THE LAST CRUISE OF THE ESSEX
The last cruise of the _Essex_ frigate, although an ill-fated one, makes
a story far less mournful than that of the _President_. She was the
first man-of-war to display the American flag in the wide waters of the
Pacific. Her long and venturesome voyage is still regarded as one of the
finest achievements of the navy, and it made secure the fame of Captain
David Porter. The _Essex_ has a peculiar right to be held in
affectionate memory, apart from the very gallant manner of her ending,
because into her very timbers were builded the faith and patriotism of
the people of the New England seaport which had framed and launched her
as a loan to the nation in an earlier time of stress.
At the end of the eighteenth century France had been the maritime enemy
more hotly detested than England, and unofficial war existed with the
"Terrible Republic." This situation was foreshadowed as early as 1798
by James McHenry, Secretary of War, when he indignantly announced to
Congress: "To forbear under such circumstances from taking naval and
military measures to secure our trade, defend our territories in case of
invasion, and to prevent or suppress domestic insurrection would be to
offer up the United States a certain prey to France and exhibit to the
world a sad spectacle of national degradation and imbecility."
Congress thereupon resolved to build two dozen ships which should teach
France to mend her manners on the high seas, but the Treasury was too
poor to pay the million dollars which this modest navy was to cost.
Subscription lists were therefore opened in several shipping towns, and
private capital advanced the funds to put the needed frigates afloat.
The _Essex_ was promptly contributed by Salem, and the advertisement of
the master builder is brave and resonant reading:
To Sons of Freedom! All true lovers of Liberty of your Country!
Step forth and give your assistance in building the frigate to
oppose French insolence and piracy. Let every man in possession of
a white oak tree be ambitious to be foremost in hurrying down the
timber to Salem where the noble structure is to be fabricated to
maintain your rights upon the seas and make the name of America
respected among the nations of the world. Your largest and longest
trees are wanted, and the arms of them for knees and rising timber.
Four trees are wanted for the keel which altogether will measure
146 feet in length and hew sixteen inches square.
The story of the building of the _Essex_ is that of an aroused and
reliant people. The great timbers were cut in the wood lots of the towns
near by and were hauled through the snowy streets of Salem on ox-sleds
while the people cheered them as they passed. The _Essex_ was a Salem
ship from keel to truck. Her cordage was made in three ropewalks.
Captain Jonathan Haraden, the most famous Salem privateersman of the
Revolution, made the rigging for the mainmast in his loft. The sails
were cut from duck woven for the purpose in the mill on Broad Street and
the ironwork was forged by Salem shipsmiths. When the huge hempen cables
were ready to be conveyed to the frigate, the workmen hoisted them upon
their shoulders and in procession marched to the music of fife and drum.
In 1799, six months after the oak timbers had been standing trees, the
_Essex_ slid from the stocks into the harbor of old Salem. She was the
handsomest and fastest American frigate of her day and when turned over
to the Government, she cost what seemed at that day the very
considerable amount of seventy-five thousand dollars.
Peace was patched up with France, however, and the _Essex_ was compelled
to pursue more humdrum paths, now in the Indian Ocean and again with the
Mediterranean squadron, until war with England began in 1812. It was
intended that Captain Porter should rendezvous with the _Constitution_
and the _Hornet_ in South American waters for a well-planned cruise
against British commerce, but other engagements detained Bainbridge,
notably his encounter with the _Java_, and so they missed each other by
a thousand miles or so. Since he had no means of communication, it was
characteristic of Porter to conclude to strike out for himself instead
of wandering about in an uncertain search for his friends.
Porter conceived the bold plan of rounding the Horn and playing havoc
with the British whaling fleet. This adventure would take him ten
thousand miles from the nearest American port, but he reckoned that he
could capture provisions enough to feed his crew and supplies to refit
the ship. As a raid there was nothing to match this cruise until the
_Alabama_ ran amuck among the Yankee clippers and whaling barks half a
century later. It was the wrong time of year to brave the foul weather
of Cape Horn, however, and the _Essex_ was battered and swept by one
furious gale after another. But at last she won through, stout ship that
she was, and her weary sailors found brief respite in the harbor of
Valparaiso on March 14, 1813. Thence Porter headed up the coast,
disguising the trim frigate so that she looked like a lubberly,
high-pooped Spanish merchantman.
The luck of the navy was with the American captain for, as he went
poking about the Galapagos Islands, he surprised three fine, large
British whaling ships, all carrying guns and too useful to destroy. To
one of them, the _Georgiana_, he shifted more guns, put a crew of forty
men aboard under Lieutenant John Downes, ran up the American flag, and
commissioned his prize as a cruiser. The other two he also manned--and
now behold him, if you please, sailing the Pacific with a squadron of
four good ships! Soon he ran down and captured two British
letter-of-marque vessels, well armed and in fighting trim, and in a
trice he had not a squadron but a fleet under his command, seven ships
in all, mounting eighty guns and carrying three hundred and forty men
and eighty prisoners. Two of these prizes he discovered to be crammed
to the hatches with cordage, paint, tar, canvas, and fresh provisions.
The list could not have been more acceptable if Captain David Porter
himself had signed the requisition in the New York Navy Yard.
Lieutenant Downes was now sent off cruising by himself, and so well did
he profit by his captain's example and precepts that in a little while
he had bagged a squadron of his own, three ships with twenty-seven guns
and seventy-five men. When he rejoined the flagship in a harbor of the
mainland, Porter rewarded him by calling his cruiser the _Essex,
Junior_, promoting him to the rank of commander, and increasing his
armament. They then resumed cruising in two squadrons, finding more
British ships and sending them into the neutral harbor of Valparaiso or
home to the United States with precious cargoes of whale oil and bone.
Within a few months he swept the Southern Pacific almost clean of
British merchantmen, whalers, and privateers. Winter coming on, Porter
then sailed to the pleasant Marquesas Islands and laid the _Essex_ up
for a thorough overhauling. The enemy had furnished all needful supplies
and even the money to pay the wages of the officers and crew.
Fit for sea again, the _Essex_ and the _Essex, Junior_, betook
themselves to Valparaiso where they received information that the
thirty-six-gun frigate _Phoebe_ of the British navy was earnestly
looking for them. She had been sent out from England to proceed to the
northwest American coast and destroy the fur station at the mouth of the
Columbia River. At Rio de Janeiro Captain Hillyar had heard reports of
the ravages of the _Essex_ and he considered it his business to hunt
down this defiant Yankee. To make sure of success, he took the
sloop-of-war _Cherub_ along with him and, doubling the Horn, they made
straight for Valparaiso. David Porter got wind of the pursuit but
assumed that the _Phoebe_ was alone. He made no attempt to avoid a
meeting but on the contrary rather courted a fight with his old friend
Hillyar, whom he had known socially on the Mediterranean station. For an
officer of Porter's temper and training the capture of British whalers
was a useful but by no means glorious employment. He believed the real
vocation of a frigate of the American navy was to engage the enemy.
The _Phoebe_ and the _Cherub_ sailed into the Chilean roadstead in
February, 1814, and found the _Essex_ there. As Captain Hillyar was
passing in to seek an anchorage, the mate of a British merchantman
climbed aboard to tell him that the _Essex_ was unprepared for attack
and could be taken with ease. Her officers had given a ball the night
before in honor of the Spanish dignitaries of Valparaiso, and the decks
were still covered with awnings and gay with bunting and flags.
Reluctant to forego such a tempting opportunity, Captain Hillyar ran in
and luffed his frigate within a few yards of the Essex. To his
disappointed surprise, the American fighting ship was ready for action
on the instant. Though the punctilious restraints of a neutral port
should have compelled them to delay battle, Porter was vigilant and took
no chances. The liberty parties had been recalled from shore, the decks
had been cleared, the gunners were sent to quarters with matches
lighted, and the boarders were standing by the hammock nettings with
cutlasses gripped. Making the best of this unexpected turn of events,
the English captain shouted a greeting to David Porter and politely
conveyed his compliments, adding that his own ship was also ready for
action. So close were the two frigates at this moment that the jib-boom
of the _Phoebe_ hung over the bulwarks of the _Essex_, and Porter called
out sharply that if so much as a rope was touched he would reply with a
broadside. The urbane Captain Hillyar, perceiving his disadvantage,
exclaimed, "I had no intention of coming so near you. I am very sorry
indeed." With that he moved his ship to a respectful distance. Later he
had a chat with Captain Porter ashore and, when asked if he intended to
maintain the neutrality of the port, made haste to protest, "Sir, you
have been so careful to observe the rules that I feel myself bound in
honor to do the same."
After a few days the _Phoebe_ and the _Cherub_ left the harbor and
watchfully waited outside, enforcing a strict blockade and determined to
render the _Essex_ harmless unless she should choose to sally out and
fight. David Porter was an intrepid but not a reckless sailor. He had
the faster frigate but he had unluckily changed her battery from the
long guns to the more numerous but shorter range carronades. He was not
afraid to risk a duel with the _Phoebe_ even with this handicap in
armament, but the sloop-of-war _Cherub_ was a formidable vessel for her
size and the _Essex, Junior_, which was only a converted merchantman,
was of small account in a hammer-and-tongs action between naval ships.
For his part, Captain Hillyar had no intention of letting the Yankee
frigate escape him. "He was an old disciple of Nelson," observes Mahan,
"fully imbued with the teaching that the achievement of success and not
personal glory must dictate action. Having a well established reputation
for courage and conduct, he intended to leave nothing to the chances of
fortune which might decide a combat between equals. He therefore would
accept no provocation to fight without the _Cherub_. His duty was to
destroy the _Essex_ with the least possible loss."
Porter endured this vexatious situation for six weeks and then, learning
that other British frigates were on his trail, determined to escape to
the open sea. This decision involved waiting for the most favorable
moment of wind and weather, but Porter found his hand forced on the 28th
of March by a violent southerly gale which swept over the exposed bay of
Valparaiso and dragged the _Essex_ from her anchorage. One of her cables
parted while the crew struggled to get sail on her. As she drifted
seaward, Porter decided to seize the emergency and take the long chance
of running out to windward of the _Phoebe_ and the _Cherub_. He
therefore cut the other cable, and the _Essex_ plunged into the wind
under single-reefed topsails to claw past the headland. Just as she was
about to clear it, a whistling squall carried away the maintopmast.
This accident was a grave disaster, for the disabled frigate was now
unable either to regain a refuge in the bay or to win her way past the
British ship.
As a last resort Captain Porter turned and ran along the coast, within
pistol shot of it, far inside the three-mile limit of neutral water, and
came to an anchor about three miles north of the city. Captain Hillyar
had no legal right to molest him, but in his opinion the end justified
the means and he resolved to attack. Deliberately the _Phoebe_ and
_Cherub_ selected their stations and, late in this stormy afternoon,
bombarded the crippled _Essex_ without mercy. Porter with his carronades
was unable to repay the damage inflicted by the broadsides of the longer
guns, nor could he handle his ship to close in and retrieve the day in
the desperate game of boarding. He tried this ultimate venture,
nevertheless, and let go his cables. But the ship refused to move ahead.
Her sheets, tacks, and halliards had been shot away. The canvas was
hanging loose.
Porter's guns were by no means silent, however, even in this hopeless
situation, and few crews have died harder or fought more grimly than
these seamen of the _Essex_. Among them was a little midshipman, wounded
but still at his post, a mere child of thirteen years whose name was
David Farragut. His fortune it was to link those early days of the
American navy with a period half a century later when he won his renown
as the greatest of American admirals.
In many a New England seaport were told the tales of this last fight of
the _Essex_ until they became almost legendary--of Seaman John Ripley,
who cried, after losing his leg, "Farewell, boys, I can be of no more
use to you," and thereupon flung himself overboard out of a bow port; of
James Anderson, who died encouraging his comrades to fight bravely in
defense of liberty; of Benjamin Hazen, who dressed himself in a clean
shirt and jerkin, told his messmates that he could never submit to being
taken prisoner by the English and forthwith leaped into the sea and was
drowned. Such incidents help us to descry, amid the smoke and slaughter
of that desperate encounter, the spirit of the gallant David Porter.
Never was the saying, "It's not the ships but the men in them," better
exemplified. To Porter was granted greatness in defeat, a lot that comes
to few.
For two hours he and his men endured such dreadful punishment as not
many ships have suffered. Again he attempted to work his way nearer the
enemy, until he had not enough men left unhurt to serve the guns or to
haul at the pitifully splintered spars. In the last extremity, Porter
made an effort to destroy his vessel and to save her people from
captivity by letting the _Essex_ drive ashore. A kedge anchor was let
go, and a dozen sailors tramped around the capstan while the chantey man
piped up a tune, but again fortune seemed against him for the hawser
snapped, and the wind began to blow the frigate into deeper water. What
happened then is best recalled in the simple words of Captain David
Porter himself:
I now sent for the officers of division to consult them and what
was my surprise to find only acting Lieutenant Stephen Decatur
M'Knight remaining.... I was informed that the cockpit, the
steerage, the wardroom, and the berth deck could contain no more
wounded, that the wounded were killed while the surgeons were
dressing them, and that if something was not speedily done to
prevent it, the ship would soon sink from the number of shot holes
in her bottom. On sending for the carpenter he informed me that all
his crew had been killed or wounded.
The enemy, from the impossibility of reaching him with our
carronades and the little apprehension that was excited by our
fire, which had now become much slackened, was enabled to take aim
at us as at a target; his shot never missed our hull and my ship
was cut up in a manner which was perhaps never before witnessed; in
fine, I saw no hope of saving her, and at twenty minutes after 6
P.M. I gave the painful order to strike the colors. Seventy-five
men including officers were all that remained of my whole crew
after the action, many of them severely wounded, some of whom have
since died.
The enemy still continued his fire and my brave, though unfortunate
companions were still falling about me. I directed an opposite gun
to be fired to show them we intended no further resistance but they
did not desist. Four men were killed at my side and others at
different parts of the ship. I now believed he intended to show us
no quarter, that it would be as well to die with my flag flying as
struck, and was on the point of again hoisting it when about ten
minutes after hauling down the colors he ceased firing.
... We have been unfortunate but not disgraced--the defense of the
_Essex_ has not been less honorable to her officers and crew than
the capture of an equal force; and I now consider my situation less
unpleasant than that of Captain Hillyar, who in violation of every
principle of honor and generosity, and regardless of the rights of
nations, attacked the _Essex_ in her crippled state within pistol
shot of a neutral shore, when for six weeks I had daily offered him
fair and honorable combat on terms greatly to his advantage.
The behavior of Captain Hillyar after the surrender, however, was most
humane and courteous, and lapse of time has dispelled somewhat of the
bitterness of the American opinion of him. If he was not as chivalrous
as his Yankee foemen had expected, it must be remembered that there was
a heavy grudge and a long score to pay in the havoc wrought among
British merchantmen and whalers and that in those days the rights of
South American neutrals were rather lightly regarded.