is sincerely hoped he will meet with similar

treatment."

Perhaps the foremost of all the fighting privateers was the "Gen.

Armstrong" of New York; a schooner mounting eight long nines and one

long twenty-four on a pivot. She had a crew of ninety men, and was

commanded on her first cruise by Capt. Guy R. Champlin. This vessel

was one of the first to get to sea, and had cruised for several months

with fair success, when in March, 1813, she gave chase to a sail off

the Surinam River on the coast of South America. The stranger seemed

to evince no great desire to escape; and the privateer soon gained

sufficiently to discover that the supposed merchantman was a British

sloop-of-war, whose long row of open ports showed that she carried

twenty-seven guns. Champlin and his men found this a more ugly

customer than they had expected; but it was too late to retreat, and

to surrender was out of the question: so, calling the people to the

guns, Champlin took his ship into action with a steadiness that no old

naval captain could have exceeded. "Close quarters and quick work,"

was the word passed along the gun-deck; and the "Armstrong" was

brought alongside her antagonist at a distant of half pistol-shot. For

nearly an hour the two vessels exchanged rapid broadsides; but, though

the American gunners were the better marksmen, the heavy build of the

sloop-of-war enabled her to stand against broadsides which would have

cut the privateer to pieces. Capt. Champlin was hit in the shoulder

early in the action, but kept his station until the fever of his wound

forced him to retire to his cabin. However, he still continued to

direct the course of the action; and, seeing that the tide of battle

was surely going against him, he ordered the crew to get out the

sweeps and pull away from the enemy, whose rigging was too badly cut

up to enable her to give chase. This was quickly done; and the "Gen.

Armstrong," though badly injured, and with her decks covered with dead

and dying men, escaped, leaving her more powerful adversary to repair

damages and make the best of her way home. Capt. Champlin, on his

arrival at New York, was the hero of the hour. For a privateer to have

held out for an hour against a man-of-war, was thought a feat worthy

of praise from all classes of men. The merchants of the city tendered

the gallant captain a dinner, and the stockholders in his vessel

presented him with a costly sword.

But the "Gen. Armstrong" was destined to fight yet another battle,

which should far eclipse the glory of her first. A new captain was to

win the laurels this time; for Capt. Champlin's wound had forced him

to retire, and his place was filled by Capt. Samuel C. Reid. On the

26th of September, 1814, the privateer was lying at anchor in the

roadstead of Fayal. Over the land that enclosed the snug harbor on

three sides, waved the flag of Portugal, a neutral power, but

unfortunately one of insufficient strength to enforce the rights of

neutrality. While the "Armstrong" was thus lying in the port, a

British squadron, composed of the "Plantagenet" seventy-four, the

"Rota" thirty-eight, and "Carnation" eighteen, hove in sight, and

soon swung into the harbor and dropped anchor. Reid watched the

movements of the enemy with eager vigilance. He knew well that the

protection of Portugal would not aid him in the least should the

captain of that seventy-four choose to open fire upon the "Armstrong."

The action of the British in coming into the harbor was in itself

suspicious, and the American had little doubt that the safety of his

vessel was in jeopardy. While he was pacing the deck, and weighing in

his mind the probability of an assault by the British, he caught sight

of some unusual stir aboard the hostile ships. It was night; but the

moon had risen, and by its pale light Reid saw four large barges let

fall from the enemy's ships, and, manned by about forty men each, make

toward his vessel. In an instant every man on the privateer was called

to his post. That there was to be an attack, was now certain; and the

Americans determined not to give up their vessel without at least a

vigorous attempt to defend her. Reid's first act was to warp his craft

under the guns of a rather dilapidated castle, which was supposed to

uphold the authority of Portugal over the island and adjacent waters.

Hardly had the position been gained, when the foremost of the British

boats came within hail, and Capt. Reid shouted, "Boat ahoy! What

boat's that?" No response followed the hail; and it was repeated, with

the warning, "Answer, or I shall fire into you." Still the British

advanced without responding; and Reid, firmly convinced that they

purposed to carry his ship with a sudden dash, ordered his gunners to

open on the boats with grape. This was done, and at the first volley

the British turned and made off. Capt. Reid then warped his vessel

still nearer shore; and bending springs on her cable, so that her

broadside might be kept always toward the enemy, he awaited a second

attack. At midnight the enemy were seen advancing again, this time

with fourteen barges and about five hundred men. While the flotilla

was still at long range, the Americans opened fire upon them with the

heavy "Long Tom;" and, as they came nearer, the full battery of long

nine-pounders took up the fight. The carnage in the advancing boats

was terrible; but the plucky Englishmen pushed on, meeting the

privateer's fire with volleys of musketry and carronades. Despite the

American fire, the British succeeded in getting under the bow and

quarter of the "Armstrong," and strove manfully to board; while the

Americans fought no less bravely to keep them back. The attack became

a furious hand-to-hand battle. From behind the boarding-nettings the

Americans thrust pikes, and fired pistols and muskets, at their

assailants, who, mounted on each other's shoulders, were hacking

fiercely at the nettings which kept them from gaining the schooner's

deck. The few that managed to clamber on the taffrail of the

"Armstrong" were thrust through and through with pikes, and hurled,

thus horribly impaled, into the sea. The fighting was fiercest and

deadliest on the quarter; for there were most of the enemy's boats,

and there Capt. Reid led the defence in person. So hot was the

reception met by the British at this point, that they drew off in

dismay, despairing of ever gaining the privateer's deck. Hardly did

Reid see the enemy thus foiled on the quarter, when a chorus of

British cheers from the forecastle, mingled with yells of rage, told

that the enemy had succeeded in effecting a lodgement there. Calling

his men about him, the gallant captain dashed forward and was soon in

the front rank of the defenders, dealing furious blows with his

cutlass, and crying out, "Come on, my lads, and we'll drive them into

the sea." The leadership of an officer was all that the sailors

needed. The three lieutenants on the forecastle had been killed or

disabled, else the enemy had never come aboard. With Reid to cheer

them on, the sailors rallied, and with a steady advance drove the

British back into their boats. The disheartened enemy did not return

to the attack, but returned to their ships, leaving behind two boats

captured and two sunk. Their loss in the attack was thirty-four killed

and eighty-six wounded. On the privateer were two killed and seven

wounded.

[Illustration: Privateersmen at Home.]

But the attack was not to end here. Reid was too old a sailor to

expect that the British, chagrined as they were by two repulses, were

likely to leave the privateer in peace. He well knew that the

withdrawal of the barges meant not an abandonment, but merely a short

discontinuance, of the attack. Accordingly he gave his crew scarcely

time to rest, before he set them to work getting the schooner in trim

for another battle. The wounded were carried below, and the decks

cleared of splinters and wreckage. The boarding-nettings were patched

up, and hung again in place. "Long Tom" had been knocked off his

carriage by a carronade shot, and had to be remounted; but all was

done quickly, and by morning the vessel was ready for whatever might

be in store for her. The third assault was made soon after daybreak.

Evidently the enemy despaired of his ability to conquer the

privateersmen in a hand-to-hand battle; for this time he moved the

brig "Carnation" up within range, and opened fire upon the schooner.

The man-of-war could fire nine guns at a broadside, while the schooner

could reply with but seven; but "Long Tom" proved the salvation of the

privateer. The heavy twenty-four-pound shots from this gun did so much

damage upon the hull of the brig, that she was forced to draw out of

the action; leaving the victory, for the third time, with the

Americans.

But now Capt. Reid decided that it was folly to longer continue the

conflict. The overwhelming force of the enemy made any thought of

ultimate escape folly. It only remained for the British to move the

seventy-four "Plantagenet" into action to seal the doom of the Yankee

privateer. The gallant defence already made by the Americans had cost

the British nearly three hundred men in killed and wounded; and Reid

now determined to destroy his vessel, and escape to the shore. The

great pivot-gun was accordingly pointed down the main hatch, and two

heavy shots sent crashing through the bottom. Then applying the torch,

to make certain the work of destruction, the privateersmen left the

ship, giving three cheers for the gallant "Gen. Armstrong," as a burst

of flame and a roar told that the flames had reached her magazine.

This gallant action won loud plaudits for Capt. Reid when the news

reached the United States. Certainly no vessel of the regular navy was

ever more bravely or skilfully defended than was the "Gen. Armstrong."

But, besides the credit won for the American arms, Reid had

unknowingly done his country a memorable service. The three vessels

that attacked him were bound to the Gulf of Mexico, to assist in the

attack upon New Orleans. The havoc Reid wrought among their crews, and

the damage he inflicted upon the "Carnation," so delayed the New

Orleans expedition, that Gen. Jackson was able to gather those motley

troops that fought so well on the plains of Chalmette. Had it not been

for the plucky fight of the lads of the "Gen. Armstrong," the British

forces would have reached New Orleans ten days earlier, and

Packenham's expedition might have ended very differently.

The "Plantagenet" and her consorts were not the only British

men-of-war bound for New Orleans that fell in with warlike Yankee

privateers. Some of the vessels from the Chesapeake squadron met a

privateer, and a contest ensued, from which the American emerged with

less glory than did the lads of the "Gen. Armstrong." A young British

officer in his journal thus tells the story:--

"It was my practice to sit for hours, after nightfall, upon the

taffrail, and strain my eyes in the attempt to distinguish objects on

shore, or strange sails in the distance. It so happened that on the

30th I was tempted to indulge in this idle but bewitching employment

even beyond my usual hour for retiring, and did not quit the deck till

towards two o'clock in the morning of the 31st [of October]. I had

just entered my cabin, and was beginning to undress, when a cry from

above of an enemy in chase drew me instantly to the quarter-deck. On

looking astern I perceived a vessel making directly after us, and was

soon convinced of the justice of the alarm, by a shot which whistled

over our heads. All hands were now called to quarters, the small sails

taken in; and having spoken to our companion, and made an agreement as

to position, both ships cleared for action. But the stranger, seeing

his signal obeyed with so much alacrity, likewise slackened sail, and,

continuing to keep us in view, followed our wake without approaching

nearer. In this state things continued till daybreak,--we still

holding our course, and he hanging back; but, as soon as it was light,

he set more sail and ran to windward, moving just out of gun-shot in a

parallel direction with us. It was now necessary to fall upon some

plan of deceiving him; otherwise, there was little probability that he

would attack. In the bomb, indeed, the height of the bulwarks served

to conceal some of the men; but in the transport no such screen

existed. The troops were therefore ordered below; and only the

sailors, a few blacks, and the officers kept the deck. The same

expedient was likewise adopted in part by Capt. Price of the

'Volcano;' and, in order to give to his ship a still greater

resemblance than it already had to a merchantman, he displayed an old

faded scarlet ensign, and drew up his fore and main sail in what

sailors term a lubberly manner.

"As yet the stranger had shown no colors, but from her build and

rigging there was little doubt as to her country. She was a beautiful

schooner, presenting seven ports of a side, and apparently crowded

with men,--circumstances which immediately led us to believe that she

was an American privateer. The 'Volcano,' on the other hand, was a

clumsy, strong-built ship, carrying twelve guns; and the 'Golden

Fleece' mounted eight: so that in point of artillery the advantage was

rather on our side; but the American's sailing was so much superior to

that of either of us, that this advantage was more than

counter-balanced.

"Having dodged us till eight o'clock, and reconnoitred with great

exactness, the stranger began to steer gradually nearer and nearer,

till at length it was judged that she was within range. A gun was

accordingly fired from the 'Volcano,' and another from the transport;

the balls from both of which passed over her, and fell into the sea.

Finding herself thus assaulted, she now threw off all disguise, and

hung out an American ensign. When putting her helm up, she poured a

broadside with a volley of musketry into the transport, and ran

alongside of the bomb, which sailed to windward.

"As soon as her flag was displayed, and her intention of attacking

discerned, all hands were ordered up; and she received two

well-directed broadsides from the 'Volcano,' as well as a warm salute

from the 'Golden Fleece.' But such was the celerity of her motion,

that she was alongside of the bomb in less time than can be imagined,

and actually dashing her bow against the other, attempted to carry her

by boarding. Capt. Price, however, was ready to receive them. The

boarders were at their posts in an instant; and Jonathan finding, to

use a vulgar phrase, that he had caught a Tartar, left about twenty

men upon the 'Volcano's' bowsprit, all of whom were thrown into the

sea, and filling his sails sheered off with the same speed with which

he had borne down. In attempting to escape, he unavoidably fell

somewhat to leeward, and exposed the whole of his deck to the fire of

the transport. A tremendous discharge of musketry saluted him as he

passed; and it was almost laughable to witness the haste with which

his crew hurried below, leaving none upon deck except such as were

absolutely wanted to work the vessel.

"The 'Volcano' had by this time filled and gave chase, firing with

great precision at his yards and rigging, in the hope of disabling

him. But, as fortune would have it, none of his important ropes or

yards were cut; and we had the mortification to see him in a few

minutes beyond our reach."

[Illustration: Prison Chaplain and Jailor.]

An exploit of yet another privateer should be chronicled before the

subject of the private armed navy can be dismissed. On the 11th of

October, 1814, the brigantine privateer "Prince de Neufchatel,"

seventeen guns, was encountered near Nantucket by the British frigate

"Endymion,"--the same ship which was so roughly handled by the

"President" in her last battle. About nine o'clock at night, a calm

having come on, the frigate despatched a boarding party of a hundred

and eleven men in five boats to capture the privateer. The latter

vessel was short-handed, having but forty men; but this handful of

Yankee tars gallantly prepared to meet the attack. The guns were

charged with grape and canister, the boarding-nettings triced up, and

cutlasses and pistols distributed to the crew. As the British came on,

the Americans opened fire, notwithstanding which the enemy dashed

alongside, and strove fiercely to gain the deck. But in this they were

foiled by the gallantry of the defenders, who fought desperately, and

cut down the few British who managed to gain a foothold. The conflict

was short, and the discomfiture of the enemy complete. After but a few

minutes' fighting, one boat was sunk, one captured, and the other

three drifted helplessly away, filled with dead and dying. The total

loss of the British in this affair was twenty-eight killed and

thirty-seven wounded. Of the crew of the privateer, seven were killed,

and nine only remained unhurt.

A narrative of the exploits of, and service done by, the American

sailors in the War of 1812 would be incomplete if it said nothing of

the sufferings of that great body of tars who spent the greater part

of the war season confined in British prisons. Several thousand of

these were thrown into confinement before the war broke out, because

they refused to serve against their country in British ships. Others

were prisoners of war. No exact statistics as to the number of

Americans thus imprisoned have ever been made public; but the records

of one great prison--that at Dartmoor--show, that, when the war

closed, six thousand American seamen were imprisoned there,

twenty-five hundred of whom had been detained from long before the

opening of the war, on account of their refusal to join the ranks of

the enemy. As I write, there lies before me a quaint little book, put

out anonymously in 1815, and purporting to be the "Journal of a Young

Man captured by the British." Its author, a young surgeon of Salem,

named Waterhouse, shipped on a Salem privateer, and was captured early

in the war. His experience with British prisons and transport-ships

was long; and against his jailors he brings shocking charges of

brutality, cruelty, and negligence.

The Yankee seamen who were captured during the war were first

consigned to receiving-prisons at the British naval stations in

America. Sometimes these places of temporary detention were mouldering

hulks, moored in bays or rivers; sometimes huge sheds hastily put

together, and in which the prisoners were kept only by the unceasing

vigilance of armed guards. "The prison at Halifax," writes Waterhouse,

"erected solely for the safe-keeping of prisoners of war, resembles an

horse-stable, with stalls, or stanchions, for keeping the cattle from

each other. It is to a contrivance of this sort that they attach the

cords that support those canvas bags or cradles, called hammocks. Four

tier of these hanging nests were made to hang, one above the other,

between these stalls, or stanchions.... The general hum and confused

noise from almost every hammock was at first very distressing. Some

would be lamenting their hard fate at being shut up like negro slaves

in a Guinea ship, or like fowls in a hen-coop, for no crime, but for

fighting the battles of their country; others, late at night, were

relating their adventures to a new prisoner; others, lamenting their

aberrations from rectitude, and disobedience to parents, and

headstrong wilfulness, that drove them to sea, contrary to their

parents' wish; while others, of the younger class, were sobbing out

their lamentations at the thoughts of what their mothers and sisters

suffered after knowing of their imprisonment. Not unfrequently the

whole night was spent in this way; and when, about daybreak, the weary

prisoner fell into a doze, he was waked from his slumber by the

grinding noise of the locks, and the unbarring of the doors, with the

cry of '_Turn out!_ _All out!_' when each man took down his hammock,

and lashed it up, and slung it on his back, and was ready to answer to

the roll-call of the turnkey."

From prisons such as this, the prisoners were conveyed in droves to

England, in the holds of men-of-war and transports. Poorly fed, worse

housed, and suffering for lack of air and room, their agony on the

voyage was terrible. When they were allowed a few hours' time on deck,

they were sure to arouse the anger of the officers by turbulent

conduct or imprudent retorts. "One morning as the general and the

captain of the 'Regulus' (transport) were walking as usual on the

quarter-deck, one of our Yankee boys passed along the galley with his

kid of burgoo. He rested it on the hatchway while he adjusted the rope

ladder to descend with his swill. The thing attracted the attention of

the general, who asked the man how many of his comrades eat of that

quantity for their breakfast. 'Six, sir,' said the man, 'but it is fit

food only for hogs.' This answer affronted the captain, who asked the

man in an angry tone, 'What part of America he came from?' 'Near to

Bunker Hill, sir, if you ever heard of that place,' was the answer."

On another occasion, a Yankee and a slightly wounded British marine

got into a dispute, and came to blows. The British captain saw the

occurrence, and accused the American of cowardice in striking a

wounded man. "I am no coward, sir," said the Yankee. "I was captain of

a gun on board the 'Constitution' when she captured the 'Guerriere,'

and afterward when she took the 'Java.' Had I been a coward, I should

not have been there."

[Illustration: King Dick and his Chaplain.]

On one occasion the prisoners on the transport "Crown Prince," lying

in the River Medway, took an uncontrollable dislike to the commander

of a second transport lying close alongside. Their spite was gratified

quickly and with great effect. The rations served out to the luckless

captives at that time consisted of fish and cold potatoes. The latter

edible being of rather poor quality, the prisoners reserved for

missiles; and the obnoxious officer could not pace his quarter-deck

without being made a mark for a shower of potatoes. Vainly did he

threaten to call up his marines and respond with powder and lead: the

Americans were not to be kept down; and for some days the harassed

officer hardly dared to show himself upon deck.

The place of final detention for most of the prisoners taken in the

war with America was Dartmoor Prison; a rambling collection of huge

frame buildings, surrounded by double walls of wood. The number of

prisoners confined there, and the length of time which many of them

had spent within its walls, gave this place many of the

characteristics of a small State, with rulers and officials of its

own. One of the strangest characters of the prison was King Dick, a

gigantic negro, who ruled over the five or six hundred negro

prisoners. "He is six feet five inches in height," says one of the

prisoners, "and proportionally large. This black Hercules commands

respect, and his subjects tremble in his presence. He goes the rounds

every day, and visits every berth, to see if they all are kept clean.

When he goes the rounds, he puts on a large bear-skin cap, and carries

in his hand a huge club. If any of his men are dirty, drunken, or

grossly negligent, he threatens them with a beating; and if they are

saucy they are sure to receive one. They have several times conspired

against him, and attempted to dethrone him; but he has always

conquered the rebels. One night several attacked him while asleep in

his hammock: he sprang up, and seized the smallest by his feet, and

thumped another with him. The poor negro, who had thus been made a

beetle of, was carried the next day to the hospital, sadly bruised,

and provokingly laughed at." King Dick, to further uphold his dignity

as a monarch, had his private chaplain, who followed his royal master

about, and on Sundays preached rude but vigorous sermons to His

Majesty's court. On weekdays the court was far from being a dignified

gathering. King Dick was a famous athlete, and in the cock-loft, over

which he reigned, was to be seen fine boxing and fencing. Gambling,

too, was not ruled out of the royal list of amusements; and the cries

of the players, mingled with the singing of the negroes, and the

sounds of the musical instruments upon which they played, made that

section of the prison a veritable pandemonium.

[Illustration: The last Volley of the War.]

But although some few incidents occurred to brighten momentarily the

dull monotony of the prisoners' lot, the life of these unfortunate

men, while thus imprisoned, was miserable and hateful to them. Months

passed, and even years, but there seemed to be no hope for release. At

last came the news of the declaration of peace. How great then was the

rejoicing! Thoughts of home, of friends and kindred, flooded the minds

of all; and even strong men, whom the hardships of prison-life had not

broken down, seemed to give way all at once to tears of joy. But the

delays of official action, "red-tape," and the sluggishness of travel

in that day, kept the poor fellows pent up for months after the treaty

of peace had been announced to them. Nor were they to escape without

suffering yet more severely at the hands of their jailors. Three

months had passed since peace had been declared; and the long delay so

irritated the prisoners, that they chafed under prison restraint, and

showed evidences of a mutinous spirit. The guards, to whom was

intrusted the difficult task of keeping in subjection six thousand

impatient and desperate men, grew nervous, fearing that at any moment

the horde of prisoners would rise and sweep away all before them. An

outbreak was imminent; and the prisoners were like a magazine of

gunpowder, needing but a spark of provocation to explode. On April 6,

1815, matters reached a crisis. The soldiers, losing all presence of

mind, fired on the defenceless Americans, killing five men and

wounding thirty-four. Thus the last blood shed in the War of 1812 was

the blood of unarmed prisoners. But the massacre, horrible and

inexcusable as it was, had the effect of hastening the release of the

survivors; and soon the last of the captives was on his way home to

the country over which peace at last reigned again.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE LONG PEACE BROKEN BY THE WAR WITH MEXICO. -- ACTIVITY OF THE

NAVY. -- CAPTAIN STOCKTON'S STRATAGEM. -- THE BATTLE AT SAN JOSE.

-- THE BLOCKADE. -- INSTANCES OF PERSONAL BRAVERY. -- THE LOSS OF

THE "TRUXTON." -- YELLOW FEVER IN THE SQUADRON. -- THE NAVY AT

VERA CRUZ. -- CAPTURE OF ALVARADO.

The period of peace which followed the close of the War of 1812 was,

perhaps, the longest which any nation has ever enjoyed. For the navy

of the United States, it was a time of absolute peace, inactivity,

even stagnation. The young nation was living literally up to

Washington's rule of avoiding entanglements abroad, and its people

looked with suspicion on the naval branch of the service which had

rendered such a good account of itself in the war with Great Britain.

They feared to build and man ships lest possession of a navy might

prove an incentive to war. And so when war did come--war, not with

Europe, but with our nearest neighbor--the United States had little

floating force to join in it. Fortunately, little was needed.

Though war was not declared by the United States against Mexico until

May, 1846, it had been a possibility ever since the establishment of

the Texan Republic by the defeat of the Mexicans at San Jacinto in

1834, and it had been a great probability since 1841, when it was

discovered that both England and France were holding out prospects of

assistance to the Mexicans in case of conflict with the United

States. Neither of these European powers was sincere in the diplomatic

game which deceived the proud but ignorant Mexicans, but neither did

either of them scruple to foment a quarrel out of which some selfish,

though indefinite, advantage might be gained. Indeed they played the

diplomatic game so skilfully that they deceived a considerable

minority in the United States and made these believe that the

admission of Texas to the United States would be unwise and

inexpedient, and the probable war with Mexico a wickedness dire and

dreadful. Even General Grant, when he wrote his book, said that such

were his views at the time, though he was then an army officer and

trusting to war for advancement. But when hostilities were begun, and

victory for American arms followed victory, the protests of the peace

party were unheard amid the enthusiastic shoutings of those who took a

saner view of the conditions which led to the conflict.

Mexico claimed title not only to Texas, but to California, and if the

United States had not gone to war in regard to the former, she would

have had to do so in defence of her conquest of the latter. In

securing California the navy bore a conspicuous part, and as early as

1842, Captain Thomas Ap-Catesby Jones, commanding the Pacific

squadron, was as active as though war had already been declared. In

September of that year, with his squadron of four ships, he was at

anchor in the harbor of Callao, and noticing the suspicious conduct of

the British frigate "Dublin," which shoved off the port and then bore

away, he concluded to follow her and see just what game she sought, as

he had been informed by the Navy Department that England was plotting

in Mexico against the United States; he had also read in a Mexican

newspaper that war was likely to be declared, if indeed hostilities

had not already begun. Captain Jones reached Monterey on the 19th of

October, and though he saw nothing of the "Dublin," he at once

insisted on the surrender of the place. The next day he learned that

his action had been premature and made what amends he could. So the

navy really struck the first official blow that led to this war.

When war had been declared, the Pacific squadron did not learn of it

until after the victories of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma. Captain

Sloat, in command, at once took prompt action. Landing two hundred and

fifty seamen and marines under Captain Mervine, he captured Monterey

on the 2d of July. A week later he formally took possession of the

splendid bay of San Francisco and the neighboring country. He also

occupied Sutter's Fort, on Sacramento River, and the towns of Bodega

and Sonoma. In this war it will be noticed throughout this narrative

that the naval forces were constantly required to do shore duty, a

duty to which they were unaccustomed but which they performed with

entire efficiency. The Mexicans had no navy worthy of the name and the

American sailors were auxiliary to the soldiers. Though untrained to

this kind of service, and though it was always hard, and sometimes

quite ungrateful, they responded to orders with entire cheerfulness;

when the service was most perilous then the blue-jackets entered upon

it with a gayety that laughed at danger.

On the 19th of July, Fremont and his corps of topographical engineers

met Captain Sloat and thereafter co-operated with him. In the "Cyane,"

Commander Du Pont, Fremont was sent to San Diego with one hundred and

fifty riflemen and that place was occupied. On the 30th of July, the

"Congress" took possession of San Pedro, the port of Los Angeles, the

seat of the Mexican government in California. About this time the

command of the Pacific squadron devolved upon Captain Robert F.

Stockton, who was not a whit less vigilant than his predecessors had

been. Having all the California seaports, Captain Stockton planned an

expedition against Los Angeles before the well-armed Mexican soldiers

in the province could be brought together. He landed three hundred and

fifty sailors and marines and established a camp at San Pedro. Captain

Stockton's biographer says: "There were only about ninety muskets in

the whole corps. Some of the men were armed with carbines, others had

only pistols, swords, or boarding-pikes. They presented a motley and

peculiar appearance, with great variety of costume. Owing to their

protracted absence from home the supplies of shoes and clothing had

fallen short, and the ragged and diversified colors of their garments,

as well as the want of uniformity in their arms and accoutrements,

made them altogether a spectacle both singular and amusing." The

Mexican forces at Los Angeles outnumbered Captain Stockton's land

forces three to one, so he resorted to a stratagem to deceive the

enemy as to his force. A flag of truce having appeared on the hills,

"he ordered all his men under arms and directed them to march three or

four abreast, with intervals of considerable space between each squad,

directly in the line of vision of the approaching messengers, to the

rear of some buildings on the beach, and thence to turn in a circle

and continue their march until the strangers had arrived. Part of the

circle described in the march was concealed from view, so that to the

strangers it would appear that a force ten times greater than the

actual number was defiling before them. When the two bearers of the

flag of truce had arrived he ordered them to be led up to him

alongside of the artillery, which consisted of several six-pounders

and one thirty-two-pound carronade. The guns were all covered with

skins so as to conceal their dimensions except the huge mouth of the

thirty-two-pounder at which the captain was stationed to receive his

guests.... As his purpose was intimidation he received them with much

sternness." They asked for a truce, but Stockton demanded and secured

an immediate and absolute surrender, as the evident object of the

Mexicans was to gain time. Stockton at once began his tedious march to

Los Angeles, his men dragging the cannon through the sand. On the 12th

of August, he received a message from the Mexican general, saying "if

he marched on the town he would find it the grave of his men." He

replied: "Then tell your general to have the bells ready to toll at

eight o'clock in the morning. I shall be there at that time." He was

as good as his word. The next morning he was joined by Fremont and his

men, who had come up from San Diego and they entered Los Angeles

unopposed. He organized a civil government for the entire state, with

Major Fremont as the head of it, and returning to his ships sailed

northward on the 5th of September, 1846. The news of these operations

was sent to Washington overland by the famous scout, Kit Carson.

Meantime the other ships of the Pacific squadron were cruising along

the coast and capturing everything with a semblance of Mexican

ownership. But Captain Stockton was much disconcerted in October to

learn that two Mexican generals, released on parole after the fall of

Los Angeles, had gathered a force and were besieging the small

garrison there. The "Savannah" at once went to the scene. At San Pedro

it was learned that the garrison had been compelled to capitulate and

was awaiting an American cruiser. Captain Mervine, of the "Savannah,"

landed a detachment of sailors and marines and began the march to the

capital. He could not cope with the superior force and had to retire.

Indeed nearly all the places captured by the active sailors seemed

likely now to fall into the hands of the Mexicans again. The garrison

at Monterey was threatened by an uprising of the people; the garrison

at San Diego was besieged; Los Angeles was in the hands of the enemy,

and the force at the enemy's camp at San Bernardino was getting

stronger each day. But Captain Stockton was equal to all demands upon

him and made up for inadequate forces by celerity of movement. Just

when matters were most critical the naval forces learned of the

repulse of General Stephen Kearny by the Mexicans under Pico. It was

indeed with great difficulty that Kearny and his dragoons were rescued

by the sailors from their invested position near San Bernardino.

Having got what men he could together, Captain Stockton determined to

recapture Los Angeles. On the 29th of December, 1846, he began his

march of 145 miles to the capital. There were no roads, but the route

was through deep ravines, sand-hills, and deserts. The men were poorly

armed and badly clothed, and there were few horses to assist in

drawing the artillery. Never did an American commander have before him

a more disagreeable prospect. The men, many of them without

foot-covering, became worn-out in the march and begged to rest, but

the captain insisted that they must go on, as the Mexicans were

getting stronger every day. The men responded as best they could.

On the 7th of January, the intrepid Stockton found that the enemy was

intrenched between him and the San Gabriel River. The Mexican general

changed his mind and crossed the river with the object of interrupting

the crossing. But Stockton would not be denied, and repulsed the enemy

on every side, though outnumbered three to one. This was on the 8th of

January, the anniversary of the battle of New Orleans. The next day he

fought again, resisting three furious charges of the enemy. On the

10th he entered Los Angeles unopposed, and on the 15th he was joined

there by Fremont and his corps. These seaports in California were not

seriously harassed during the remainder of the war, but they needed to

be garrisoned, while the whole coast required watching. A part of the

squadron was sent south and also into the Bay of California. Before

the end of 1847 every Mexican gun on the western coast, save those at

Acapulco, had been silenced. Loreto, La Paz, Mazatlan, San Blas,

Manzanilla, San Antonio, Guaymas, and Mulye fell to the squadron.

Sometimes it only needed for a ship or two to appear before a town and

it would surrender, but generally an assault or the appearance of a

storming party on land was necessary. But the seamen and marines were

always invincible in this part of the war, where they were entirely

without aid from the army.

The most serious predicament in which the Americans found themselves

in this Pacific Coast campaign was when Lieutenant Heywood, of the

"Dale," with four midshipmen and twenty marines, were shut up in the

Mission House at San Jose, a small village near San Lucas. He was

surrounded by a large force before he knew it, and two of his

midshipmen were taken unawares and captured by an enemy not known to

be near. Lieutenant Heywood maintained himself from the 19th of

November, 1847, till the 17th of February, 1848, when Commander Du

Pont, in the "Cyane," came to his rescue. A party of ninety-four

seamen and marines, under Lieutenant Rowan, went ashore and fought its

way against six hundred Mexicans until they were defeated and Heywood

and his men rescued. There was nothing after this on the western coast

more serious than guerrilla forays.

The operations on the western coast were probably, in result, much

more important than those of the home squadron in the Mexican Gulf and

the Rio Grande River. But the latter squadron was the larger, and as

it was in constant co-operation with the conquering armies which

finally captured the capital of the country, much more has been heard

of the doings of the fleet in the east, which was at first commanded

by Commodore David Conner and then by Commodore Matthew C. Perry. The

operations on this coast also came in for much criticism, for the

various ships were filled with young men overflowing with valor and

mad with desire of glory. They were also comparatively close to home

and saw the newspapers from New York, Washington, and New Orleans. In

these papers the army was accorded all the glory while the navy was

almost ignored. This neglect rankled in the minds of the madcaps, and

they blamed Commodore Conner, an officer of much experience and

distinguished record, for not storming every fort and citadel near the

coast instead of carrying out his instructions to maintain an

efficient blockade of the ports and to co-operate with the army

whenever possible. These duties, tiresome and inglorious as they

seemed, were of the first importance to the scheme of the campaign,

and they were performed with a patience which rose superior to

weariness, sickness, and death. The duty required of the blockaders

did not require much fighting, but the men were in danger of the

coast fevers all the time, and hundreds died. And then at some seasons

the fleet was likely to be blown ashore by the fierce "northers" which

prevailed. Many accidents resulted during these storms, the most

serious being the capsizing of the brig "Somers," Lieutenant Raphael

Semmes (afterward commanding the Confederate ship "Alabama")

commanding, and the loss of more than half her crew.

When the war began at Palo Alto, Commodore Conner was with his

squadron off Point Isabel, at the mouth of the Rio Grande River. Not

knowing the issue of the battle, five hundred seamen and marines were

sent to strengthen the garrison at Point Isabel, where the army

supplies were stored, while Captain Aulick, of the "Potomac," with two

hundred men, pulled up the Rio Grande in boats for fifteen miles and

until a junction with the army was established at Barita. At this time

the squadron consisted of the frigates "Cumberland" (flagship),

"Potomac," and "Raritan"; the steam frigate "Mississippi"; the

sloops-of-war "Falmouth," "John Adams," and "St. Mary's"; the

steam-sloop "Princeton"; and the brigs "Lawrence," "Porpoise," and

"Somers." Before the close of the war some of these ships were

recalled, at least one was wrecked, and the squadron was from time to

time largely reinforced.

The squadron, now that war had begun, was ordered to blockade the

ports of Matamoras, on the Rio Grande; Tampico, on the Tampico River;

Alvarado, on the Alvarado; Coatzalcoalcos, on the river of the same

name; Tabasco, on the Tabasco River; and Vera Cruz, on the Gulf. The

rivers mentioned, except the Rio Grande, are mere creeks, not fit for

vessels of any size, and their mouths simply open roadsteads. Vera

Cruz was the only place with anything like a harbor. The ports in

Yucatan, such as Laguna and Campeachy, were only visited for supplies

of fresh meat. The State of Yucatan was not assisting in the war and

did not need to be blockaded. By the time General Taylor took

possession of Matamoras, Commodore Conner's fleet had been

considerably augmented by the addition of the sloops-of-war

"Germantown," "Albany," "Saratoga" and "Decatur"; the steamers

"Spitfire," "Vixen," "Alleghany," "Scorpion" and "Scourge"; the brig

"Truxton"; the gunboats "Reefer," "Bonita," and "Rebel." A little

later, and just before the bombardment of Vera Cruz, the "Ohio," with

seventy-four guns, joined, together with the bomb-vessels "Vesuvius,"

"Hecla," and "Stromboli." There were also a number of small steamers

and gunboats to operate in shallow water. These constituted what was

called the "mosquito fleet." With so formidable a fleet the sailors

felt they were equal to anything, and whenever a larger part of it was

operating at one place, it was difficult to restrain the men. The

youngsters even thought Commodore Conner's prudence and conservatism

to be timidity, and the writer has before him now a book written

twenty-five years after these events, by one who was a midshipman on

the flagship, and he quotes the familiar lines about daring to put

things to the touch. All this was most unfair, but it indicated that

the blue jackets of the Mexican War were buttoned over hearts that

knew no fear.

The blockade of the Mexican ports that was maintained was not by any

means a paper blockade. It was actual, and the very opposite of the

merely formal closing of ports which the United States had so long

protested against in other countries. The hardships of the men and

officers were fearful and the casualties very great. The tediousness

of the service was relieved now and again by daring expeditions into

the rivers and ports, where boats were cut out and taken away from

beneath batteries on shore. The record of such ventures shows that the

navy in 1846 and 1847 was no whit inferior in dash to the one which

made the flag glorious some years before in the war with England. One

instance of such a venture is quoted from the "Recollections of a

Naval Officer," by Captain William Harwar Parker. He was telling of

the blockade at Vera Cruz in 1846. He says: "One of the finest fellows

in the service I often met on Green Island. I allude to Passed

Midshipman Hynson, of Maryland. He was drowned in the brig 'Somers,'

when she capsized in the fall of this year. At the time of her

sinking, Hynson had both of his arms bandaged and in a sling, and was

almost helpless. It was said that when the brig sank he managed to get

hold of a spar with another man, and finding it would not support two

he deliberately let go his hold. It was like him. The way he happened

to have his arm in a sling was this: While the 'Somers' was

maintaining the blockade of Vera Cruz, a vessel managed to slip in--I

think she was a Spanish schooner. The Mexicans moored her to the walls

of the Castle of San Juan for safety; but the officers of the 'Somers'

resolved to cut her out or burn her. Hynson was the leading spirit in

the affair, though Lieutenant James Parker, of Pennsylvania, was the

senior officer. They took a boat one afternoon and pulled in to visit

the officers of an English man-of-war lying under Sacrificios Island.

It was quite usual to do this. After nightfall they left the British

ship and pulled directly for the schooner, which they boarded and

carried. This, be it observed, was directly under the guns of the

castle and the muskets of its garrison. The crew was secured, and

finding the wind would not serve to take the vessel out, it was

resolved to burn her. Her captain made some resistance, and the

sentinel on the walls called out to know what was the matter. Parker,

who spoke Spanish remarkably well, replied that his men were drunk and

he was putting them in irons. The party then set fire to the vessel

and got safely away with their prisoners. It was in setting fire to

the schooner that Hynson got so badly burned."

In regard to the personal heroism shown by Hynson and others when the

"Somers" went down, Lieutenant Raphael Semmes, in his book, "Service

Afloat and Ashore During the Mexican War," said: "Those men who could

not swim were selected to go into the boat. A large man by the name of

Seymour, the ship's cook, having got into her, he was commanded by

Lieutenant Parker to come out, in order that he might make room for

two smaller men, and he _obeyed the order_. He was afterward permitted

to return to her, however, when it was discovered that he could not

swim. Passed Midshipman Hynson, a promising young officer, who had

been partially disabled by a bad burn received in firing the 'Creole'

a few days previously, was particularly implored to go into the boat.

A lad by the name of Nutter jumped out of the boat and offered his

place to Hynson, and a man by the name of Powers did the same thing.

Hynson refusing both offers, these men declared that then others might

take their places, as they were resolved to abide in the wreck with

him. Hynson and Powers were drowned. Nutter was saved. When the plunge

was made into the sea, Sailing-Master Clemson seized a studding-sail

boom, in company with five of the seamen. Being a swimmer, and

perceiving that the boom was not sufficiently buoyant to support them

all, he left it and struck out alone. He perished--the five men were

saved."

Just about this time the first of the gunboats reached the squadron,

and the young men of the steerage were intensely amused at the

smallness of the vessel. A midshipman from the flagship visited the

"Reefer." He went alongside of her in the barge, and, not knowing any

better, stepped over her port-quarter. Lieutenant Sterrett, in

command, said in his least gentle voice: "Sir, there is a gangway to

this vessel!" Before long even the youngsters learned to respect these

little steamers. Commodore Conner now made an expedition to capture

Alvarado, but just as he was about ready to begin a bombardment his

pilots predicted a "norther," and he hoisted the signal, "Return to

the anchorage off Vera Cruz." This was popularly regarded as a

_fiasco_, but doubtless the Commodore was entirely right, as Alvarado

might be taken at any time, and subsequently was taken in a manner

which has been a joke in the navy ever since. Of this something will

presently be said. Tampico, a town of 7,000 inhabitants, 210 miles

north of Vera Cruz, was next proceeded against. The bar at the mouth

of the Tampico River is considered the most dangerous on the coast,

and the larger vessels did not try to cross it. But the smaller

steamers and gunboats of the "mosquito fleet" went in, and the town

was surrendered without firing a shot. It was then occupied by the

army. The next movement was against Frontera, at the mouth of the

Tabasco River, and Tabasco, some seventy miles up that little stream.

Frontera was taken by surprise, and Commodore Perry, now second in

command to Commodore Conner, moved up the stream with vessels of too

heavy draught. He came near losing the "Cumberland" in the mud, and,

as it was, she was so disabled that when she was pulled from her perch

on a bar she had to be sent home for repairs. Perry, however, defeated

the Mexican flotilla and captured all the boats. Two of the prizes had

to be blown up, but the "Champion," a fast river boat, which had run

between Richmond and Norfolk, was taken out and afterward usefully

employed as a despatch-boat. In this expedition there was considerable

fighting and also some losses both of officers and men.

In blockading the port of Tuspan, some 120 miles northwest of Vera

Cruz, the brig "Truxton," Captain Carpenter, was stationed. The ship

was blown ashore and was under the Mexican guns. The Captain sent a

boat to tell the Commodore of the disaster, but before relief could

reach him he surrendered. In doing this he was opposed bitterly by all

his officers, and the quarter-master on duty positively refused to

obey the order to haul down the flag. Lieutenant Bushrod Hunter, who

first went for assistance, reached the squadron off Vera Cruz, as did

also Lieutenant Otway Berryman, with a boat's crew, which left before

the surrender had been effected. The remainder of the crew were taken

to Vera Cruz as prisoners of war. As soon as Commodore Conner heard of

the disaster he sent Captain Engle with the "Princeton" to Tuspan. He

made short work of it. He drove the Mexicans out of the brig, took

what armament was left, and then burned her. The guns taken out of the

"Truxton" were placed in forts erected to protect Tuspan. But these

were captured next year by Commodore Perry and Captain Breese. The

officers and men of the navy had a grudge against Tuspan, and the

landing detachment which carried the works fought as though each man

in it were a demon. It lost three killed, while five officers and six

seamen were wounded.

During the summer of 1847, the men of the squadron operating in the

Gulf suffered severely from yellow fever and also from scurvy brought

on by a lack of fresh food. It was so bad on the "Mississippi" that

she had to been sent to Pensacola. Commodore Perry was himself

stricken, but he refused to leave, and changed his flag to the

"Germantown," which remained. This was after the fall of Vera Cruz,

and when the duty of the naval forces was once again only that of

blockaders. The investment of Vera Cruz was the most considerable

single piece of work performed by the navy during the war. Commodore

Conner had gathered at Vera Cruz all his available forces and

anxiously awaited the coming of General Scott and his army, who were

at Lobos Island, 150 miles north of Vera Cruz. General Taylor, with

5,000 men, had just defeated Santa Anna with 20,000 men at Buena

Vista, and two days later, that is, on the 24th of February, 1847,

General Scott gave his final orders to his fleet of transports which

was to take his army to Vera Cruz. Early in March the transports with

12,600 men arrived in front of Vera Cruz. Captain Parker, in his book

previously quoted, says: "No words can express our excitement as ship

after ship crowded with enthusiastic soldiers successively came in;

some anchoring near us and others continuing on for the anchorage at

Anton Lizardo. We had been so long on our ships, and for some months

so inactive, that we were longing for something to do. I cannot answer

for others, but the scene of that day--and I recollect that it was

Sunday--is so vivid, and the events so firmly fixed in my memory, that

I can almost see the ship "Diadem" as she grazed our spanker-boom in

her desire to pass near enough to speak us, and I can to this day

whistle the waltz played by an infantry band on board a transport

anchored near us that night, though I have never heard it since."

Indeed, the naval contingent was most anxious to be in some of the

heavy fighting, and the chance seeming near, all was enthusiasm aboard

the ships of the squadron. A few days after General Scott's arrival he

and Commodore Conner and a large number of principal officers,

including Captain Joseph E. Johnston, of the "Engineers," made a

reconnaissance to decide on the best place to land the army. They

selected the mainland abreast of Sacrificios Island.

On the 9th of March, the steamers "Spitfire" and "Vixen" and several

gunboats ran close inshore and shelled the sand-hills and chaparral in

which the enemy might be concealed. Only a few horsemen were made to

scamper away. The Government for this very landing had sent out a

number of surf-boats, flat on the bottom and sharp at both ends. Each

of these carried one hundred men with their arms and accoutrements.

They proved most admirable for the service, as the whole army was

landed with out a mishap, and, singularly enough, the Mexicans did not

molest the Americans in the least while this important movement was in

progress. By midnight of the 9th of March the whole of the army was

ashore. Landing the troops having been accomplished, the work of

taking the artillery pieces, the ammunition, and supplies was begun,

and this consumed a week, each day lasting from four in the morning

till ten at night.

While this was in progress, General Scott was so arranging his troops

that he should entirely invest the city, and by the 20th of March the

bombardment began. General Scott summoned the authorities to

surrender, and gave them a chance to send the women and children out

of the city. Both invitation and opportunity were declined. And so it

came about that many non-combatants were killed in the siege that

followed. The sailors not only had to land the army and the materials

of war, but they were obliged to help get the siege guns in place. The

blue-jacket ashore is nearly always alive to the importance of having

a lark, and even in this arduous service they acted very much as

though they were on a spree. On one occasion a "norther" came up, and

for several days the seamen could not get back to their ships. Being

idle they had a good time to their hearts' content. It is said that

before the end of the first day every Jack of them had a horse and was

a mounted marine. One of these, a very tough old salt, had for his

charger a donkey, and on this animal he rode by General Scott's

quarters in great pride. "Some officers standing by observing that he

was, as they thought, seated too far back, called out to him to shift

his seat more amidships. 'Gentlemen,' said Jack, drawing rein, 'this

is the first craft I ever commanded, and it's d--d hard if I can't

ride on the quarter-deck.'"

But there was more serious work immediately in store for the navy than

fetching and carrying for the army and rewarding themselves in boyish

pranks. The day before the serious bombardment began the squadron was

notified by signal from the flagship: "Commodore Perry commands the

squadron." There was rejoicing at this, for Perry was regarded as a

man who preferred a fight for its own sake rather than to have no

fight at all. In this command he proved that he was a good fighter,

but he proved also that he knew how to be conservative when necessity

made such a course wise. Commodore Conner went home because his health

demanded that he should. The Navy Department was not dissatisfied with

him. But the opportunity for heavy fighting came after Perry took the

command. From the beginning of the siege the fleet kept up a heavy

firing on the city and castle so as to divert the fire from the land

forces.

General Scott soon saw that his guns were not strong enough to batter

down the walls of the city, so he requested Commodore Perry to send

him some heavy guns. The Commodore's gallant reply was: "Certainly,

General, but I must fight them." And fight them he did, as we shall

see. Six heavy pieces of ordnance were landed, and about 200 seamen

and volunteers were attached to each gun. Three of these were

sixty-eight-pounder shell guns and three thirty-two-pounder solid-shot

guns. Each of these guns weighed about three tons. Now each of these

had to be dragged through the loose sand, almost knee-deep, for

something like three miles before it could be put in the position the

engineers had assigned to it. This battery, by the way, was protected

by bags of sand piled on each other, and this was the first time that

this device had been used. When the battery was in position the

officers and men of the ships were so anxious to fight it that, to

prevent jealousy, the officers first to be assigned drew lots for the

honor. The first day Captain Aulick commanded, and the next day

Captain Mayo. The naval battery fired with such precision that they

did amazing damage to the enemy's works, and on the second day the

guns in Vera Cruz were silenced. Then began a parley as to terms, but

on the 28th there was an unconditional surrender. Now Scott had a

foothold in the part of Mexico which counted for something, and he was

able to begin that masterly march through the Valley of Mexico and on

to the capital of the country. But he never could have obtained this

foothold without the assistance of the navy. The country did not

recognize this at once, and the newspapers being printed by landsmen,

all of the immediate glory was bestowed on General Scott.

Now that Vera Cruz had fallen and General Scott's plans called for a

movement toward the interior, it was most desirable for him to have

better cavalry. But he lacked horses. Singular as it may seem, he

called upon the navy to assist in supplying this deficiency. It was

known that there were Mexican horsemen in and about Alvarado, so it

was determined to proceed against this place by land and sea, so that

the town could be reduced, and the horses secured at the same time.

General Quitman, with a brigade, was sent by land, so as to keep the

horsemen from running away, while the "Potomac," Captain Aulick, and

the "Scourge," Lieutenant Charles G. Hunter, were sent to appear in

front of Alvarado. It was evidently intended that Captain Aulick and

General Quitman would move on the place on some appointed day.

Lieutenant Hunter did not know what the plans were, and as his boat

was much faster than the "Potomac" he arrived in front of Alvarado

long before Captain Aulick. When the "Potomac" did come in sight, a

great commotion was noticed in the harbor. The "Albany," which had

been doing blockading service, came out and informed Captain Aulick

that Alvarado had been taken.

"By whom?" asked the Captain.

"By Lieutenant Hunter, in the 'Scourge,'" was the reply.

The "Scourge," it should be explained, was a very small steamer,

carrying one gun and forty men. Hunter went up pretty close and

observing indications of flinching, he fired three guns and dashed

boldly in and captured the place. The horsemen, the capture of whom

was the main object of the expedition, were frightened off before

General Quitman could intercept them. Having taken possession of

Alvarado, Lieutenant Hunter placed in the town a garrison consisting

of a midshipman and two men, and hurried his steamer up the river to a

place called Tlacotalpan, which he also captured. When General Quitman

arrived in Alvarado with his brigade and the place was gravely handed

over to him by Passed Midshipman William G. Temple (afterward a very

distinguished officer of high rank) he was greatly amused and laughed

heartily. But Commodore Perry was annoyed and angry. As soon as he

could get hold of Hunter--not an easy matter, as Hunter had gone on

his conquering way still further up the river with the intention of

taking all the rest of Mexico not subjugated by Taylor and Scott--he

placed him under arrest and preferred charges against him. When Hunter

was shortly tried by court-martial, he was sentenced to be reprimanded

by the Commodore, the reprimand to be read from the quarter-deck of

every vessel in the squadron.

The reprimand, prepared by Commodore Perry, was thought by pretty

nearly all the officers of the squadron to be entirely too severe. A

military offence had been committed, but it amounted to a mere trifle,

and the time was ripe for the people to laugh over such an occurrence.

In effect the reprimand was something like this: "Who told you to take

Alvarado? You were sent to watch Alvarado, not to take it. You have

taken Alvarado with but a single gun and not a marine to back you!"

Then the announcement was made that the squadron would soon move

against Tabasco, and that Hunter should not accompany it, but that he

should be dismissed the squadron. And he was sent home. In New York

the people made a hero of him, giving him swords and dinners, and

securing for him the command of the schooner "Taney," in which he made

a roving cruise to the Mediterranean. As long as he lived he was

always spoken of as "Alvarado" Hunter. A sense of humor is sometimes a

dangerous cargo for a public man to carry; but the absence of it also

is often dangerous. In this instance Commodore Perry, because he did

not see the amusing aspect of Hunter's escapade, made himself so

ridiculous that he came near cutting short his own career, which, as

will afterward be seen in this history, was destined for greater

achievements than any in the past.

[Illustration: Blue-Jackets before Vera Cruz.]

The next objective point for the navy was Tuspan, where the "Truxton"

had been lost. The bar at Tuspan is dangerous, and even the small

steamers of the squadron had their masts hoisted out of them to

lighten them. Commodore Perry hoisted his flag on the "Spitfire" and

led the way up the river with the boats of the squadron in tow. The

first fort on the river below the town, called the Pana, was silenced

by the gun of the "Spitfire" and then stormed by the sailors; two

other forts were taken in the same way and the town was occupied. The

Mexicans made a spirited defence, but did little damage, only one man

being killed. Among the wounded were Captain Tatnall, Commander

Whittle, and Lieutenant James Parker. The guns taken from the

"Truxton" were found in one of the forts and restored to the fleet.

The last naval operation of the war was against Tabasco. Commodore

Perry took all of the fleet which could possibly go up the river from

Frontera. This town was easily captured, but when the ascent of the

river began the boats were continually fired upon from the trees and

chaparral along the banks. At a place called Devil's Bend, the passage

of the river was interrupted by a sunken obstruction, technically

called a _chevaux de frise_. Commodore Perry did not mean to let this

stop him, so he organized a land force of seamen and marines and

concluded to march to Tabasco. He had numerous skirmishes, but was not

stopped. One day his own ships passed him, the _chevaux de frise_

having been raised by attaching rubber bags to it and then inflating

them with air. When Perry arrived at Tabasco he found the American

flag flying, the town having fallen without resistance to his own

ships. So his own arduous march across country had been all for

nothing. This was the last work of the sailors, but the marines of the

navy still saw glorious service, as a detachment of them was with

General Scott, participating in the attack on Chapultepec. They were

also among the first to enter the City of Mexico when that capital

surrendered.

The navy in the War with Mexico did itself credit as it always had

before, and reflected honor upon the country, whose flag was upheld

with brilliant courage and untiring zeal.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE NAVY IN PEACE. -- SURVEYING THE DEAD SEA. -- SUPPRESSING THE

SLAVE TRADE. -- THE FRANKLIN RELIEF EXPEDITION. -- COMMODORE

PERRY IN JAPAN. -- SIGNING OF THE TREATY. -- TROUBLE IN CHINESE

WATERS. -- THE KOSZTA CASE. -- THE SECOND FRANKLIN RELIEF

EXPEDITION. -- FOOTE AT CANTON. -- "BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER."

After the Mexican War the navy engaged for twelve years in works of

peace varied by a little exciting police duty on the high seas. Much

was done for commerce and for civilization in the years immediately

succeeding 1848, but the story, though important, is not exciting, and

is therefore little known. The records of these years afford a fair

suggestion of what a navy may do when actual fighting is not

necessary, and when its vessels, with the trained sailors and

scientists who man them, may be utilized in utilitarian work.

Shortly after the close of the Mexican War, the armed ship "Supply,"

under command of Lieutenant Lynch, sailed on an expedition to the Dead

Sea. The start was made from New York, and the vessel arrived in the

Mediterranean only a few weeks after peace had been declared with

Mexico. At Smyrna, Lieutenant Lynch left the "Supply," and went to

Constantinople to obtain permission to enter the Turkish domains. This

having been granted, the party sailed for Haifa. Arriving at this port

on the 21st of March, they left their ship, and set out for the Sea of

Galilee by an overland route, carrying on trucks the boats which had

been specially built for navigation in the river Jordan. Upon

reaching Tiberias, on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee, the

party divided, one detachment embarking in the boats to navigate the

Sea of Galilee, and the other mounting camels and horses to make the

trip by land, with the intention of keeping those who had sailed in

view as much as possible, and protecting them from attacks by

wandering Arabs or aiding them if necessary in the passage of the

tortuous and turbulent Jordan. Eight days were consumed in making this

passage, and a distance covered of 200 miles, although if the trip had

been made in a straight line instead of along the winding course of

the river, it would have been necessary to have traversed only sixty

miles. An encampment was established on the desolate banks of the Dead

Sea, and several exploring and scientific expeditions in the

neighborhood were made. Among the interesting facts gathered was the

exact depression of the Dead Sea below the level of the ocean. This

was found to be 1,312 feet.

The western coast of Africa was the scene of the next important

activity on the part of the American cruisers. The slave-trade, which

in the eighteenth century had assumed extensive proportions, still

flourished to a degree which made the condition upon the coast a

disgrace to civilization. It was a notorious fact, moreover, that a

large proportion of the vessels in the trade were of American build

and sailed under the Stars and Stripes. The United States Government

was anxious to wipe out this blot upon the nation's fair fame; and

consequently, in 1849, sent Lieutenant Foote, in command of the brig

"Perry," to African waters. The lieutenant, who, by the way, afterward

became the distinguished Admiral Foote, at once began active cruising

off Ambrig, a notorious slave mart. The "Perry" was constantly at sea,

chasing and boarding suspicious vessels, and very often her boats

passed through the surf and ran up the jungle-bordered rivers to the

slave barracoons. Many large slavers were captured, and when, in 1851,

the "Perry" was succeeded on the African coast by the squadron under

Commander Gregory, Lieutenant Foote had effectually checked the slave

trade. He was thanked for his services by the Secretary of the Navy.

While Lieutenant Foote was sailing under the blazing sun of Africa,

another lieutenant, Edwin J. De Haven, in command of the brigs

"Rescue" and "Advance," was pushing his way northward through the ice

of the Arctic Ocean. The Navy Department had considered it proper and

fitting to aid England in her search for the British commander, Sir

John Franklin and his men, who had sailed into the Arctic regions on

an exploring expedition, and had been gone so long as to warrant the

belief that they were in grave peril, if not already dead. Volunteers

for the relief expedition had been called for by the department.

Lieutenant De Haven and others had responded, and on May 24th, 1850,

started on their errand of mercy. In July, the party was in Baffin's

Bay, and here the brigs remained embedded in the ice for twenty-one

days. On the 29th of July, by a sudden movement of the floe, an

opening at the north presented itself; a north-east breeze sprang up

at the same time, and with press of sail the brigs were able to force

their way into clear water.

For a month afterward there was continual battling with the ice, and

slow progress northward. On August 27th, Lieutenant De Haven, having

in the mean time fallen in with several English relief expeditions,

decided to make a search on the shores adjacent to a Lancaster Sound.

Here were found three graves, and various signs that Franklin and his

companions had spent a winter somewhere thereabouts; but there were no

indications of the course his vessels, the "Erebus" and the "Terror,"

had taken when they had sailed away. Throughout the winter the search

was continued, and the "Rescue" and the "Advance" were often in

imminent danger of destruction in the masses of ice which pressed

against the sides of the ships with enormous force. "Every moment,"

said Lieutenant De Haven, in his report, "I expected the vessels would

be crushed or overwhelmed by the masses of ice forced up far above our

bulwarks." But at last, on June 6th, they forced their way again into

the open sea; and as the instructions had been not to spend a second

winter in the Arctic regions, sail was set for home, and late in the

summer of 1851 the brigs arrived at New York.

The sending of the frigate "Mississippi," commanded by Captain Matthew

G. Perry, to the coast of Halifax, in 1852, averted what threatened to

be serious trouble. A dispute had arisen among the American and

Canadian fishing schooners in those waters, and seven American vessels

had been seized by the British cruisers.

This caused intense indignation in New England; but Captain Perry

poured oil upon the troubled waters, and in 1854, as a result of his

visit, a reciprocity treaty between the United States and Canada was

signed, and this lasted for ten years.

Captain Perry performed his most important services for the

government, however, in Japan. The early fifties were an era of

exploring expeditions for the navy. There were trips up the rivers

into unknown regions of South America and Africa. The Isthmus of

Darien was explored, and an ambitious scheme to cut a ship-channel

through was found to be impracticable. It was very natural, during

this activity in penetrating little-known parts of the world, that

attention should have been given to Japan, which was a land of mystery

to the world at large because of the exclusion of foreigners from that

country. In 1852, Captain Perry was assigned the command of the

squadron cruising in the East Indies, and was empowered, in addition

to his ordinary duties, to make a display of force in the waters of

Japan in order to obtain better treatment for American seamen cast

upon Japanese shores, and to gain entry into Japanese ports for

vessels seeking supplies. He bore a letter, moreover, from the

President of the United States to the Emperor of Japan, written with a

view to obtaining a treaty providing for friendly intercourse and

commerce with the haughty island kingdom. On the 8th of July, the

squadron, comprising the frigates "Mississippi," "Susquehanna," and

"Powhatan"; the corvette "Macedonian"; the sloops-of-war "Plymouth,"

"Saratoga," and "Vandalia"; and the store-ships "Supply,"

"Southampton," and "Lexington," anchored off the city of Uraga, in the

Bay of Jeddo, Japan. Captain Perry decided that the proper course to

pursue with the Japanese was to assume a very lofty and commanding

tone and bearing. He therefore ordered away from the sides of his

vessel the boats which swarmed around it, and allowed none but

government officials of high rank to come on board. He himself

remained in seclusion in his cabin, treating with the Japanese through

intermediaries. He moved his squadron nearer the capital than was

allowable, and then demanded that a special commission, composed of

men of the highest rank, be appointed to convey his letter from the

President to the Emperor. The close proximity of the ships-of-war to

the capital, and Captain Perry's peremptory demand, were not at all to

the liking of the Japanese; but they were greatly impressed with his

apparent dignity and power, and at last consented to receive and

consider the letter. Fearing treachery, Captain Perry moved his ships

up so that their guns would command the building prepared for his

reception, and on the 14th of July went ashore with an escort of 400

officers and men, who found themselves, on landing, surrounded by

about 6,000 Japanese soldiers under arms.

Three months were given to the Japanese officials to reply to the

letter, and Captain Perry sailed with his squadron for the coast of

China. He returned after an interval of three months, and anchored his

ships beyond Uraga, where the previous conference had been held, and

nearer the capital, despite the fact that a place twenty miles below

had been appointed for the second meeting. The Japanese demurred at

this, being so exclusive that they did not wish their capital nor

their country even to be seen by foreigners. Instead of respecting

these wishes, Captain Perry approached still nearer, until he was only

eight miles from Tokio. This high-handed policy had the desired

effect. Five special Japanese commissioners met Captain Perry, and in

a building within range of the ships' guns, negotiations were carried

on. They resulted, on March 31st, in the signing of a treaty by the

Japanese, in which they promised to open two of their ports to

American vessels seeking supplies; to give aid to seamen of the United

States wrecked upon their shores; to allow American citizens

temporarily residing in their ports to enter, within certain

prescribed limits, the surrounding country; to permit consuls of the

United States to reside in one of the open ports; and, in general, to

show a peaceful and friendly spirit toward our government and

citizens. This treaty is important, because it opened the door for the

peoples of the world to a country which has since proved to be

possessed of vast wealth and resources. Captain Perry received high

praise for his firmness and diplomacy in the conduct of the difficult

negotiations.

One vessel of Captain Perry's fleet, the "Plymouth," had remained at

Shanghai when the squadron returned to Japanese waters, and she played

a very active though brief part in the troubles which then existed in

China. Imperial and revolutionary troops were fighting for supremacy,

and the former showed a hostile disposition to the American and

English residents of Shanghai. An American pilot was captured by an

Imperial man-of-war, but was retaken in a most spirited manner from

the Chinese by Lieutenant Guest, and a boat's crew from the

"Plymouth." The Chinese manifestations of hostility toward foreign

residents continued, and on the 4th of April, 1854, about ninety men

from the "Plymouth" and American merchant-ships, under the leadership

of Commander Kelly, went ashore, and in conjunction with one hundred

and fifty men from a British man-of-war, began an attack upon the

Imperial camp. The Americans had two field-pieces and a twelve-pound

boat-howitzer, which, together with the muskets, were used so

effectively that, after ten minutes of sharp fighting, the Chinese

fled in great disorder, leaving a number of dead and wounded upon the

field. The American loss was two killed and four wounded.

Piracy was rampant in the China seas during this period, and so bold

and ferocious were the Chinese desperadoes that their junks were a

great terror to merchant vessels, and seriously interfered with

commerce. The "Powhatan," another of Captain Perry's squadron, and the

English sloop "Rattler," joined forces against a fleet of piratical

junks off Khulan, in 1855, and completely destroyed them, killing many

of the pirates in the attack and taking a large number of prisoners.

In Happy Valley, Hong-Kong, a monument was erected to commemorate the

eight English and American sailors who were killed in the conflict.

While the East India squadron was performing these important and

gallant services off the coasts of Japan and China, the other vessels

of the navy were by no means idle. Among the conspicuous naval events

of the time was the spirited action of Commander Ingraham at Smyrna,

in 1854. A young Austrian, Martin Koszta, had lived in New York city

two years before, and had declared his intention of becoming an

American citizen. He had gone to Smyrna on business, and having

incurred the displeasure of the Austrian government, had been seized,

and was a prisoner on board the Austrian man-of-war "Hussar."

Commander Ingraham, commanding the sloop-of-war "St. Louis," demanded

that Koszta be surrendered, on the ground that he was an American

citizen. This being refused, Ingraham cleared for action, although the

"Hussar's" force was much superior to his own. His bold stand brought

the Austrians to satisfactory terms, and the threatened engagement was

averted by the surrender of Koszta.

There were two Arctic expeditions in addition to that of the "Rescue"

and the "Advance" in the early fifties. Both of them grew out of the

ill-fated Arctic explorations of Sir John Franklin. Lady Franklin, his

wife, was anxious, upon the failure of the first relief expeditions,

to send another, and she asked that a surgeon of the United States

Navy, Dr. Kane, be permitted to command it. The Navy Department

granted the request, and in June, 1853, the expedition, composed of

eighteen men under orders from the department and the patronage of

Henry Grinnell, of New York, and George Peabody, the American

merchant, of London, began the northwest journey. This search for Sir

John Franklin's ships was also unsuccessful, and the relief party was

for a long time in imminent danger of a fate similar to Franklin's.

After living for two winters imprisoned in the ice in Smith's Sound,

they abandoned their vessel, which had been largely broken up to

provide fuel, and started on a journey over the ice in sledges. After

eighty-four days of extreme privation and thrilling adventure, they

reached Driscol Bay, where they were found by Commander Hartstone and

Lieutenant Simms, commanding respectively the "Release" and the

"Arctic," which vessels had been fitted out by order of Congress to

rescue them. In October, 1855, the united party reached New York.

In November, 1855, the presence of the United States ship

"Germantown," commanded by Captain Lynch, in the harbor of Montevideo,

prevented an extensive massacre. There had been a rebellion in

Paraguay, and the insurrectionists had capitulated. The government

troops rushed upon them with the intention of despatching them, when a

detachment of United States marines interfered and put an end to the

sanguinary scene. Three years afterward the marines performed

efficient services in Montevideo in protecting foreign residents

against the insurgents in another rebellion.

The rather curious episode of a battle-ship fighting Indians occurred

in 1856. The sloop-of-war "Decatur," Commander Gansevoort, anchored

off Seattle, Washington, to protect the settlers from attacks from a

large body of Indians. The savages appeared, and fought the marines,

who had landed, with much spirit for six hours. At nightfall they

disappeared in the woods, having suffered the loss of a large number

of braves.

One of the most gallant and important of the minor operations of the

navy took place in November of the same year. Trouble having arisen

between the Chinese authorities of the City of Canton and the English

officials in the vicinity, it was thought that American interests

might be injured, and in consequence Commander Foote stationed his

vessel, the sloop-of-war "Portsmouth," of the squadron under

Flag-Officer Armstrong, near the island of Whampoa, and thence

proceeded, in several armed boats, to ascend the river to Canton to

establish an armed neutrality. Several Americans, however, joined the

British in an attack upon the governor's palace, and planted the flag

beside the English colors on the wall of the city. Commander Foote

disavowed this act, but as he was returning from an interview with the

flag-officer at Whampoa, several shots of grape and canister were

fired from the forts upon his boat, although it displayed the American

flag. The next day the "Portsmouth" and the "Levant," which had come

up the river to lend her aid, proceeded to the Canton barrier forts to

avenge the insult. The "Levant" grounded before coming in range of the

forts; but the "Portsmouth," under a sharp fire, sailed on until

within about 500 yards of the nearest fort; then she opened fire.

After she had thrown about 200 shells, the Chinese ceased firing. Then

followed four days of unsatisfactory parley with Yeh, the Governor of

Canton, after which Commander Foote renewed the attack. The "Levant"

now joined the "Portsmouth," and the vessels began a cannonade, which

was returned with spirit for an hour. Then 208 men, in ten boats, were

landed, and stormed the nearest fort, which was taken. Five thousand

pigtail-wearing soldiers afterward attempted to recapture it, but were

repulsed. In like manner, on the following morning, the next fort was

taken, with an American loss of but three men. During the afternoon

the defenders of the third fort fled. The next morning, in the face of

a heavy fire, the fourth and last fort was carried by a rapid assault.

The little company of Americans was now in possession of four modern

forts constructed by European engineers, which had been defended,

moreover, by thousands of men. The insult had been avenged, and the

affair resulted in a treaty of friendship and commerce with China.

There was little love between Americans and Chinese, however, and

three years afterward Captain Josiah Tatnall rendered valuable aid to

the English and French gunboats when fired upon by the Chinese forts.

The boats, under the command of Sir James Hope, were attempting to

remove obstructions in the Peiho River when the forts suddenly opened

a destructive fire. A desperate conflict followed, in which several

hundred of the English were killed. Captain Tatnall commanded the

chartered steamer "Toey-Wan," which was in the harbor. He forgot his

neutrality as he watched the scene. With the exclamation, "Blood is

thicker than water!" he jumped into his launch and steamed for the

British flagship. The boat was struck with a ball, and before its trip

was ended sunk, the coxswain being killed and Lieutenant Trenchart

severely wounded. The others who had manned her were rescued, and they

helped the English at the guns. Captain Tatnall afterward used the

"Toey-Wan" to tow up and bring into action the British reserves. His

action was a clear violation of the treaty and the neutrality law. He

received but slight punishment, however, and gained great popularity

in Great Britain.

At Eaya, in the Feejee Islands, in 1858, a sharp conflict took place

between the natives and forty men under Lieutenant Caldwell, who had

been sent to destroy the principal village as retribution for the

murder of two American citizens. The natives were sent fleeing inland.

The Secretary of the Navy said of the affair, "The gallantry,

coolness, and bravery displayed by officers and men was in the highest

degree commendable." A somewhat similar episode occurred in the

vicinity of Kisembo, on the west coast of Africa, in 1860. The natives

threatened the property and lives of American citizens, and would

undoubtedly have put their threats into effect had it not been for the

presence and prompt action of Commander Brent of the sloop-of-war

"Marion." When an insurrection occurred in the neighborhood of Panama,

in July, 1860, Commander Porter landed a body of marines and sailors

from his ship, the "St. Mary's," which was then stationed on the

western coast of Mexico. The governor gave up the city of Panama to

the joint occupancy of the forces of the "St. Mary's" and the British

ship-of-war "Clio," and tranquillity was quickly restored.

PART III

BLUE-JACKETS OF '61.

CHAPTER I.

THE OPENING OF THE CONFLICT. -- THE NAVIES OF THE CONTESTANTS. --

DIX'S FAMOUS DESPATCH. -- THE RIVER GUNBOATS.

The story of the naval operations of the civil war is a record of

wonderful energy and inventive skill in improvising and building

war-vessels, vigilance and courage in handling them, and desperate

bravery and dash displayed by officers and seamen in the great

engagements in which vessels of either side took part. Yet of the

immense body of literature dealing with the war, the greater part is

given to telling the story of the great armies of the North and South.

The details of the great land battles are familiar to many who have

but a vague idea of the service done by the "blue jackets" of the

North, and the daring deeds performed by the navies of both sides.

When the first mutterings of the storm of war began to be heard, the

United States Government had at its disposal sixty-nine

vessels-of-war, of which twenty-seven were laid up for repairs, or,

sailors would say, "out of commission." Of the forty-two vessels in

commission, twenty-six were absent on missions to the East Indies,

the African coast, and other distant quarters of the globe. Long

months must elapse before the most hasty orders could reach them. Many

were sailing-vessels, and must consume many months of precious time

before they could reach the shores of the United States. Indeed,

though on the inauguration of President Lincoln on March 4, 1861, all

these vessels were immediately recalled, not one arrived before the

middle of June, and many were delayed until late in the following

winter. Of the vessels at home, many were old-fashioned

sailing-frigates; beautiful with their towering masts and clouds of

snowy canvas, but almost useless in that day when steam had become

known as the only means of propelling vessels-of-war.

[Illustration: The "Hartford," Farragut's Flagship.]

In officers and men the navy was almost as deficient as in vessels. A

long peace had filled the lists of officers with old men past that

age in which may be expected the alertness and energy that must be

possessed by Jack afloat. The lower grades were filled by boyish

officers from the Naval Academy, who had never seen a gun fired in

anger. The service was becoming rusty from long idleness.

Such was the condition of the navy of the United States when Abraham

Lincoln was made President. Four years later the navy of the United

States consisted of six hundred and seventy-one vessels. No nation of

the world had such a naval power. The stern lessons of the great war

had taught shipbuilders that wooden ships were a thing of the past.

The little "Monitor" had by one afternoon's battle proved to all the

sovereigns of Europe that their massive ships were useless. And all

this had been done by a people grappling in deadly strife with an

enemy in their very dwellings. The world's history contains no more

wonderful story of energy and invention.

[Illustration: Departure of a Naval Expedition from Port Royal.]

When President Lincoln began his term of office, he appointed Gideon

Welles of Connecticut Secretary of the Navy. South Carolina had

seceded from the Union. Mississippi, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, and

Louisiana had followed South Carolina. Anderson, with a handful of

United States troops, was holding Fort Sumter, expecting every minute

to see the puff of smoke from the distant casement of Fort Moultrie,

and hear the shriek of the shell that should announce the opening of

the attack. At Washington, politicians were intriguing. The loyalty of

no man could be regarded as certain. Officers of the army and navy

were daily resigning, and hastening to put themselves under the

command of their various States. In the South all was activity. In the

North the popular desire for a compromise hampered the authorities so

that no decided stand against the spread of the rebellion could be

made. The new Secretary of the Navy found himself face to face with

the certainty of a long and bloody war, yet had under his command a

navy hardly adequate for times of peace. To add to his perplexity,

many of the oldest and most skilful officers in the navy resigned,

saying that their duty to their States was greater than to the United

States as a whole. A few revenue officers even went so far as to

deliver to the State authorities the vessels of which they were in

command. One commander, a Georgian, bringing his ship back from

foreign waters, hesitated long whether to take it to the navy-yard at

New York, or to deliver it to the Southern leaders. He finally

decided to obey orders, and the ship remained with the United States.

Some days afterward the commander told his lieutenant of his

hesitation. "We all saw it," said the younger officer; "and had you

turned the ship's prow towards Charleston, you would have been

instantly put in irons."

The surrender of another naval vessel called forth that famous

despatch from John A. Dix that will ever be linked with his name. The

United States revenue cutter "McClelland" was lying at New Orleans,

under the command of Capt. Breshwood. The revenue service is distinct

from the regular navy, and is under the general command of the

Secretary of the Treasury. John A. Dix, then Secretary of the

Treasury, suspected that Capt. Breshwood was about to surrender his

vessel to the Confederates, and sent an agent to order him to take the

vessel to New York. Breshwood refused, and instantly Dix sent the

despatch: "Tell Lieut. Caldwell to arrest Capt. Breshwood, assume

command of the cutter, and obey the order through you. If Capt.

Breshwood, after arrest, undertakes to interfere with the command of

the cutter, tell Lieut. Caldwell to consider him as a mutineer, and

treat him accordingly. _If any man attempts to haul down the American

flag, shoot him on the spot._" This despatch was intercepted by the

Confederates, and the cutter was surrendered. But Dix's determined

words reverberated through the North, and thrilled all hearts with the

hope that the time for delay was past, and that the growing rebellion

would be put down with a firm hand.

So at the opening of the war we find the North with a navy consisting

of but a few old-fashioned ships, few sailors, officers everywhere

resigning, and a general feeling of distrust of brother officers in

all grades.

The condition of the South as regards the navy was even worse. The

Southern States had never done any great amount of ship-building. The

people were almost all engaged in farming. The crops of cotton and

sugar that they raised were shipped in vessels built in Maine, and

manned by sailors from the seafaring villages of New England. At the

time the war broke out, there was hardly a shipyard in the confines of

the Confederacy. A few vessels were gained by the treachery of United

States officers. The capture of the Norfolk navy-yard brought them

large quantities of naval stores, and by wonderful activity a few

vessels were built for service on inland sounds and rivers. But at no

time could the Confederacy have been said to have a navy; and,

keeping this fact in view, the record the Confederates made with two

or three vessels is most wonderful. In war-vessels for service on that

wonderful network of rivers that make up the waterways of the

Mississippi Valley, the South was not so deficient as in ships of the

seagoing class. The long, crescent-shaped levee at New Orleans is

lined throughout certain seasons of the year by towering

river-steamers which ply up and down the Mississippi and connecting

streams, taking from the plantations huge loads of cotton, sugar, and

rice, and carrying to the planters those supplies which can only be

furnished by the markets of a great city. The appearance of one of

these towering river transports as she comes sailing down the turbid

stream of the great Father of Waters, laden to the water's edge with

brown bales of cotton, and emitting from her lofty, red crowned

smoke-stacks dense clouds of pitchy black smoke, is most wonderful.

Unlike ocean-steamers, the river-steamer carries her load upon her

deck. Built to penetrate far towards the head-waters of rivers and

bayous that in summer become mere shallow ditches, these steamers have

a very light draught. Many of them, whose tiers of white cabins tower

sixty or seventy feet into the air, have but three feet of hull

beneath the river's surface. The first deck, when the vessel is but

lightly loaded, stands perhaps two feet out of water. Above this,

carried on rows of posts twenty feet high, comes the first cabin. All

between is open to the air on either side; so that, as one of the huge

river-monsters passes at night, the watcher on the bank can see the

stalwart, black, half-naked bodies of the negro stokers, bending

before the glowing furnace doors, and throwing in the soft coal, that

issues in clouds of smoke from the towering chimneys seventy feet

above. The lights in three rows of cabin windows glow; and the

unceasing beat of the paddle-wheels mingles with the monotonous puff

of the steam from the escape-pipes, and the occasional bursts of music

from the open cabin doors. One who for the first time looks on one of

these leviathans of the Mississippi, pursuing its stately course at

night, does not wonder at the frightened negro, who, seeing for the

first time a night-steamboat, rushed madly from the river's bank,

crying that the angel Gabriel had come to blow the last trump.

When these boats have taken on their full load of cotton, they present

a very different appearance. Then all the open space beneath the

cabins is filled by a mass of cotton-bales. The hull is so sunken in

the water that the lowest tier of cotton-bales is lapped by the little

waves that ruffle the surface of the river. The stokers and furnaces

are hid from view, and the cabins appear to be floating on one huge

cotton bale. Generally a great wooden stern-wheel propels this strange

craft, adding to the grotesqueness of the sight.

It may readily be understood, that vessels of this class, in which

strength was subordinated to lightness, and economy to gingerbread

decoration, seemed to be but poor materials for vessels-of-war. The

tremendous recoil of a rifled cannon fired from one of those airy

decks, meant to stand no ruder shock than the vibration caused by

dancing pleasure-parties, would shake the whole frail structure to

pieces. Yet the ingenuity born of necessity, and the energy awakened

by the immediate prospect of war, led the Confederate engineers to

convert some of these pleasure-palaces into the most terrible engines

of destruction chronicled in the annals of war. The first step was to

sweep off all the towering superstructure of decks, cabins, and

saloons; tear away all the fanciful mouldings, the decorated

staterooms, and carved and gilded stairways. This left a long, shallow

hull, with a powerful engine in the centre, and great paddle-wheels

towering on either side; the whole so light that the soldiers of

Grant's army, when they first saw one, stoutly averred that "those

boats could run on a heavy dew." The hull was then thinly plated with

iron, and the prow lengthened, and made massive, until it formed the

terrible "ram," fallen into disuse since the days of the Greek

galleys, to be taken up again by naval architects in the nineteenth

century. Then on the deck was built a pent-house of oak and iron, with

sloping sides just high enough to cover the engine. The two towering

smoke-stacks, the pride of the old river-steamers, were cut down to

squat pipes protruding a foot or two above the strange structure. In

the sides were embrasures, from which, when open, peered the iron

muzzles of the dogs of war, ready to show their teeth and spit fire

and iron at the enemy. This was the most powerful type of the river

gunboat, and with them the Confederacy was fairly well provided;

though it was not long before the war department of the United States

was well supplied with similar ships. It was these iron-clad gunboats

that used to rouse the anger of the doughty Admiral Farragut, who

persisted in declaring them cowardly engines of destruction, and

predicted that as they came into use, the race of brave fighting

jack-tars would disappear. On one occasion the admiral was ploughing

his way up the Mississippi above New Orleans, in one of Commodore

Bailey's river iron-clads. The batteries of the enemy on either hand

were pounding away at the ascending ships, hurling huge bolts of iron

against their mailed sides, with a thunder that was deafening, and a

shock that made the stricken ships reel. The admiral stood in the

gunroom of one of the iron-clads, watching the men working the guns,

in an atmosphere reeking with the smoke of the powder. A look of

manifest disapproval was on his face. Suddenly an unusually

well-directed shot struck a weak point in the armor, and, bursting

through, killed two men near the admiral's position. He looked for a

moment on the ghastly spectacle, then turning to an officer said, "You

may stay here in your iron-clad room if you wish: as for me, I feel

safer on deck." And on deck he went, and stayed there while the fleet

passed through the hail of shot and shell.

The scarcity of iron in the Southern States prevented the naval

authorities of the newly organized Confederacy from equipping a very

large fleet of iron-clads. At the outbreak of the war, the Tredegar

Iron Works at Richmond was the only place in the South where iron

plates of a size suitable for plating vessels could be rolled. The

demand was of course far in excess of the facilities of the factory,

and many were the make-shifts that shipbuilders were forced to. Some

vessels were plated only about the centre, so as to protect the boiler

and engines. Others bore such a thin coat of iron that they were

derisively called "tin-clads" by the sailors, who insisted that a

Yankee can-opener was all that was necessary to rip the vessel up.

Sometimes, when even a little iron was unattainable, bales of cotton

were piled up around the sides, like breastworks, for the protection

of men and engines. The vessel which captured the United States ship

"Harriet Lane," at Galveston, was thus provided; and the defence

proved very valuable. One great objection to the cotton-bale bulwarks

was the very inflammable nature of the material, since a red-hot shot

from the enemy, or a bit of blazing wadding from a gun, would set it

smouldering with a dense black smoke that drove the men from their

guns until the bales could be thrown overboard; thus extinguishing the

fire, but exposing the men to the fire of the enemy.

One of the most striking features of the war of secession was the

manner in which private citizens hastened to contribute towards the

public defence. This was so no less in naval than in military circles.

Perhaps the greatest gift ever made by a citizen to his Government was

the gift by "Commodore" Vanderbilt to the United States of a

magnificently equipped ship-of-war, which was named "The Vanderbilt"

in honor of her donor, and did efficient service in maintaining the

blockade on the Atlantic coast. Mr. James Gordon Bennett, the present

owner of the "New-York Herald," put his yacht at the service of the

Government, and was himself commissioned a lieutenant in the revenue

service.