GREAT SAILORS
We have said that America has produced no soldier of commanding genius,
but her sailors outrank the world. Even Great Britain, mighty seafaring
nation as she has been, cannot, in the last hundred and fifty years,
show any brighter galaxy of stars. Just why it would be difficult to
say. Perhaps America inherited from England the traditions of that race
of heroes who made the age of Elizabeth, so memorable on the ocean, and
who started their country on her career as mistress of the
seas--Raleigh, Drake, Hawkins, Frobisher, Gilbert, and Howard of
Effingham.
Surely in direct descent from these daring adventurers was that earliest
of America's naval commanders, John Paul Jones, well called the "Founder
of the American Navy." He it was who first carried the Stars and Stripes
into foreign waters, and who made Europe to see that a new nation had
arisen, in the west. He it was who first scouted the tradition of
England's invincibility on the sea, and carried the war into her very
ports. He it was who proved that American valor yielded no whit to
British valor--who, when Captain Pearson, of the Serapis, asked if he
had struck his colors, shouted back that he had not yet begun to fight,
although his ship had been shot to pieces and was sinking; but who
thereupon did begin, and to such good purpose that he captured his
adversary and got his crew aboard her as his own ship sank. Truly a
remarkable man and one worth looking at closely.
In the middle of the eighteenth century, there lived in the county of
Kirkcudbright, Scotland, a poor gardener named John Paul. He had a large
family, and finding it no small task to feed so many mouths, accepted
the offer of a distant relative named William Jones to adopt his oldest
son, William, named in honor of that same relative. Jones owned a
plantation in Virginia, and thither the boy accompanied him, being known
thereafter as William Paul Jones. None of John Paul's numerous children,
however, would have figured on the pages of history but for the youngest
son, born in 1747, and named after his father, John Paul.
Little John Paul had a short childhood, for as soon as he could handle a
line, he was put to work with the fishermen on Solway Firth to help earn
a living for the family. By the time that he was twelve years old, he
was a first-class sailor, and had developed a love for the sea and a
disregard of its perils which never left him. Securing his father's
consent, he shipped as apprentice for a voyage to Virginia, and visited
his brother, who was managing his adopted father's estate near
Fredericksburg. The old planter took a great fancy to the boy, and
offered to adopt him also, but young John Paul preferred the
adventurous life of the ocean to humdrum existence on a Virginia
plantation. For the next fifteen years, he followed the sea, studying
navigation and naval history, French and Spanish, and fitting himself in
every way for high rank in his profession.
On the seventeenth of April, 1773, John Paul anchored his brig, the Two
Friends, in the Rappahannock just below his brother's plantation, and
rowed to shore to pay him a visit. He found him breathing his last. He
died childless, and John Paul found himself heir to the estate, which
was a considerable one. Resigning command of his vessel, he settled down
to the life of a Virginia planter, adding to his name the last name of
his family's benefactor, and being known thereafter as John Paul Jones.
Events were at this time hurrying forward toward war with Great Britain;
Virginia was in a ferment, and Paul Jones was soon caught up by this
tide of patriotism. When, in 1775, the Congress decided to "equip a navy
for the defence of American liberty," Jones at once offered his
services, and was made a senior first lieutenant. It is amusing to run
over the names of those first officers of the American navy. As was the
case with the first generals, out of the whole list only two names live
with any lustre--Paul Jones and Nicholas Biddle.
Paul Jones was the first of these officers to receive his commission,
John Hancock handing it to him in Independence Hall, Philadelphia,
shortly after noon on December 22, 1775. Immediately afterwards, the
new lieutenant, accompanied by a distinguished party, including Hancock
and Thomas Jefferson, proceeded to the Chestnut street wharf, where the
Alfred, the first American man-of-war was lying moored. Captain
Saltonstall, who was to command the ship, had not yet arrived from
Boston, and at Hancock's direction, Lieutenant Jones took command, and
ran up the first American flag ever shown from the masthead of a
man-of-war. It was not the Stars and Stripes, which had not yet been
adopted as the flag of the United States, but a flag showing a
rattlesnake coiled at the foot of a pine-tree, with the words, "Don't
tread on me."
Three other small vessels were soon placed in commission, and the
squadron started out on its first cruise on February 17, 1776. Through
the inexperience and incompetency of the officers, the cruise was a
complete failure, and resulted in the dismissal of "Commander-in-Chief"
Ezekial Hopkins, and the retirement of Jones's immediate superior,
Captain Dudley Saltonstall. It was a striking example of how the first
blast of battle winnows the wheat from the chaff, and its best result
was to give Paul Jones a command of his own. Never thereafter was he
forced to serve under an imbecile superior, but was always, to the end
of his career, the ranking officer on his station.
His first command was a small one, the sloop-of-war Providence, with
fourteen guns and 107 men, but in six weeks he had captured sixteen
prizes, of which eight were manned and sent to port, and eight
destroyed at sea; was twice chased by frigates, escaping capture only by
the most brilliant manoeuvring; and made two descents on the coast of
Nova Scotia, releasing some American prisoners, capturing arms and
ammunition, dispersing a force of Tories, and destroying a number of
fishing smacks; and finally reached port again with a crew of
forty-seven, all the rest having been told off to man his prizes.
Work of so brilliant a description won instant recognition, especially
as contrasted with the failure of the first cruise, and Jones was
promoted to a captaincy, and the Alfred, a ship mounting twenty-eight
guns, added to his command. A cruise of thirty-three days in these two
vessels resulted in seven prizes, two of them armed transports loaded
with supplies for the British army.
Fired by these successes, Jones's great ambition was for a cruise along
the coast of England. He argued that the time had come when the American
flag should be shown in European waters, and that the moral effect of a
descent upon the English coast would be tremendous. It would have this
further advantage, that England was expecting no such attack, that her
ports would be found unprepared for it, and that great damage to her
shipping could probably be done. Lafayette, who had become a warm friend
of the daring captain, heartily approved the plan, and on June 14, 1777,
the Congress passed the following resolution:
_Resolved_, That the Flag of the Thirteen United States of America
be Thirteen Stripes, Alternate Red and White; that the Union be
Thirteen Stars in a Blue Field, Representing a New Constellation.
_Resolved_, That Captain John Paul Jones be Appointed to Command
the Ship Ranger.
That these two acts should have been joined in one resolution seems a
remarkable coincidence. "The flag and I are twins," Jones used to say;
"we cannot be parted in life or death"; and it was this flag he carried
with him when he sailed from Portsmouth in the dawn of the first day of
November, 1777. Something else he carried, too--dispatches which had
been placed in his hands only a few hours before, telling of Burgoyne's
surrender. "I will spread the news in France in thirty days," Jones
promised, as his ship cast loose, and he actually did land at Nantes
thirty-one days later. The news he brought decided France in favor of an
alliance with the United States, and the Treaty of Alliance was signed
two months later.
Jones, meanwhile, had overhauled and refitted his ship, and on the tenth
of April, set sail from Brest, intending to make a complete circuit of
the British Isles. Entering the Irish Sea, he spread terror along its
shores, where his coming was like a bolt from the blue, engaged and
captured the British ship-of-war Drake, took a number of prizes, and
sailed into Brest again after an absence of twenty-eight days.
It has been the fashion in some quarters to call Jones a pirate, but it
is difficult to see any argument for such a characterization of him. He
sailed under the flag of the United States, held a commission from the
United States, and attacked an enemy with whom the United States was at
war. There is no hint of piracy about that; but Jones came to be a sort
of bogeyman to the coast towns of the British Isles, who never knew when
to expect an attack from him, and no name was too hard for their
frightened inhabitants to apply to him.
But it was some time before Jones was able to strike another blow. He
realized that he must have a more effective squadron for his second
cruise, and more than a year was spent in getting it together. Finally,
on August 14, 1779, he got to sea again with a squadron of four
vessels--not a very effective one, but the best that could be had. The
flagship was an unwieldy old Indiaman which Jones had named the Bon
Homme Richard, in honor of his good friend, Benjamin Franklin, whose
Poor Richard was almost as famous in France as in America. The other
three ships were commanded by Frenchmen, and all the crews were of the
most motley description. On September 23, the squadron sighted a great
fleet of English merchantmen, under convoy of the Serapis, a powerful
frigate mounting forty-four guns, and the Countess of Scarborough,
mounting twenty-eight. Jones signalled his squadron to give chase and
himself closed with the Serapis.
Captain Pearson, of the Serapis, was very willing for the contest, since
his ship was greatly superior to Jones's old boat in fighting
qualities; but Jones succeeded in depriving the Serapis of some of this
advantage by running his vessel into her and lashing fast. So close did
they lie that their yardarms interlocked, and their rigging was soon so
fouled that Jones could not have got away, even had he wished to do so.
For three hours the ships lay there, side by side, pouring broadsides
into each other; their decks were soon covered with dead and wounded;
two of the Richard's guns burst and her main battery was silenced, but
Jones kept fighting on, for a time with so few guns that the captain of
the Serapis thought he had surrendered.
"Have you struck?" he shouted, through his trumpet.
"No," Jones shouted back, "I have not yet begun to fight!"
The Serapis was on fire and the Richard was sinking, but at this
juncture, one of the men of the Richard crept out along a yardarm, and
dropped a hand grenade down a hatchway of the Serapis. It wrought
fearful havoc, and Pearson struck his flag.
It was time, for the Richard was on fire in two places, all her
main-deck guns were dismounted, and she was sinking fast. She was kept
afloat with great difficulty until morning, giving Jones time to place
his wounded on the Serapis, and to save such of her fittings as could be
removed. The Pallas, another of Jones's ships, had captured the
Scarborough, and with these prizes, Jones put back to France. He was
welcomed with great enthusiasm there, received the thanks of the
Congress, and was designated to command the ship-of-the-line then
building. But he fought no more battles under the Stars and Stripes.
After a brief service with Russia, he returned to Paris, broken in
health, and died there in 1792. His body was only recently brought to
this country and interred with national honors at Annapolis.
We have said that there was only one other naval commander of the
Revolution whose name shines with any lustre to-day--Nicholas Biddle.
His career was a brief and brilliant one. Born in Philadelphia, he had
gone to sea at the age of thirteen, was cast away on a desert island,
was rescued, and enlisted in the English navy, but returned to America
as soon as revolution threatened. He was given command of a little brig
called the Andrea Doria, took a number of prizes, and made so good a
record that in 1776 he was appointed to command the new frigate,
Randolph. Using Charleston, South Carolina, as his base, he captured
four prizes within a few days, but on his second cruise, fell in with a
British sixty-four, the Yarmouth. After a sharp action of twenty
minutes, fire got into the magazine of the Randolph, in some way, and
she blew up, only four of her crew of 310 escaping. The blow was a heavy
one to the American navy, for Biddle was its best commander, next to
Jones, and the Randolph was its best ship. Luckily the French alliance
placed the French fleet at the disposal of the colonies--or Cornwallis
would never have been captured at Yorktown.
It is one of our polite fictions that the United States has always been
victorious in war; but, as a matter of fact, we were not victorious in
the second war with England, and, when the treaty of peace came to be
signed, abandoned practically all the contentions which war had been
declared to maintain. On land, the war was, for the most part, a series
of costly blunders, beginning with the surrender of Detroit, and closing
with the sack of Washington, and had England had her hands free of
Napoleon, the result for us might have been very serious. The only
considerable and decisive victory won by American arms was that of
Andrew Jackson at New Orleans--a battle fought after the treaty of peace
had been signed.
But on the ocean there was a different story--a series of brilliant
victories which, while they did not seriously cripple the great English
navy, caused Canning to declare in Parliament that "the sacred spell of
the invincibility of the British navy is broken." The heaviest blow was
struck to British commerce, no less than sixteen hundred English
merchantmen falling victims to privateers and ships-of-war.
The group of men who commanded the American vessels was a most
remarkable one, and their fighting qualities were worthy in every way of
John Paul Jones. First blood was drawn by David Porter, illustrious
scion of a family which gave five generations to brilliant service in
the navy. On August 13, 1812, Porter, with the Essex, engaged in a
sharp battle with the British ship Alert, which, after an action of
eight minutes, surrendered in a sinking condition. He had seen hard
service before that, had been twice impressed by British vessels and
twice escaped, had fought French and pirates, and spent some time in a
prison in Tripoli.
After his capture of the Alert, he went on a cruise in the Pacific,
destroying the English whale fisheries there, capturing booty valued at
two and a half million dollars, and taking four hundred prisoners. So
great was the damage he inflicted, that a British squadron was fitted
out and sent to the Pacific to capture him, found him in a partially
disabled condition in the harbor of Valparaiso, and, disregarding the
neutrality of the port, sailed in and attacked him. The engagement
lasted two hours and a half, the Essex finally surrendering when reduced
to a helpless wreck. On the Essex at the time was a midshipman aged
twelve years, who got his first taste of fighting there, and whose name
was destined to become, after that of Paul Jones, the most famous in
American naval history--David Glasgow Farragut.
Less than a week after Porter's victory over the Alert, another and much
more important one was won by Captain Isaac Hull in the frigate
Constitution--"Old Ironsides"--the most famous ship-of-war the navy has
ever possessed. Isaac Hull was a nephew of General William Hull, who, on
August 16, 1812, surrendered Detroit and his entire army to the British
without striking a blow. Three days later, Isaac Hull, having sailed
from Boston without orders, in his anxiety to meet the enemy and for
fear the command of the Constitution would be given to some one else--a
breach of discipline for which he would probably have been
court-martialled and shot, had the cruise ended disastrously--fell in
with the powerful British frigate Guerrière. Inscribed across the
Guerrière's mainsail in huge red letters were the words:
All who meet me have a care,
I am England's Guerrière.
She was a powerful vessel, but neither the vessel nor the menace
frightened Hull, and he sailed straight for her, holding his fire until
he was within fifty yards, when he let fly a broadside and then another,
which sent two of her masts by the board, and the third soon followed,
leaving her unmanageable. Within a very few minutes, under Hull's raking
fire, she was reduced to a "perfect wreck"--so perfect, in fact, that
she had to be blown up and sunk, as there was no chance of getting her
back to port. The Constitution was practically uninjured, and Hull
sailed back to Boston, with his ship crowded with British prisoners. He
was welcomed with the wildest enthusiasm, banquets were given in his
honor, swords voted him by state legislatures, New York ordered a
portrait painted of him, and Congress gave him a gold medal. The War
Department discreetly permitted his disobedience of orders to drop out
of sight.
Hull's victory was not the result of accident, but of long and careful
training. He had begun his sea career in the merchant service at the age
of fourteen, was a captain at the age of twenty, and entered the navy in
1798. He soon gained a high reputation for seamanship, and his genius
for handling a ship under all conditions was one of the most important
factors in his success. He saved his ship on one occasion, when she was
becalmed and practically surrounded by a powerful British fleet, by
"kedging"--in other words, sending a row-boat out with an anchor, which
was dropped as far ahead as the boat could take it, and the ship pulled
up to it by means of the windlass. As soon as the British saw him doing
this, they tried it too, but Hull managed to get away from them by
almost superhuman exertions. He served in the navy for many years after
his memorable victory over the Guerrière, but never achieved another so
notable.
The second capture of a British frigate in the war of 1812 was made by
Stephen Decatur, who had distinguished himself years before by an
exploit which Lord Nelson called "the most daring act of the age."
Decatur, who possessed in unusual degree the dash and brilliance so
valuable in a naval commander, came naturally by his love of the sea,
for his grandfather had been an officer in the French navy, and his
father was a captain in the navy of the United States.
Entering the service at the age of eighteen, his first cruise was in the
frigate, United States, which he was afterwards to command. He rose
steadily in the service and got his first command six years later, being
given the sixteen-gun brig Argus, and sent with Commodore Preble to
assist in subduing the Barbary corsairs.
It is difficult to-day to realize that there was a time when the United
States paid tribute to anybody, more especially to a power so
insignificant as the Barbary States. Yet such was the fact. Lying along
the north coast of Africa were the half-civilized states of Morocco,
Tunis, Tripoli, and Algiers, and most of their income was from piracy.
All merchantmen were their prey; they divided the loot and sold the
crews into slavery. Many nations, to secure immunity from these
outrages, paid a stated sum yearly to these powers, and the United
States was one of them.
Why the nations did not join together and wipe the pirates out of
existence is difficult to understand, but so it was. On one occasion,
Congress actually revoked an order for some new ships for the navy, and
used the appropriation to buy off the Barbary powers. The fund was known
as the "Mediterranean Fund," and was intrusted to the secretary of state
to expend as might be necessary. But after a while, the Barbary powers
became so outrageous in their demands, that it occurred to the State
Department that there might be another way of dealing with them, and a
squadron under Commodore Preble was sent to the Mediterranean for the
purpose.
Shortly before he reached there, the U.S. frigate Philadelphia,
commanded by Captain Bainbridge, had gone upon a reef just outside the
harbor of Tripoli and had been surrounded and captured, with all her
crew, by the Tripolitan gunboats. The Tripolitans got her off the rocks,
towed her into the harbor, and anchored her close under the guns of
their forts. They also strengthened her batteries, and prepared her for
a cruise, which could not but have been disastrous to our shipping. It
was evident that she must be destroyed before she got out of the harbor,
and Stephen Decatur volunteered to lead a party into the harbor on this
desperate mission. Commodore Preble hesitated to accept Decatur's offer,
for he knew how greatly against success the odds were, but finally, in
January, 1804, he told him to go ahead.
A small vessel known as a ketch had recently been captured from the
Tripolitans, and Decatur selected this in which to make the venture. He
took seventy men from his own vessel, and, on the night of February 15,
sailed boldly into the harbor of Tripoli. Let us pause for a minute to
consider the odds against him. First there was the Philadelphia with her
forty guns double-shotted and ready to fire; half a gunshot away was the
Bashaw's castle, the mole and crown batteries, while within range were
ten other batteries, mounting, all told, a hundred and fifteen guns.
Between the Philadelphia and the shore lay a number of Tripolitan
cruisers, galleys and gunboats. Into this hornet's nest, Decatur steered
his little vessel of sixty tons, carrying four small guns, and having a
crew of only seventy men.
The Tripolitans saw the vessel entering the harbor, but supposed it to
be one of their own until it was alongside the Philadelphia. Then there
was a cry of "Americanos!" and a rush to quarters, but it was too late,
for Decatur and his men swarmed up the side and over the rail of the
Philadelphia, and charged the dismayed and panic-stricken Tripolitans.
There was a short and desperate struggle, and five minutes later, the
ship was cleared of the enemy.
It was manifestly impossible to get the Philadelphia out of the harbor,
so Decatur gave the order to burn her. Combustibles had been prepared in
advance, and in a moment, flames began to break out in all parts of the
ship. Then the order was given to return to the ketch, the cable was
cut, the sweeps got out, and the ketch drew rapidly away from the
burning vessel. The sounds of the mêlée had awakened the troops on
shore, and, as the harbor was lighted by the flames from the
Philadelphia, the shore batteries opened upon the little vessel, but
without doing her any serious damage, and Decatur got safely out of the
harbor and back to the fleet without losing a man.
Shortly afterwards his life was saved by one of those acts of heroism
which stir the blood. In a general attack upon the Tripolitan gunboats,
Decatur laid his ship alongside one of the enemy, grappled with her and
boarded. Decatur was the first over the side and a desperate
hand-to-hand combat followed. The pirate captain, a gigantic fellow,
soon met Decatur face to face, and stood on tiptoe to deal him a
tremendous blow with his scimitar. Decatur rushed in under the swinging
sword, grappled with him, and they fell to the deck together, when
another Tripolitan raised his scimitar to deal the American a fatal
blow. A young sailor named Reuben James, himself with both arms disabled
from sword cuts, seeing his beloved captain's peril, interposed his own
head beneath the descending sword and received a wound which marked him
for life. An instant later, Decatur's crew rallied to him, killed the
pirate captain and drove the remainder of his crew over the side into
the sea.
At the outbreak of the war of 1812, Decatur was given command of the
United States, and on the morning of October 25, overhauled the British
frigate Macedonian near the Canary Islands. Seventeen minutes later, the
Macedonian, with a third of her crew dead, hauled down her colors.
Decatur had lost only twelve men killed and wounded, and placing a crew
aboard his prize, got her safely to New York. This victory was soon
followed by disaster, for, securing command of the President, a frigate
mounting forty-four guns, he attempted to get past the British blockade
of New York harbor, but ran into a squadron of the enemy, and, after a
running fight lasting thirty hours, was overhauled by a superior force
and compelled to surrender. Decatur was taken captive to Bermuda, but
was soon parolled, and, after commanding a squadron in the
Mediterranean, built himself a house at Washington, expecting to spend
the remainder of his days there in honorable retirement.
But it was not to be. In 1816, Decatur, while a member of the board of
navy commissioners, had occasion to censure Commodore James Barron.
Barron considered himself insulted, and a long correspondence followed,
which finally resulted in Barron challenging Decatur to fight a duel.
Under the code of honor then in vogue, Decatur could do nothing but
accept, and the meeting took place at Bladensburg, Maryland, March 22,
1820. At the word "fire," Barron fell wounded in the hip, where Decatur
had said he would shoot him, while Decatur himself received a wound in
the abdomen from which he died that night. He was, all in all, one of
the most brilliant and efficient men the navy ever boasted; and he will
be remembered, too, for his immortal toast: "My country: may she be
always right; but, right or wrong, my country!"
Closely associated with Decatur in some of his exploits was William
Bainbridge, as handsome, impetuous and daring a sailor as ever trod a
deck. Bainbridge, who was five years younger than Decatur, began his
seafaring career at the age of sixteen, and three years later was in
command of a merchantman. He entered the navy at its reorganization in
1798, and two years later was appointed to command the George
Washington, a ship of twenty-eight guns.
Bainbridge's first duty was to carry a tribute of half a million
dollars to the Dey of Algiers, according to the arrangement made by the
Secretary of State which we have already mentioned. The errand was a
hateful one to Bainbridge, as it would have been to any American
sailorman; but he was in the navy to obey orders, and in September,
1800, he reached Algiers and anchored in the harbor and delivered the
tribute. But when he had done this, the Dey sent word that he had a
cargo of slaves and wild beasts for the Sultan of Turkey at
Constantinople, and that Bainbridge must take them, or his ship would be
taken from him and he and his crew sold into slavery.
There was nothing to do but consent, since the ship was wholly in the
Dey's power, so to Constantinople Bainbridge sailed her. When a boat was
sent ashore there to announce her arrival, the Turks were greatly
astonished, for they had never heard of a nation called the United
States, and did not know that there was a great continent on the other
side of the world. It makes us feel less self-important, sometimes, when
we stop to consider that about one half the human race, even at the
present day, have no idea of our existence.
Well, Bainbridge delivered his cargo, and then sailed back to Algiers
with orders from the Sultan to the Dey. He delivered these to the Dey,
and in accordance with them, the Dey immediately declared war on France,
and notified all the French in Algiers that if they had not left his
dominions within forty-eight hours, they would be sold into slavery.
There was no French ship in the harbor, and it looked, for a time, as
though, the French would not be able to get away, but as soon as he
learned of their predicament, Bainbridge gathered them together and took
them over to Spain--an act for which he received the personal thanks of
Napoleon Bonaparte.
Bainbridge was, of course, glad to get away from Algiers, but he had by
no means seen the last of the Barbary pirates. Returning to the United
States, he was given command of the Philadelphia, and sent back to the
Mediterranean with Commodore Preble's squadron to give the pirates a
lesson. The Philadelphia went on ahead to Tripoli and began a vigorous
blockade of that port, but, in chasing a Tripolitan vessel which was
trying to enter the harbor, ran hard and fast on an uncharted reef, and
keeled over so far that her guns were useless. The Tripolitans were not
long in discovering her predicament, swarmed out of the harbor in their
gunboats, and soon had the American vessel at their mercy.
With what bitterness of spirit Bainbridge hauled down his flag may be
imagined. He and his men were taken ashore and imprisoned and their
vessel was got off the reef and towed into the harbor. From the window
of their prison, the Americans could see her riding at anchor, flying
the flag of Tripoli, and the sight did not render their imprisonment
more pleasant. But one night, they heard shots in the harbor, and,
looking out, beheld the Philadelphia in flames, and the little ketch
bearing Decatur and his men fading rapidly away through the darkness
toward the harbor mouth. Six months later, they watched the American
assault upon the harbor, but their hearts fell when the American
squadron finally gave up the attempt and withdrew. It was not until the
following year that peace was made, and Bainbridge and his men released,
after a captivity of nineteen months. Never since that time has the
United States paid tribute to any nation.
When the second war with England began, President Madison and his
advisers thought it foolhardy to attempt to oppose Great Britain on the
ocean, for she had the strongest fleet of any nation in the world, and
so decided to confine the war entirely to land. It was Bainbridge who
brought about a change of this unwise policy by impassioned pleading, to
the everlasting glory of the American navy. Hull resigned the
Constitution to him, after his victory over the Guerrière--it was really
for fear that Bainbridge would get command of the ship that Hull had
sailed from Boston without orders--and Bainbridge sailed for the South
Atlantic, and captured the British frigate Java, after a terrific fight,
in which he was himself seriously wounded. This was his last fight,
though the years which followed saw him in many important commands. For
sheer romance and adventure, his career has seldom been excelled.
Another hero of the war of 1812, whose name is associated with a deed of
imperishable gallantry, was James Lawrence. He had entered the navy as
midshipman in 1798, at the age of eighteen, and served in the war
against Tripoli, first under Hull and then under Decatur, and
accompanied the latter on the expedition which destroyed the
Philadelphia. But the deed by which he is best remembered is his fight
with the British frigate Shannon. In the spring of 1813, he was assigned
to the command of the frigate Chesapeake, a vessel hated by the whole
navy because of the bad luck which seemed to pursue her. Lawrence
accepted the command reluctantly, and proceeded to Boston, where she was
lying, to prepare her for a voyage.
A crew was secured with great difficulty, most of them being foreigners,
and his officers were all young and inexperienced. What the crew and
officers alike needed was a practice cruise to put them in shape to meet
the enemy, and Lawrence knew this better than anybody, but when the
British frigate Shannon appeared outside the harbor with a challenge for
a battle, Lawrence, feeling that to refuse would be dishonorable,
hoisted anchor and sailed out to meet her.
The Shannon was one of the finest frigates in the English navy, manned
by an experienced crew, and commanded by Philip Broke, one of the best
officers serving under the Union Jack. The ships ranged up together and
broadsides were delivered with terrible effect. Lawrence was wounded in
the leg, but kept the deck. Then the ships fouled, and Lawrence called
for boarders, but his crew, frightened at the desperate nature of the
conflict, did not respond, and a moment later he fell, shot through the
body. As he was borne below, he kept shouting, "Don't give up the ship!
Fight her till she strikes or sinks! Don't give up the ship!" his voice
growing weaker and weaker as his life ebbed away.
The battle was soon over, after that, for the British boarded, the
Chesapeake's foreign crew threw down their arms, and the triumphant
enemy hauled down the Chesapeake's flag. A few days later, the two ships
sailed into the harbor of Halifax, Lawrence's body, wrapped in his
ship's flag, lying in state on the quarter-deck. He was buried with
military honors, first at Halifax, and then at New York, where Hull,
Stewart and Bainbridge were among those who carried the pall. His cry,
"Don't give up the ship!" was to be the motto of another battle, far to
the west, where Great Britain experienced the greatest defeat of the
war.
Before describing it, however, let us speak briefly of four other
valiant men, whose deeds redounded to the honor of their country--Edward
Preble, Charles Stewart, Johnston Blakeley, and Thomas Macdonough. It
was said of Preble that he had the worst temper and the best heart in
the world. At sixteen years of age he ran away to sea, and two years
later, he actually saw a sea-serpent, a hundred and fifty feet in length
and as big around as a barrel, and got close enough to fire at it. He
saw service in the Revolution, and in 1803, was appointed to command the
expedition against the Barbary corsairs, of which we have already
spoken, and which resulted in bringing those pirates to their knees.
The trials of that expedition ruined his health, and he survived it but
a few years.
To Charles Stewart belongs the remarkable exploit of engaging and
capturing two British ships at the same time. Enlisting in 1798, he was
with Preble at Tripoli, and was given command of the Constitution, after
Bainbridge's successful cruise in her, and started out in search of
adventure on December 17, 1814. Two months later, off the Madeira
Islands he sighted two British ships-of-war and at once gave chase. He
overhauled them at nightfall, and, running between them, gave them
broadside after broadside, until both struck their colors. They were the
Cyane and the Levant. Stewart got back to New York the middle of May to
find out that peace had been declared over a month before his encounter
with the British ships.
He was received with enthusiasm, and "Old Ironsides" got the reputation
of being invincible. Her career had, indeed, been remarkable. She had
done splendid work before Tripoli, escaped twice from British squadrons
and seven times run the blockade through strong British fleets; she had
captured three frigates and a sloop-of-war, besides many merchantmen,
and had taken more than eleven hundred prisoners. From all of these
engagements she had emerged practically unscathed, and in none of them
had she lost more than nine men. Stewart was the last survivor of the
great captains of 1812, living until 1869, having been carried on the
navy list for seventy-one years.
Johnston Blakeley was a South Carolinian, and won renown by a remarkable
cruise in the Wasp. The Wasp was a stout and speedy sloop, carrying
twenty-two guns and a crew of one hundred and seventy men, and in 1814
she sailed from the United States, and headed for the English Channel,
to carry the war into the enemy's country, after the fashion of Paul
Jones. The Channel, of course, was traversed constantly by English
fleets and squadrons and single ships-of-war, and here the Wasp sailed
up and down, capturing and destroying merchantmen, and, by the skill and
vigilance of her crew and commander, escaping an encounter with any
frigate or ship-of-the-line.
But one June morning, while chasing two merchantmen, she sighted the
British brig Reindeer, and at once prepared for action. The Reindeer
accepted the challenge, and after some broadsides had been exchanged,
the ships fouled and the British boarded. A desperate struggle followed,
in which the English commander was killed. Then the boarders were driven
back, and the Americans boarded in their turn, and in a minute had the
Reindeer in their possession. Her colors were hauled down, she was set
afire, and the Wasp continued her cruise.
Late one September afternoon, British ships of war appeared all around
her, and selecting one which seemed isolated from the others, Captain
Blakeley decided to try to run alongside and sink her after nightfall.
She was the eighteen-gun brig Avon, a bigger ship than the Wasp, but
Blakeley ran alongside, discharged his broadsides, and soon had the
Avon in a sinking condition. She struck her flag, but before Blakeley
could secure his prize, two other British ships came up and he was
forced to flee.
Soon afterwards, he encountered a convoy of ships bearing arms and
munitions to Wellington's army, under the care of a great three-decker.
Blakeley sailed boldly in, and, evading the three-decker's movements,
actually cut out and captured one of the transports and made his escape.
Then she sailed for home, and that was the last ever heard of the Wasp.
She never again appeared, and her fate has never been determined. But
when she sank, if sink she did, there went to the bottom one of the
gallantest ships and bravest captains in the American navy.
All of the battles which we have thus far described were fought on salt
water, but two great victories were won on inland waters, and of one of
these Thomas Macdonough was the hero. He had entered the navy in 1800,
at the age of seventeen, served before Tripoli, and accompanied Decatur
on the expedition which burned the Philadelphia. At the outbreak of the
second war with England, he was sent to Lake Champlain, and set about
the building of a fleet to repel the expected British invasion from
Canada. The British were also busy at the other end of the lake, and on
September 9, 1814, Macdonough sailed his fleet of fourteen boats, ten of
which were small gunboats, and the largest of which, the Saratoga, was
merely a corvette, into Plattsburg Bay, and anchored there.
The abdication of Napoleon had enabled England to turn her undivided
attention to America, and one great force was sent against New Orleans,
while another was concentrated in Canada, for the purpose of invading
New York by way of Lake Champlain. On this latter enterprise, a force of
twelve thousand regulars started from Montreal early in August, while
the British naval force on the lake was augmented to nineteen vessels.
On September 11, this fleet got under way, and, certain of victory,
sailed into Plattsburg Bay and attacked Macdonough. A terrific battle
followed, in which the Saratoga had every gun on one side disabled and
had to wear around under fire in order to use those on the other side.
But three hours later, every British flag had been struck, and the land
force, seeing their navy defeated, retreated hastily to Canada. So
riddled were both squadrons that in neither of them did a mast remain
upon which sail could be made.
But the greatest victory of the war, the one which had the most
important and far-reaching consequences, had been won a year before, far
to the west, on the blue waters of Lake Erie, by Oliver Hazard Perry, at
that time only twenty-eight years of age. Perry came of a seafaring
stock, for his father was a captain in the navy, and the boy's first
voyage was made with him in 1799. At the outbreak of the war of 1812, he
was in command of a division of gunboats at Newport, but finding that,
owing to the British blockade, there was little chance of his seeing
active service in that position, he asked to be sent to the Great
Lakes, whose possession we were preparing to dispute with England.
The importance of this mission can hardly be overestimated. By the
capture of Detroit, earlier in the war, the English had obtained
undisputed control of Lake Erie, and were in position to carry out their
plan of extending the Dominion of Canada along the Ohio and Mississippi
rivers down to the Gulf, and so shutting in the United States upon the
West. To Perry was assigned the task of stopping this project, and of
regaining control of the lake.
He arrived at Lake Erie in the spring of 1813, and proceeded at once to
build the fleet which was to sail under the Stars and Stripes. He showed
the utmost skill and energy in doing this, and by the middle of July, in
spite of many difficulties, had nine vessels ready to meet the
enemy--two brigs and two gunboats which he had built, and five small
boats which were brought up from the Niagara river. On the third of
August, he sailed out to meet the British, his ships being manned by a
motley crew of "blacks, soldiers, and boys."
The flagship had been named the Lawrence, after the heroic commander of
the Chesapeake. Luckily the English were not ready for battle, and Perry
had a month in which to drill his men before the enemy sailed out to
meet him. At last, on the morning of Saturday, September 10, 1813, the
British fleet was seen approaching, and Perry formed his ships in line
of battle.
The British squadron consisted of six vessels, mounting 63 guns, and
manned by 502 men. The American ships mounted 54 guns, with 490 men.
Although of smaller total weight than the American guns, the British
guns were longer and would carry farther, and so were much more
effective. The British crews, too, were better disciplined, a large
number of the men being from the royal navy, and the squadron was
commanded by Robert Heriot, a man of much experience, who had fought
under Nelson at Trafalgar.
The American shore was lined with an anxious crowd, who appreciated the
great issues which hung upon the battle. Perry, calling his men aft,
produced a blue banner bearing in white letters the last words of the
man after whom the Lawrence was named: "Don't give up the ship!"
"Shall I hoist it, boys?" he asked.
"Aye, aye, sir!" they shouted, and the bunting was run up to the
main-royal masthead. Then a hush fell upon the water as the two fleets
drew together. A few minutes before noon the engagement began, Perry
heading straight for the flagship of the enemy, and drawing the fire of
practically the whole British squadron by running ahead of the other
ships, which, owing to the light breeze, could not get within range. For
two hours, he fought against these hopeless odds, and almost without
support, until his ship was reduced to a wreck and only one of her guns
could be worked, while of her crew of 103, only twenty were left on
their feet. Every nook and corner of the brig was occupied by some
wounded and dying wretch seeking vainly to find shelter from the British
fire. Even the cockpit, where the wounded were carried for treatment,
was not safe, for some of the men were killed while under the surgeon's
hands. No fewer than six cannon balls passed through the cockpit, while
two went through the magazine, which, by some miracle, did not explode.
The ship was so disabled, at last, that it drifted out of action, and
Perry, taking his pennant and the blue flag bearing the words "Don't
give up the ship!" under his arm, got into a boat with four seamen, and
started for the Niagara, his other brig.
The British saw the little boat dancing over the waves, and after a
moment of dazed astonishment at a manoeuvre unheard of in naval warfare
and daring almost to madness, concentrated their fire on it. One cannon
ball penetrated the boat, but Perry, stripping off his coat, stuffed it
into the hole and so kept the boat afloat until the Niagara was reached.
Clambering on board, Perry ran up his flags, reformed his line, closed
with the enemy, raked them, engaged them at close quarters, where their
long guns gave them no advantage, and conducted an onslaught so terrific
that, twenty minutes later, the entire British squadron had hauled down
their flags.
Perry at once rowed back to the Lawrence, and upon her splintered and
bloodstained deck, received the surrender of the British officers. Then,
using his cap for a desk, he wrote with a pencil on the back of an old
letter the famous message announcing the victory: "We have met the enemy
and they are ours--two ships, two brigs, two schooners and one sloop."
More than that was ours, for the victory, and the prompt advance of
General Harrison which followed it, compelled the British to evacuate
Detroit and Michigan, and to abandon forever the attempt to annex the
West to Canada. Half a century later, when the great Erie canal was
opened, the guns of Perry's fleet, placed at ten-mile intervals along
its banks, announced the departure of the first fleet of boats from
Buffalo, carrying the news to New York City, a distance of 360 miles, in
an hour and twenty minutes.
Perry lived only six years longer, dying while still a young man, in the
saddest possible manner. In June, 1819, he was given command of a
squadron designed to protect American trade in South American waters,
and while ascending the Orinoco, contracted the yellow fever, and died a
few days later. He was buried at Trinidad, but some years afterwards, a
ship-of-war brought him home, and he sleeps at Newport, Rhode Island,
near the spot where he was born.
So ends the story of that group of naval commanders, who dealt so
surprising and terrific a blow at the tradition of English supremacy on
the ocean.
* * * * *
The brother of the victor of Lake Erie, Matthew Calbraith Perry, must
also be mentioned here, for his was a unique achievement--the peaceful
conquest of a great Eastern empire. Born in 1794, and educated in the
best traditions of the navy, he was selected to command the expedition
which, in 1853, was ordered to visit Japan, that strange nation of the
Orient which, up to that time, had kept her ports closed to foreign
commerce. Perry's conduct of this delicate mission was notable in the
extreme, and its result was the signing of a treaty between Japan and
the United States which has long been regarded as one of the greatest
diplomatic triumphs of the age.
* * * * *
In the spring of 1861, a captain of the United States navy was living at
Norfolk, Va., his home, the home of his wife's family, and the home of
his closest friends. Excitement ran high, for it was as yet an open
question whether or not the great state of Virginia would join her
sisters farther south and renounce her allegiance to the Union. It was a
time of searching of hearts, and this man of sixty years was brought
face to face with the bitterest moment of his life. He must choose
between his country and his state; between his flag and the love and
respect of his relatives and friends.
In the end, the flag won. It was the flag he had taken his boyish oath
to honor; on more than one occasion, he had seen the haughtiest colors
on the ocean bow with respect before it; he had seen men, writhing in
the agony of death, expend their last breath to defend it. It had
wrapped itself about his heart, and meant more to him than home or
friends or kindred. So the flag won.
On the seventeenth day of April, 1861, Virginia seceded from the Union.
The day following, our gray-haired captain, expressing the opinion that
secession was not the will of the majority of the people, but that the
state had been dragooned out of the Union by a coterie of politicians,
was told that he could no longer live in Norfolk.
"Very well," he answered, "I can live somewhere else."
He went home and told his wife that the time had come when she must
choose whether she would remain with her own kinsfolk or follow him. Her
choice was made on the instant, and within two hours, David Glasgow
Farragut, his wife and their only son, were on a steamer headed for the
North. A few days later, he offered his services to the Union.
Before going forward with him upon his great career, let us cast a
glance over his boyhood--such a boyhood as falls to the lot of not one
in a million. Born in 1801, of a father who had served in the Revolution
and who was afterwards to become a friend and companion of Andrew
Jackson, his childhood was passed amid the dangers and alarms of the
Tennessee frontier. In 1808 occurred the incident which paved the way
for his entrance into the navy. While fishing on Lake Pontchartrain, his
father fell in with a boat in which was lying an old man prostrated by
the heat of the sun. Farragut took him at once to his own home, where he
was tenderly cared for, but he died a few days later. The sufferer was
David Porter, father of Captain Porter of the Essex, at that time in
charge of the naval station at New Orleans.
Captain Porter was informed of the accident to his father, and hastened
to the home of the Farraguts. He felt deeply their kindness, and as some
slight return, offered to adopt one of the Farragut children, take him
North with him, and do what he could for his advancement. Young David
promptly said that he would go, the arrangements were concluded, and the
boy of seven accompanied his new protector to Washington. He spent two
years at school there, and then, on December 17, 1810, at the age of
nine, received an appointment as midshipman in the United States navy.
Two years later, he accompanied Porter in the Essex on that memorable
trip around Cape Horn.
Porter took so many prizes in the South Pacific that his supply of older
officers ran out, and twelve-year old David Farragut was appointed
prize-master of one of them, with orders to take her to Valparaiso. When
Farragut gave his first order, her skipper, a hot-tempered old sea-dog,
flew into a rage, and declaring that he had "no idea of trusting himself
with a blamed nutshell," rushed below for his pistols. The
twelve-year-old commander shouted after him that, if he came on deck
again, he would be thrown overboard, and thenceforth was master of the
ship. He was back on the Essex again when she was attacked in Valparaiso
harbor by a British squadron, and got his baptism of fire in one of the
hardest-fought naval battles in history.
From that time until the outbreak of the Civil War, his life was spent
in the most active service, and he rose to the rank of captain. As has
been seen, he cast in his lot with the North, and asked for active duty
at once, but it was not until eight months later that the summons came.
When it did come, it was of a nature to fill him with the most unbounded
enthusiasm. The national government had determined to attempt to send a
fleet past the formidable forts at the mouth of the Mississippi, for the
purpose of capturing New Orleans. Farragut was sent for, shown the list
of vessels which were preparing for the expedition, and asked if he
thought it could succeed. He answered that he would undertake to do it
with two-thirds the number, and when he was told that he was to command
the expedition, his delight knew no bounds. He felt that his chance had
come. On the second of February, 1862, he sailed out of Hampton Roads
with a squadron of seventeen vessels, and turned his prow to the south.
The task which had been set him was one to give the stoutest heart
pause. Twenty miles above the mouth of the Mississippi were two
formidable forts and a number of water batteries, with combined
armaments greatly superior to those of Farragut's fleet. A great barrier
of logs stretched across the river, while farther up lay a Confederate
fleet of fifteen vessels, one of which was an ironclad ram. A strong
force of Confederate sharpshooters was stationed along either bank, and
a number of fire-rafts were ready to be lighted and sent down against
the Union fleet. It was against these obstacles that Farragut, after a
week of preliminary attack, started up the river in his wooden vessels
at three o'clock in the morning of April 24, 1862.
As soon as the Confederates descried the advancing fleet, they lighted
great fires along the banks and opened a terrific cannonade. Blazing
fire-rafts threw a lurid glare against the sky. The fleet, pausing a few
minutes to discharge their broadsides into the forts, steamed on up the
river; Farragut's flagship grounded under the guns of Fort St. Philip,
and a fireship, blazing a hundred feet in the air, floated against her
and set her on fire, but the flames were extinguished, the flagship
backed off, and headed again up the stream. Before the coming of dawn,
the entire fleet, with the exception of three small boats, had passed
the forts and were grappling with the Confederate squadron above. Of
this, short work was made. Some of the enemy's vessels were driven
ashore, some were run down, others were riddled with shot--and the
proudest city of the South lay at Farragut's mercy.
On the first day of May, the United States troops under General Butler,
marched into the city, and Farragut, glad to be relieved of an
unpleasant task, proceeded up the river, ran by the batteries at
Vicksburg, assisted at the reduction of Port Hudson, and finally sailed
for New York in his flagship, the Hartford, arriving there in August,
1863. He had already been commissioned rear-admiral, and he was given a
most enthusiastic reception, for his passage of the Mississippi was
recognized as an extraordinary feat. An examination of his ship showed
that she had been struck 240 times by shot and shell in her nineteen
months of service.
Immediately after the surrender of New Orleans, Farragut had desired to
proceed against the port of Mobile, Alabama, which was so strongly
fortified that all attempts to close it had been in vain, and which was
the only important port left open to the Confederates. But the
government decided that Mobile could wait a while, and sent him,
instead, to open the Mississippi. That task accomplished, the time had
come for him to attempt the greatest of his career--greater, even, than
his capture of New Orleans, and much more hazardous. In the spring of
1864, he was in the Gulf, preparing for the great enterprise.
Mobile harbor was defended by works so strong and well-placed that it
was considered well-nigh impregnable. The Confederates had realized the
importance of keeping this, their last port, open, so that they could
communicate with the outer world, and had spared no pains to render it
so strong that they believed no attack could subdue it. Two great forts,
armed with heavy and effective artillery, guarded the entrance; the
winding channel was filled with torpedoes, and in the inner harbor was a
fleet of gunboats, and, most powerful of all, the big, ironclad ram,
Tennessee. In charge of the Tennessee was the same man who had guided
the Merrimac on her fatal visit to Hampton Roads, Franklin Buchanan, but
the Tennessee was a much more powerful vessel than the Merrimac had ever
been, and it was thought that nothing afloat could stand against her.
It was this position, then, which, at daybreak of August 5, 1864,
Farragut sailed in to assault. His fleet consisted of four ironclad
monitors, and fourteen wooden vessels, and his preparations were made
most carefully, for he fully realized the gravity of the task before
him. He himself was in his old flagship, the Hartford, and mounting into
the rigging to be above the smoke, he was lashed fast there, so that he
would not fall to the deck, in case a bullet struck him. The thought of
that brave old leader taking that exposed position so that he might
handle his fleet more ably will always be a thrilling one--and the event
proved how wise he was in choosing it.
The word was given, and, at half past six in the morning, the monitors
took their stations, while the wooden ships formed in column, the plan
being for the monitors, with their iron sides, to steam in between the
wooden ships and the forts, and so protect them as much as possible. The
light vessels were lashed each to the left of one of the heavier ones,
so that each pair of ships was given a double chance to escape, should
one be rendered helpless by a shot in the boiler, or in some other vital
portion of her machinery. The Brooklyn was at the head of the column,
while the Hartford came second, and the others followed. In this order,
the fleet advanced to the attack.
There was an unwonted stillness on the ships as they swung in towards
the harbor mouth, for every man felt within him a vague unrest caused by
one awful and mysterious peril, the torpedoes. For the forts, the
gunboats, even the great ironclad, the men cared nothing--they had met
such perils before--but lurking beneath the water was a horror not to be
guarded against. They knew that these deadly mines were scattered along
the channel through which they must make their way, and that any moment
might be the end of some proud vessel.
The ships were all in fighting trim, with spars housed and canvas
furled, and decks spread with sawdust so that they would not grow
slippery with the blood which was soon to flow. As the fleet came within
range of the forts, a terrific cannonade began, in which the Confederate
ships, stationed just inside the harbor, soon joined. One of them was
the great ram, Tennessee, and the commander of the leading monitor, the
Tecumseh, noted her and determined to give her battle. So he swung his
ship toward her and ordered full steam ahead; but an instant later,
there came a sudden dull roar, an uplifting of the water, the boat
quivered from stem to stern, and then plunged, bow first, beneath the
waves.
Farragut, from his lofty station, saw the Tecumseh disappear, and then
saw the Brooklyn, the ship ahead of him in the battle line, stop and
begin to back. It was an awful moment--the crisis of the fight and of
Farragut's career as well. The ships were halted in a narrow channel,
right beneath the forts; a few moments' delay meant that they would be
blown out of the water.
"What's the matter there?" he roared.
"Torpedoes!" came the cry from the Brooklyn's deck, for her captain had
perceived a line of little buoys stretching right across her path.
"Damn the torpedoes!" shouted the admiral. "Go ahead, Captain Drayton,"
he continued, addressing his own captain. "Four bells!" and the
Hartford, swinging aside, cleared the Brooklyn and took the lead.
On went the flagship across the line of torpedoes, which could be heard
knocking against her bottom as she passed, but not one of them exploded,
and a moment later, one of the most daring feats in naval history had
been accomplished. Farragut had seen, instantly, that the risk must be
taken, and so he took it.
The remainder of the fleet followed the flagship, the forts were passed,
and the battle virtually won. The Confederate fleet, and especially the
great ram, was still to be reckoned with, but before proceeding to that
portion of the task, Farragut steamed up the harbor and served breakfast
to his men. Just as this was finished, the Tennessee attacked, and put
up a desperate fight, but finally became unmanageable and was forced to
surrender.
So ended the battle of Mobile Bay. It left Farragut's fame secure as one
of the greatest sea-captains of all time; great in daring, in skill, in
foresight, and with a coolness and presence of mind which no peril
could shake. Congress created for him the grade of admiral, before
unknown in the United States navy, and the whole country joined in
honoring him.
Swinging to and fro with the ebb and flow of the tide at the entrance of
Mobile Bay, is a buoy which marks the spot of a deed of purest heroism.
A few fathoms below that buoy lies the monitor Tecumseh, sunk by a
torpedo at the beginning of the battle, as we have seen, and the buoy
commemorates, not the sinking of the ship, but the self-sacrifice of her
commander, Tunis Augustus Craven.
Craven had entered the navy at the age of sixteen and had seen much
service and distinguished himself in many ways before he was given
command of the Tecumseh and ordered to join Farragut's squadron. On the
morning of the attack, he was given the post of honor at the head of the
column, and determined to come to close quarters with the Tennessee, if
he could. But fate intervened, when his quarry was almost within reach.
Craven had stationed himself in the little pilot-house beside the pilot,
the better to direct the movements of his ship, and when he and the
pilot felt that sudden shock and saw the Tecumseh sinking, both of them
sprang for the narrow opening leading from the pilot-house to the turret
chamber below. They reached the opening at the same instant; it was so
small that only one could pass at a time, and Craven, with a greatness
of soul found only in heroes, drew back, saying quietly, "After you,
pilot."
"There was nothing after me," said the pilot afterwards, "for when I
reached the last round of the ladder, the vessel seemed to drop from
under me."
* * * * *
At the outbreak of the Civil War, the commerce of the United States was
the next to the largest in the world. The North destroyed southern
commerce by capturing or blockading southern ports, while the South
retaliated by fitting out a large number of commerce-destroyers, to
range the seas and take what prizes they could--a plan which had been
adopted by America in both wars with England, and which is the only
resource of a power whose navy is greatly inferior to that of its
antagonist.
The bright particular star of the Confederate service was Raphael
Semmes, who had been trained in the United States navy, and who, first
in the Sumter and afterwards in the Alabama, captured a total of
seventy-seven prizes, nearly all of which he destroyed. To his capture,
the United States devoted some of its best ships, but it was not until
the summer of 1864, that he was finally cornered.
On Sunday, June 12, 1864, the United States sloop-of-war Kearsarge lay
at anchor off the sleepy town of Flushing, Holland. Her commander, John
Ancrum Winslow, had served in the navy of the United States for
thirty-seven years, and had done good work off Vera Cruz in the war with
Mexico, but the crowning achievement of his life was at hand. As his
ship lay swinging idly at her anchor, a boat put off to her, a messenger
jumped aboard, and three minutes later a gun was fired, recalling
instantly every member of the ship's company ashore. The message was
from our minister to France and stated that the long-sought Alabama had
arrived at Cherbourg. For nearly two years, Winslow had been searching
for that scourge of American shipping, but Semmes had always eluded him,
so it may well be believed that Winslow lost no time in getting under
way. On Tuesday morning, he reached Cherbourg, and breathed a great sigh
of relief as he saw, beyond the breakwater, the flag of the Alabama. He
took his station off the port, and kept a close lookout for fear his
enemy would again elude him. But the precaution was unnecessary, for
Semmes had decided to offer battle.
Four days passed, however, with the Kearsarge keeping grim guard. Then,
on Sunday morning, June 19, as the crew of the Kearsarge was at divine
service, the officer of the deck reported a steamer at the harbor-mouth.
A moment later, the lookout shouted, "She's coming, and heading straight
for us!" Captain Winslow, putting aside his prayer-book, seized the
trumpet, ordered the decks cleared for action, and put his ship about
and bore down on the Alabama.
The two vessels were remarkably well-matched, but the engagement was
decisive evidence of the superior qualities of northern marksmanship. It
was, in fact, an exhibition of that magnificent gunnery which was so
evident in the war of 1812, and which was to be shown again in the war
with Spain. Nearly all of the 173 shots fired by the Kearsarge took
effect, while of the 370 fired by the Alabama, only 28 reached their
target. As a result, at the end of an hour and a half, the Alabama was
sinking, while the Kearsarge was practically uninjured and had lost only
three men. Hauling down her flag, the Alabama tried to run in shore, but
suddenly, settling by the stern, lifted her bow high in the air and
plunged to the bottom of the sea. So ended the career of the Alabama.
Winslow received the usual rewards of promotion and the thanks of
Congress, and passed the remainder of his life unadventurously in the
navy service.
One other battle remains to be recorded--in some respects the most
important in history, because it revolutionized the construction of
battleships, and suddenly rendered all the existing navies of the world
practically useless.
On the eighth day of March, 1862, a powerful squadron of Union vessels
lay at anchor in Hampton Roads, consisting of the Congress, the
Cumberland, the St. Lawrence, the Roanoke, and the Minnesota. It was a
beautiful spring morning, and the tall ships rocked lazily at their
anchors, while their crews occupied themselves with routine duties.
Shortly before noon, a strange object was seen approaching down the
Elizabeth river. To the Union officers, it looked like the roof of a
large barn belching forth smoke. In reality, it was the Confederate
ironclad, Merrimac, under command of Captain Franklin Buchanan.
Buchanan had, in his day, been one of the most distinguished officers in
the United States navy. He had entered the service in 1815, as
midshipman, and won rapid promotion. In 1845, he was selected by the
secretary of the navy to organize the naval academy at Annapolis, and
was its first commandant. He commanded the Germantown at the capture of
Vera Cruz, and the Susquehanna, the flagship of Commodore Perry's famous
expedition to Japan. At the outbreak of the Civil War, he was commandant
of the Washington navy-yard, and, being himself a Baltimore man,
resigned from the service after the attack made in Baltimore on the
Massachusetts troops passing through there. Finding that his state did
not secede, he withdrew his resignation and asked to be restored, but
for some reason, the secretary of the navy, Gideon Welles, refused this
request, and Buchanan was fairly driven into the enemy's service.
The Confederacy was glad to get him, gave him the rank of captain and
put him in charge of the work at the Norfolk, Virginia, navy-yard. The
most important business going forward there was the reconstruction of
the United States frigate, Merrimac. This consisted in building above
her berth-deck sloping bulwarks seven feet high, covered with four
inches of iron, and pierced for ten guns. To her bow, about two feet
under water, a cast-iron ram was attached, and on the eighth of March,
she cast loose from her moorings and started down the river. She was
scarcely complete, her crew had never been drilled, she had never fired
a gun, nor had her engines made a single revolution, while the ship
itself was merely a bold experiment, which had never made a trial trip.
Yet Buchanan, on reaching Hampton Roads, headed straight for the Union
fleet.
There, as soon as the identity of the stranger was discovered, hurried
preparations for battle were made. Decks were cleared, magazines opened,
and guns loaded, and as soon as the Merrimac was in range, the Union
ships and shore batteries opened upon her, but such projectiles as
struck her, glanced harmlessly from her iron mail. Not until she was
quite near the Cumberland did the Merrimac return the fire. Then she
opened her bow-port and sent a seven-inch shell through the Cumberland's
quarter. The Cumberland answered with a broadside which would have blown
any wooden vessel out of the water, but which affected the Merrimac not
at all. Buchanan had determined to test the power of his ram, and
keeping on at full speed, crashed into the Cumberland's side. Then he
backed out, leaving a yawning chasm, through which the water poured into
the doomed ship. She settled rapidly and sank with a roar, her crew
firing her guns to the last moment.
The Merrimac then turned her attention to the Congress, with such deadly
effect that that vessel was forced to surrender after an hour's
fighting, in which she was repeatedly hulled and set on fire. Most of
her crew escaped to the shore, and the Confederates completed her
destruction by firing hot shot into her. Evening was at hand by this
time, and the Merrimac withdrew, intending to destroy the other ships in
the harbor next morning.
So ended the most disastrous day in the history of the United States
navy. Two ships were lost, and over three hundred men killed or wounded.
On the Merrimac, two had been killed and eight wounded, but the vessel
herself, though she had been the target for more than a hundred heavy
guns, was practically uninjured and as dangerous as ever.
Among the wounded was Captain Buchanan, who was forced to relinquish the
command of the Merrimac. For his gallantry, he was thanked by the
Confederate Congress, and promoted to full admiral and senior officer of
the Confederate navy. As soon as he recovered from his wound, he was
placed in charge of the naval defenses of Mobile, Alabama, and there
superintended the construction of the ram Tennessee, which he commanded
during the action with Farragut two years later. His handling of the
vessel was daring almost to madness, but she became disabled and was
forced to surrender. Buchanan was taken prisoner, and never again took
part in any naval action.
Let us return to Hampton Roads.
The news of the disaster to the Union fleet spread gloom and
consternation throughout the North, and corresponding rejoicing
throughout the South. The remaining ships in Hampton Roads plainly lay
at the Merrimac's mercy, and after they had been destroyed, there was
nothing to prevent her steaming up the Potomac and attacking
Washington. It seemed as if nothing but a miracle could save the country
from awful disaster.
And that miracle was at hand.
Among the coincidences of history, none is more remarkable than the
arrival at Hampton Roads on the night of March 8, 1862, of the strange
and freakish-looking craft known as the Monitor. Proposed to the Navy
Department in the preceding fall by John Ericsson, in spite of sneers
and doubts, a contract was given him in October to construct a vessel
after his design. The form of the Monitor is too well known to need
description--"a cheese-box on a raft," the name given her in derision,
describes her as well as anything. She was launched on the last day of
January, and three weeks later was handed over to the Government, but it
was not until the fourth of March that her guns were mounted, two
powerful rifled cannon. At the request of Ericsson, she was named the
Monitor, and this name came afterwards to be adopted to describe the
class of ships of which she was the first. So dangerous was service in
her considered, that volunteers were called for, and Lieutenant John
Lorimer Worden was given command of her.
Worden had entered the navy twenty-seven years before, and at the
opening of the Civil War, had delivered the orders from the secretary of
the navy which saved Fort Pickens, in the harbor of Pensacola, to the
Union. Attempting to return North overland, he was arrested and held as
a prisoner seven months, being exchanged just in time to enable him to
procure command of the Monitor. Rumors of the construction of the
Merrimac had reached the North, and two days after her guns were aboard,
the Monitor left New York harbor for Hampton Roads. Just after she
passed Sandy Hook, orders recalling her were received there, fortunately
too late to be delivered. By such slight threads do the events of
history depend.
Meanwhile, Captain Worden was making such progress southward as he could
with his unwieldy and dangerous craft, which had been designed only for
the smooth waters of rivers and harbors and which was wholly unable to
cope with the boisterous Atlantic. There was a brisk wind, and the
vessel was soon in imminent danger of foundering. The waves broke over
her smoke-stack and poured down into her fires, so that steam could not
be kept up; the blowers which ventilated the ship would not work, and
she became filled with gas which rendered some of her crew unconscious.
Undoubtedly she would have gone to the bottom very shortly had not the
wind moderated. Even then, it was almost a miracle that she should win
through, but win through she did, and at four o'clock on the afternoon
of Saturday, March 8, as she was passing Cape Henry, Captain Worden
heard the distant booming of guns. As darkness came, he saw far ahead
the glare of the burning Congress.
About midnight, the little vessel crept up beside the Minnesota and
anchored. Her crew were completely exhausted. For fifty hours, they had
fought to keep their ship afloat, and on the morrow they must be
prepared to meet a formidable foe. All that night they worked with their
vessel, making such repairs as they could. At eight o'clock next
morning, the Merrimac appeared, and the Monitor started to meet her.
Amazed at sight of what appeared to be an iron turret sliding over the
water toward him, the commander of the Merrimac swung toward this tiny
antagonist, intending to destroy her before proceeding to the work in
hand. Captain Worden had taken his station in the pilot-house, and
reserved his fire until within short range. Then, slowly circling about
his unwieldy foe, he fired shot after shot, which, while they did not
disable her, prevented her from destroying the Union ships in the
harbor. Finding the Monitor apparently invulnerable, and with her
machinery giving trouble, the Merrimac at last withdrew to Norfolk.
That the battle was a victory for the Monitor cannot be questioned; she
had prevented the destruction of the Union ships, and this she continued
to do, until, in the following May, the Confederates, finding themselves
compelled to abandon Norfolk, set the Merrimac on fire and blew her up.
Six months later, the Monitor met a tragic fate, foundering in a storm
off Cape Hatteras, a portion of her crew going down with her.
Honors were showered upon Worden for his gallant work. He was given
command of the monitor Montauk, and later on destroyed the Confederate
privateer Nashville. After the war, he was promoted to rear-admiral, and
remained in the service until 1886.
There were others in the war whose deeds brought glory to themselves and
to the navy--Lieutenant William B. Cushing, who destroyed the
Confederate ram Albemarle in Plymouth harbor, a deed comparable with the
burning of the Philadelphia early in the century; David Dixon Porter,
whose work on the Mississippi was second only to Farragut's, who four
times received the thanks of Congress, and who, in the end, became
admiral of the navy; Charles Stuart Boggs, who, in the sloop-of-war
Varuna, sank five Confederate vessels in the river below New Orleans,
before he was himself sunk--but none of them, and, indeed, none of those
whose exploits we have given, measured up to the stature of Farragut,
one of the greatest commanders of all time, and, all things considered,
the very greatest in the history of America.
* * * * *
Thirty years and more passed after that epoch-making contest between the
Monitor and the Merrimac before the world witnessed another battle to
the death between ironclads. Theoretically, wood had long since been
displaced by iron, iron by steel, and steel by specially-forged
armor-plate, battleship designers struggling always to build a vessel
which could withstand modern projectiles. But as to the actual results
in warfare, there was nothing but theory to go upon until that first
day of May, 1898, when George Dewey steamed into the harbor of Manila,
at the head of his squadron, and opened fire upon the Spanish fleet.
Dewey had received his training under the best of masters, Farragut.
Graduating from Annapolis in 1858, he served as lieutenant on the
Mississippi, when that vessel, as part of Farragut's fleet, ran past the
forts below New Orleans. A short time later, in trying to pass the
Confederate batteries at Port Hudson, the Mississippi ran hard and fast
aground. Half an hour was spent, under a terrific fire, in trying to get
her off; then Dewey, after spiking her guns, assisted in scuttling her
and escaped with her captain in a small boat. He saw other active
service, and got his first command in 1870. He was commissioned
commodore in 1896, and on January 1, 1898, took command of the Asiatic
squadron.
Few people in the world beside himself suspected, even in the dimmest
manner, the task which lay before him; but with a rare sagacity, he had
foreseen that, in the event of war with Spain, the far East would be the
scene of operations of the first importance. He thereupon applied for
the command of the Asiatic squadron, and his application was granted.
Dewey proceeded immediately to Hong Kong, and began to concentrate his
forces there and to get them into first-class condition. He spent much
of his time studying the charts of the Pacific, and his officers noticed
that the maps of the Philippine Islands soon became worn and marked. On
Tuesday, April 26, came the explanation of all this in a cablegram
stating that war had been declared between the United States and Spain,
and ordering Dewey to proceed at once to the Philippine Islands and
capture or destroy the Spanish fleet which was stationed there.
Early the next afternoon, the squadron started on its six hundred mile
journey. What lay at the end of it, no one on the fleet knew. Of the
Spanish force, Dewey knew only that twenty-three Spanish war vessels
were somewhere in the Philippines; he knew, too, that they were probably
at Manila, and that the defenses of the harbor were of the strongest
description. But he remembered one of Farragut's sayings, "The closer
you get to your enemy, the harder you can strike," and he lost no time
in getting under way.
[Illustration: DEWEY]
Dewey's squadron consisted of seven vessels, of which one was a revenue
cutter, and two colliers. He was many thousands of miles from the
nearest base of supplies and to fail would mean that he would have to
surrender. So, on that momentous voyage, he drilled and drilled his men,
until their discipline was perfect. On April 30, land was sighted, and
precautions were redoubled, since the enemy might be encountered at any
moment. Careful search failed to reveal the Spaniards in Subig Bay, and
at six o'clock in the evening, Dewey announced to his officers that he
had determined to force Manila Bay that night. At nine o'clock the fleet
was off the bay, all lights were extinguished save one at the stern of
each ship to serve as a guide for the one following, and even that
light was carefully screened on both sides so that it could not be seen
from the shore. Then the fleet headed for the harbor mouth.
What the defenses of the channel were, no one knew. It was reported to
be full of torpedoes. But perhaps Dewey remembered Farragut at Mobile
Bay. At any rate, he did not hesitate, but kept straight on, and the
fleet had almost passed the harbor mouth, before its presence was
discovered. Then the shore batteries opened, but without effect, and the
entire squadron passed safely into the harbor. Then followed long hours
of waiting for the dawn, and at five o'clock came the signal, "Prepare
for action," for the Spanish fleet had been sighted at anchor far down
the harbor.
Fifteen minutes later, the Spaniards opened fire, but Dewey went
silently on toward his goal. Suddenly, a short distance away, there was
a dull explosion, and a great mass of water and mud sprang into the air.
A mine had been exploded; the fleet had entered the mine fields. Now, if
ever, it would be blown into eternity, but there was no pause in the
progress of that silent line of battle. From the bridge of the Olympia,
the most exposed position in the squadron, Dewey watched the progress of
his ships. In the conning tower, eagerly awaiting the word to fire, was
Captain Gridley. At last, with a final glance at the shore, Dewey bent
over the rail.
"You may fire when ready, Gridley," he said, quietly.
Ready! Surely that was satire on Dewey's part, for just one second later
the bridge under his feet leaped like a springboard as the great gun
beneath it gave the signal. Scarcely had the shell left the muzzle when
an answering roar came from the other ships. The battle had begun, the
Spanish ships were riddled with a shower of bursting shells, their crews
cut to pieces, and the ships themselves set on fire. The guns of the
American squadron roared with clocklike regularity, while the firing
from the Spanish ships steadily decreased. Two hours of this work, and
the smoke hung so heavy over the water that it was difficult to
distinguish the enemy's ships.
"What time is it, Rees?" asked Dewey, of his executive officer.
"Seven forty-five, sir."
"Breakfast time," said Dewey, with a queer smile. "Run up the signals,
'Cease firing,' and 'Follow me.'"
Again it was a lesson from Farragut, and Dewey, steaming back down the
harbor, signalled "Let the men go to breakfast." His captains, coming
aboard the Olympia, gave a series of reports unique in naval history.
Not a man had been killed, not a gun disabled, not a ship seriously
injured. Three hours were devoted to cooling off and cleaning the guns,
getting up more ammunition, and breakfast was leisurely eaten.
Meanwhile, across the bay, on the riddled and sinking Spanish ships the
wildest confusion reigned. At eleven o'clock, the American fleet was
seen again approaching, and a few minutes later, that terrible storm of
fire recommenced. There was practically no reply. Three of the Spanish
ships were on fire, and their magazines exploded one after another with
a mighty roar; a broadside from the Baltimore sank a fourth; a shell
from the Raleigh exploded the magazine of a fifth, and so, one by one,
the Spanish ships were blown to pieces, until not one remained. An hour
later, the shore batteries had been silenced, and Dewey hoisted the
signal, "Cease firing."
So ended the greatest naval battle since Trafalgar--a battle which
riveted the attention of the world, and brought home to Europe a
realization of the fact that here was a new world-power to be reckoned
with. With six ships, carrying 1,668 men and fifty-three guns, Dewey had
destroyed the Spanish squadron of nine ships, carrying 1,875 men and
forty-two guns; not an American had been killed, and only six wounded,
while the Spanish loss was 618 killed and wounded; and not an American
vessel had been injured. And, in addition to destroying the Spanish
fleet, a series of powerful shore batteries had been silenced, and the
way prepared for the American occupation of the Philippines. Dewey's
place as one of the great commanders of history was secure.
News of the victory created the wildest excitement and enthusiasm in the
United States. Dewey became a popular hero, and when he returned from
the Philippines, was welcomed with triumphal honors, which recalled the
great days of the Roman empire. He was commissioned admiral of the
navy, a rank which had been created for Farragut, and which has been
held by only two men besides him.
Another great American naval victory marked the brief war with
Spain--the destruction of Admiral Cervera's powerful fleet as it tried
to escape from the harbor of Santiago, Cuba, on the third day of July,
1898--a victory which made the Independence Day which followed one long
to be remembered in the United States. There, as at Manila, the entire
Spanish fleet was destroyed, without a single American vessel being
seriously injured, and with a loss of only one killed and one wounded on
the American side. But the victory at Santiago was the victory of no one
man. The ranking officer, William Thomas Sampson, was miles away when
the engagement began. The next in rank, Winfield Scott Schley, so
conducted himself that he was brought before a court of inquiry. The
battle was really fought and won by the commanders of the various
ships--Robley D. Evans, John W. Philip, Charles E. Clark, Henry C.
Taylor, Richard Wainwright--by the very simple procedure of getting as
close to the enemy as they could, and hammering him as hard as their
guns would let them. One and all, they behaved with the utmost
gallantry. But most remarkable of all in the history of the navy from
first to last has been the superb work of the "men behind the guns,"
whose marksmanship has been the despair and envy of the world.
SUMMARY
JONES, JOHN PAUL. Born at Kirkbean, Kirkcudbrightshire, Scotland, July
6, 1747; settled in Virginia, 1773; appointed first lieutenant in
American navy, 1775; commanded Ranger and cruised in the Irish sea,
1777-78; sailed from France in Bon Homme Richard, August 14, 1779;
fought Serapis, September 23, 1779; resigned from American service,
entered the French and later the Russian navy, served under Potemkin in
the Black Sea with rank of rear-admiral; returned to Paris, 1790; died
there, July 18, 1792.
BIDDLE, NICHOLAS. Born at Philadelphia, September 10, 1750; captain in
American navy, 1775; appointed to command the Randolph, June 6, 1776;
killed when ship blew up in fight with Yarmouth, March 7, 1778.
PORTER, DAVID. Born at Boston, February 1, 1780; entered navy, 1798;
served in Tripolitan war, 1801-03; commander of the Essex in war of
1812; defeated and taken prisoner in Valparaiso harbor, March 28, 1814;
resigned, 1826; commander of Mexican naval forces, 1826-29; United
States minister to Turkey, 1831-43; died at Pera, Constantinople, March
3, 1843.
HULL, ISAAC. Born at Derby, Connecticut, March 9, 1773; entered navy,
1798; served in war with Tripoli, 1801-03; sailed from Boston in command
of the Constitution, August 2, 1812; defeated Guerrière, August 19,
1812; remained in navy till end of life; died at Philadelphia, February
13, 1843.
DECATUR, STEPHEN. Born at Sinnepuxent, Maryland, January 5, 1779;
entered navy, 1798; burned frigate Philadelphia in harbor of Tripoli,
February 16, 1804; commanded frigate United States in war of 1812;
captured British frigate, Macedonian, October 25, 1812; captured by
British fleet, January 15, 1815; killed in a duel with James Barron,
near Bladensburg, Maryland, March 22, 1820.
BAINBRIDGE, WILLIAM. Born at Princeton, New Jersey, May 7, 1774;
lieutenant-commandant in quasi-naval-war with France, 1798; commanded
Philadelphia in Tripolitan war; captured by Tripolitans, November 1,
1804; commander of Constitution in war of 1812; captured British frigate
Java, December 29, 1812; served in navy till death at Philadelphia, July
28, 1833.
LAWRENCE, JAMES. Born at Burlington, New Jersey, October 1, 1781;
entered navy, 1798; served in Tripolitan war, 1801-03; sailed from
Boston in the Chesapeake, and defeated by British frigate Shannon, June
1, 1813; died at sea from wound received in battle, June 6, 1813.
PREBLE, EDWARD. Born at Falmouth (now Portland), Maine, August 15, 1761;
served as midshipman during Revolution; commissioned lieutenant,
February 9, 1798; captain, May 15, 1799; commanded squadron operating
against Barbary States, 18O3-O4; died at Portland, Maine, August 25,
1807.
STEWART, CHARLES. Born at Philadelphia, July 28, 1778; lieutenant in
United States navy, March 9, 1798; served in war with Tripoli; captain,
April 22, 1806; commanded Constitution, 1813-14, capturing many prizes;
remained in navy till death, rising to rank of rear-admiral; died at
Bordentown, New Jersey, November 6, 1869.
BLAKELEY, JOHNSTON. Born near Seaford, County Down, Ireland, October,
1781; brought to America, 1783; entered navy as midshipman, February 5,
1800; lieutenant, February 10, 1807; master commander, July 24, 1813;
sailed from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in the Wasp, May 1, 1814;
captured Reindeer, sunk Avon, captured Atalanta; the Wasp was spoken by
a Swedish ship, October 9, 1814, and never seen again.
MACDONOUGH, THOMAS. Born in Newcastle County, Delaware, December 23,
1783; entered the navy as midshipman, 1800; served in war against
Tripoli; lieutenant, 1807; master commander, 1813; defeated British
squadron under Downie on Lake Champlain, September 11, 1814; died at
sea, November 16, 1825.
PERRY, OLIVER HAZARD. Born in South Kingston, Rhode Island, August 23,
1785; entered navy as midshipman, April 7, 1799; served in war with
Tripoli; lieutenant, 1807; ordered to Lake Erie, February 17, 1813;
reached Erie, March 27, 1813; defeated British fleet, September 10,
1813; assisted in defense of Baltimore, 1814; commanded Java and John
Adams; died at Port Spain, Island of Trinidad, August 23, 1819.
PERRY, MATTHEW CALBRAITH. Born at Newport, Rhode Island, April 10, 1794;
entered navy as midshipman, 1809; lieutenant, February 27, 1813; saw
distinguished service in many ships and many waters; master-commandant,
January 7, 1833; captain, March 15, 1837; commodore, June 12, 1841;
commanded fleet at capture of Vera Cruz, 1844; organized and commanded
expedition to Japan, delivering President's letter to the Mikado, July
14, 1853, and signing treaty, March 31, 1854; died in New York City,
March 4, 1858.
FARRAGUT, DAVID GLASGOW. Born at Campbell's Station, Tennessee, July 5,
1801; adopted by David Porter and given commission as midshipman, 1810;
served under Porter in the Essex, 1813-14; lieutenant, 1821; commander,
1841; captain, 1855; appointed commander of squadron to reduce New
Orleans, January, 1862; passed the forts below New Orleans on the night
of April 23-24, 1862; compelled surrender of city, April 25, 1862;
passed batteries at Vicksburg, June 28, 1862; rear-admiral, July 16,
1862; fought battle of Mobile Bay, August 5, 1864; vice-admiral, 1864;
admiral, 1866; died at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, August 14, 1870.
CRAVEN, TUNIS AUGUSTUS MACDONOUGH. Born at Portsmouth, Hew Hampshire,
January 11, 1813; entered navy as midshipman, 1829; served in various
ships and in coast survey; commander, April, 1861; given command of
monitor Tecumseh, with post of honor in battle of Mobile Bay, August 5,
1864; struck torpedo and sank almost instantly, carrying down Craven and
almost everyone else on board.
SEMMES, RAPHAEL. Born in Charles County, Maryland, September 27, 1809;
midshipman in navy, 1826; lieutenant, 1837; at siege of Vera Cruz, 1847;
commander in Confederate navy, April 4, 1861; took command of Alabama,
August, 1863; Alabama destroyed by Kearsarge, June 19, 1864; guarded
water approaches to Richmond, 1865; after war, engaged in practice of
law until his death at Mobile, Alabama, August 30, 1877.
WINSLOW, JOHN ANCRUM. Born at Wilmington, North Carolina, November 19,
1811; entered navy as midshipman, 1827; lieutenant, 1839; commander,
1855; captain, 1862; commanded Kearsarge on special service in pursuit
of Alabama, 1863-64; sank Alabama, June 19, 1864; rear-admiral, 1870;
died at Boston, Massachusetts, September 29, 1873.
BUCHANAN, FRANKLIN. Born at Baltimore, Maryland, September 17, 1800;
entered navy as midshipman, 1815; lieutenant, 1825; master-commandant,
1841; organized naval academy at Annapolis, 1845; at siege of Vera Cruz,
1847; commanded flagship in Perry's Japan expedition, 1852; captain,
1855; commandant Washington navy yard, 1859; entered Confederate
service, September, 1861; commanded Merrimac in Hampton Roads and
Tennessee in Mobile Bay; died in Talbot County, Maryland, May 11, 1874.
WORDEN, JOHN LORIMER. Born in Westchester County, New York, March 12,
1818; entered navy, 1840; lieutenant, 1846; taken prisoner while
returning North from Fort Pickens, 1861; released after seven months'
captivity, and appointed to the Monitor; met Merrimac in Hampton Roads,
March 9, 1862; received thanks of Congress and commissioned commander,
July, 1862; captain, February, 1863; commodore, 1868; superintendent of
naval academy, 1870-74; rear-admiral, 1872; retired, 1886; died at
Washington, October 18, 1897.
DEWEY, GEORGE. Born at Montpelier, Vermont, December 26, 1837; entered
naval academy, 1854; graduated, 1858; with Farragut on Mississippi,
1862; commander, 1872; captain, 1884; commodore, 1896; fought battle of
Manila Bay, May 1, 1898; thanked by Congress and promoted rear-admiral,
1898; admiral, 1899.
* * * * *
INDEX
Adams, John, 84, 89-92, 124, 174, 175, 177, 208, 263.
Adams, John Quincy, 98-100, 109, 110, 125, 186.
Adams, Samuel, 84, 175-178, 179, 208-209, 263.
Allen, Eliza, 240-241.
Allen, Ethan, 270.
Anderson, Robert, 191.
Arnold, Benedict, 267-271, 276, 277, 311-312, 313.
Arthur, Chester Alan, 153, 166-167.
Astor, John Jacob, 250.
Atkinson, Henry, 303.
Austin, Moses, 243.
Bainbridge, William, 334, 337-340, 342, 343, 378.
Banks, Nathaniel P., 301.
Barnes, James, 22.
Barron, James, 337.
Beauregard, Pierre, 304-305, 306, 317-318.
Bee, Bernard E., 299, 300.
Benton, Jesse, 104.
Benton, Thomas Hart, 191, 211.
Berkeley, Lord, 62.
Biddle, Nicholas, 322, 328, 377.
Blaine, James G., 151, 152, 153, 155, 186, 205-207, 213.
Blakeley, Johnston, 342, 344-345, 379.
Boggs, Charles Stuart, 370.
Boone, Daniel, 215-221, 222, 223, 225, 226, 234, 258.
Boone, Squire, 219.
Booth, John Wilkes, 141-142, 164.
Bowie, James, 18, 246-250, 260.
Braddock, Edward, 82, 123, 267, 273, 275, 311.
Bradford, William, 21, 54-57, 74.
Bragg, Braxton, 308.
Breckenridge, John C., 138.
Broke, Philip, 341.
Brooks, Preston, 212.
Brown, John, 122, 295, 316.
Bryan, William Jennings, 160-161.
Buchanan, Franklin, 356, 363-366, 381.
Buchanan, James, 113, 121-123, 127-128, 191, 257.
Buell, Don Carlos, 293.
Burgoyne, John, 267-269, 270, 275, 311, 313, 325.
Burnside, Ambrose E., 285, 297, 314-315.
Burr, Aaron, 179-183, 205, 209-210, 245.
Butler, Benjamin, 355.
Butler, Simon; see Kenton, Simon.
Byllinge, Edward, 62.
Cabot, John, 36-37, 40, 70.
Cabot, Sebastian, 36-37, 70.
Calhoun, John Caldwell, 21, 111, 115, 184-190, 201, 211.
Carson, Kit, 265.
Carteret, Sir George, 62.
Cartier, Jacques, 39, 49, 72.
Carver, Jonathan, 55.
Cass, Lewis, 118, 191, 211.
Catlin, George, 251.
Champlain, Samuel, 49-51, 73.
Chase, Salmon Portland, 200, 212.
Clark, Charles E., 376.
Clark, George Rogers, 223, 225-232, 234, 235, 258.
Clark, William, 235-237, 250, 259.
Clay, Henry, 22, 99, 109, 114, 115, 116, 117, 184-190, 205, 206,
210.
Cleveland, Grover, 154-159, 160, 164, 167.
Columbus, Bartholomew, 26, 29.
Columbus, Christopher, 16, 17, 19, 20, 25-36, 54, 69-70.
Columbus, Diego, 29.
Conkling, Roscoe, 205-206.
Cornwallis, Charles, 85, 124, 272, 278, 311, 313, 328.
Coronado, Francisco Vasquez de, 39, 72.
Craven, Tunis Augustus Macdonough, 18, 360-361, 380.
Crockett, David, 18, 246-250, 256, 260.
Cushing, William B., 370.
Custer, George A., 309.
Custis, Mrs. Martha, 82, 123.
Custis, Mary Randolph, 295.
Custis, Washington Parke, 295.
Cutler, Manasseh, 233.
Davis, Jefferson, 139, 201-204, 213, 280, 303, 305, 306.
Decatur, Stephen, 332-337, 339, 341, 377-378.
Delaware, Thomas West, Lord, 48.
De Leon, Juan Ponce, 38, 39, 71.
Dewey, George, 370-376, 381.
Dinwiddie, Robert, 80, 81.
Douglas, Stephen A., 133-136, 138, 164, 191-193, 211.
Drake, Sir Francis, 38-39, 72.
Early, Jubal Anderson, 291.
Edwards, Jonathan, 180.
Ericsson, John, 367.
Evans, Robley D., 376.
Everett, Edward, 193-194, 211-212.
Fairfax, Thomas, Lord, 78.
Fairfax, William, 78.
Fannin, James W., 243.
Farragut, David Glasgow, 15, 17, 22, 330, 351-360, 366, 370,
371-372, 373, 374, 376, 380, 381.
Ferdinand of Aragon, 29, 31, 35.
Fillmore, Millard, 119, 127.
Fiske, John, 21, 22.
Ford, Paul Leicester, 21.
Franklin, Benjamin, 15, 21, 169-174, 207, 208, 325.
Franklin, William Buel, 301.
Frémont, John C., 122, 198, 250, 251, 255-257, 261.
Gage, Thomas, 175.
Garfield, James Abram, 114, 152-153, 166, 206.
Gates, Horatio, 267-269, 271, 272, 311, 312, 313.
Gilbert, Sir Humphrey, 42.
Gorman, Arthur P., 157.
Grant, Ulysses Simpson, 22, 141, 148-150, 152, 153, 165-166, 206,
280, 285, 286-288, 289, 290, 292, 293, 298, 303, 304, 306, 308,
310, 316, 317.
Greeley, Horace, 139.
Greene, Nathanael, 267, 272, 273, 276, 311, 312.
Gridley, Charles Vernon, 373.
Guiteau, Charles J., 152-153, 166.
Hale, Nathan, 18.
Hamilton, Alexander, 21, 89, 91, 96, 179-183, 205, 209.
Hamilton, Henry, 229.
Hancock, John, 175-178, 209, 322, 323.
Hancock, Winfield Scott, 293.
Hanks, Nancy, 129-130.
Hanna, Mark, 161.
Harding, Chester, 221.
Harrison, Benjamin, 157, 159-160, 167, 207.
Harrison, William Henry, 114-115, 126, 148, 159, 186, 224, 350.
Hay, John, 207.
Hayes, Rutherford Birchard, 114, 151-152, 166, 201, 206.
Hayne, Robert Young, 187, 188, 189.
Heath, William, 266.
Henderson, Richard, 218, 226.
Henry, Patrick, 132, 178-179, 209, 226, 227.
Heriot, Robert, 348.
Herkimer, Nicholas, 267.
Hill, A.P., 299, 308.
Hood, John Bell, 293, 316.
Hooker, Joseph, 280, 285-286, 287, 297, 301, 315.
Hopkins, Ezekial, 323.
Houston, Felix, 317.
Houston, Sam, 116, 238-246, 248, 259-260.
Howard, Oliver Otis, 302.
Hubbard, Elbert, 22.
Hudson, Henry, 39-40, 59, 72-73.
Hulburt, Archer Butler, 22.
Hull, Isaac, 330-332, 340, 341, 377.
Hull, William, 191, 330.
Ingersoll, Robert G., 206.
Isabella of Castile, 29, 30, 31, 35.
Jackson, Andrew, 15, 21, 99, 101-113, 114, 121, 122, 125-126, 148,
156, 163, 164, 186, 189, 190, 191, 239, 240, 241, 242, 244,
245, 246, 247, 279, 280, 281, 329, 352.
Jackson, Thomas Jonathan, 22, 287, 290, 297, 299-302, 307, 308,
311, 317.
James, Reuben, 335-336.
Jay, John, 208.
Jefferson, Thomas, 13, 21, 89, 90, 91, 92-95, 96, 98, 124, 155,
174, 178, 181, 227, 235, 236, 259, 276, 323.
John II., King of Portugal, 28.
Johnson, Andrew, 143-148, 165, 196, 197, 199, 203, 212.
Johnston, Albert Sidney, 280, 302-304, 311, 317, 318.
Johnston, Joseph E., 289-290, 296, 305-306, 308, 315, 318, 319.
Joliet, Louis, 52, 73-74.
Jones, John Paul, 320-328, 329, 344, 377.
Jones, William, 321.
Jones, William Paul, 321.
Kearny, Stephen Watts, 257.
Kenton, Simon, 221-225, 228, 234, 258.
Kilpatrick, Hugh Judson, 293.
King, Rufus, 97.
La Salle, Robert Cavalier, 51-54, 73, 79.
Lawrence, James, 18, 340-342, 347, 378.
Lee, Charles, 266.
Lee, "Light Horse Harry," 272-274, 294, 311, 313.
Lee, Robert Edward, 22, 141, 148, 149, 203, 274, 280, 283, 284,
285, 286, 289, 292, 294-299, 301, 302, 305, 306, 307, 308,
310, 315, 316-317.
Lewis, Meriwether, 235-237, 250, 259.
Lincoln, Abraham, 15, 16, 19, 21, 113, 129-143, 144, 145, 146,
147, 152, 164-165, 192, 193, 198-199, 200, 257, 289.
Lincoln, Thomas, 129-131.
Lodge, Henry Cabot, 21.
Longstreet, James, 306-307, 318.
Lovejoy, Amos, 253.
Lowell, James Russell, 143.
Lummis, Charles F., 21.
McCardle, Eliza, 144-145.
Maclay, Edward Stanton, 22.
McClellan, George B., 282-286, 287, 296, 297, 301, 305, 307,
314, 318.
Macdonough, Thomas, 342, 345-346, 379.
McDowell, Irwin, 301, 305.
McKinley, William, 159, 161-163, 167, 168.
McPherson, James Birdseye, 293.
Madison, James, 95-97, 125, 340.
Magellan, Ferdinand, 38, 71.
Magruder, John Bankhead, 308.
Mansfield, Joseph King Fenno, 301.
Marchena, Juan Perez de, 30.
Marion, Francis, 272-273, 311, 312.
Marquette, Jacques, 52, 74.
Marshall, Humphrey, 166.
Marshall, James Wilson, 255.
Marshall, John, 183-184, 210.
Meade, George G., 280, 286, 293.
Milam, Benjamin R., 243.
Miles, Nelson A., 309-310, 319.
Minuit, Peter, 59.
Monroe, James, 89, 97-98, 125, 158, 189, 201, 211.
Montgomery, Richard, 266.
Moody, William, 251.
Morris, Robert, 174.
Newport, Christopher, 43, 44, 46.
Nicolet, Jean, 51, 73.
Oglethorpe, James, 66-69, 75.
Ortiz, Juan, 45.
Pakenham, Edward Michael, 106, 107, 108.
Parker, Theodore, 23.
Parkman, Francis, 20, 21.
Paul, John, 321.
Paul, John; see Jones, John Paul.
Paul, William, 321.
Pearson, Richard, 320, 326, 327.
Pemberton, John Clifford, 308.
Penn, William, 21, 62-66, 74.
Perry, Matthew Calbraith, 350-351, 364, 379, 381.
Perry, Oliver Hazard, 346-350, 379.
Philip, John W., 376.
Philip, King, 41.
Pierce, Benjamin, 119.
Pierce, Franklin Scott, 114, 119-121, 127, 200, 280, 282.
Pike, Zebulon, 237, 259.
Pocahontas, 45, 46.
Polk, James Knox, 114, 116-117, 126-127, 281.
Pomeroy, Seth, 266.
Pope, John, 293, 297, 301, 307.
Porter, David, 352.
Porter, David, jr., 329-330, 345, 352-353, 377, 380.
Porter, David Dixon, 370.
Powhatan, The, 41, 45.
Preble, Edward, 333, 334, 339, 342-343, 378.
Putnam, Elizabeth, 263.
Putnam, Israel, 232, 263-266, 311.
Putnam, Joseph, 263.
Putnam, Rufus, 232-234, 258-259.
Raleigh, Sir Walter, 42-43.
Reed, Deborah, 171-172.
Revere, Paul, 175.
Rolfe, John, 46.
Roosevelt, Theodore, 162-163, 167-168.
Root, Elihu, 207.
Rosecrans, William Starke, 293.
Rusk, Thomas Jefferson, 244, 245.
St. Clair, Arthur, 233, 274-276, 313.
St. Leger, Barry, 270.
Saltonstall, Dudley, 323.
Sampson, William Thomas, 376.
Santa Anna, 127, 243, 244, 245, 248, 249, 281.
Santangel, Luis de, 30, 31.
Schley, Winfield Scott, 376.
Schuyler, Philip John, 267, 311.
Scott, Winfield, 119, 120, 188, 245, 280-282, 292, 295, 305,
310, 314.
Scudder, Horace E., 21.
Semmes, Raphael, 361-363, 380.
Seward, William H., 137, 194-200, 212.
Shaw, Robert Gould, 18.
Sheridan, Philip Henry, 287, 290-292, 293, 294, 307, 308, 311,
315-316.
Sherman, John, 152, 199, 200-201, 212-213.
Sherman, William Tecumseh, 280, 287-290, 292, 293, 304, 305,
306, 308, 309, 315, 316, 318, 319.
Skelton, Martha, 93.
Smith, John, 21, 43-49, 73, 76.
Soto, Hernando de, 39, 45, 72.
Spalding, H.H., 251.
Spencer, Joseph, 266.
Stark, John, 267.
Stephens, Alexander H., 201-205, 213.
Stevens, Thaddeus, 147, 194-200, 201, 212.
Stewart, Charles, 342, 343, 378.
Stuart, J.E.B., 296, 307-308, 318-319.
Stuyvesant, Peter, 21, 60-62, 74.
Sullivan, John, 266.
Sumner, Charles, 194-200, 212.
Sumner, Edwin Vose, 293, 301.
Sumter, Thomas, 102, 272-273, 312.
Sutter, John Augustus, 250, 254-256, 260-261.
Taft, William Howard, 163, 168.
Tarleton, Guy, 272, 312.
Taylor, Henry C., 376.
Taylor, Zachary, 22, 114, 118-119, 120, 127, 148, 202, 280, 281.
Tecumseh, 115.
Thomas, George H., 280, 292-293, 316.
Thomas, John, 266.
Tilden, Samuel J., 151.
Todd, Dolly Payne, 96.
Todd, Mary, 132.
Toscanelli, Paolo del Pozzo, 27, 32.
Travis, William Barrett, 18, 243, 246-250, 260.
Tyler, John, 115-116, 126, 211.
Van Buren, Martin, 113-114, 115, 118, 126, 191.
Veach, William, 221.
Vespucci, Amerigo, 37, 71.
Wainwright, Richard, 376.
Ward, Artemus, 266.
Washington, Augustine, 76, 77, 78.
Washington, George, 14, 15, 16, 17, 19, 21, 22, 76-89, 90, 92, 93,
97, 123-124, 129, 137, 150, 164, 174, 175, 177, 180, 181, 183,
194, 209, 262, 266, 269, 271, 272, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 279,
282, 295, 310, 312.
Washington, Lawrence, 76, 78, 79, 83.
Wayne, Anthony, 224, 234, 258, 259, 276-279, 313-314.
Webster, Daniel, 21, 110, 184-190, 193, 194, 198, 210.
Welles, Gideon, 364.
Wesley, Charles, 68.
Wheeler, Joseph, 309, 319.
Whitfield, George, 69.
Whitman, Marcus, 117, 250-254, 260.
Whittier, John G., 257.
Williams, Roger, 57-59, 74.
Wilson, Woodrow, 21.
Winslow, John Ancrum, 361-363, 380-381.
Wooster, David, 266.
Worden, John Lorimer, 367-370, 381.
York, Duke of, 61, 62, 63, 64.
* * * * *
End of Project Gutenberg's American Men of Action, by Burton E. Stevenson