THE AMERICAN LINE-OF-BATTLE SHIP.
THE line-of-battle ship, which figured so largely in the navies of a
half century or more ago, was a man-of-war carrying seventy-four or more
guns. It was the class of ships in which the British took especial
pride, and the American colonists, imitating the mother country, began
the construction of one, as early as the Revolution. Built at
Portsmouth, this first American “ship-of-the-line” was, when finished,
presented to France. Humpreys, our great naval contractor in 1797
carried out the true national idea, by condensing the line-of-battle
ship into a frigate, and “line ships” proper were not built until after
1820. One of the first of these was the _North Carolina_, commanded by
the veteran John Rodgers.
The first visit of an American line-of-battle ship to Europe, in 1825,
under Commodore Rodgers, was, in its effect, like that of the iron-clad
Monitor _Miantonomah_ under Farragut in 1865. It showed that the United
States led the world in ships and guns. The _North Carolina_ was then
the largest, the most efficient and most formidable vessel that ever
crossed the Atlantic.
Rodgers was justly proud of his flag-ship and fleet, for this was the
golden era of American ship-building, and no finer craft ever floated
than those launched from our shipyards.
The old hulk of the _North Carolina_ now laid up at the Brooklyn Navy
Yard and used as a magazine, receiving-ship, barracks, prison, and
guard-house, gives little idea of the vision of life and beauty which
the “seventy-four” of our fathers was.
The great ship, which then stirred the hearts of the nation moved under
a mighty cloud of canvas, and mounted in three tiers one-hundred and two
guns, which threw a mass of iron outweighing that fired by any vessel
then afloat. Her battery exceeded by three hundred and four pounds that
of the _Lord Nelson_—the heaviest British ship afloat and in
commission. The weight of broadside shot thrown by the one larger craft
before her—that of the Spanish Admiral St. Astraella Trinidad,[5] which
Nelson sunk at Trafalgar,—fell short of that of the _North Carolina_.
Our “wooden walls” were then high, and the stately vessel under her mass
of snowy canvas was a sight that filled a true sailor with profound
emotion. Mackenzie in his “Year in Spain” has fitly described his
feelings as that sight burst upon him.
So perfect were the proportions, that her size was under-valued until
men noticed carefully the great mass moving with the facility of a
schooner. At the magic of the boatswain’s whistle, the anchor was cast
and the great sails were folded up and hidden from view as a bird
folding her wings.
It was highly beneficial to our commerce and American reputation abroad
to send so magnificent a fleet into European waters as that commanded by
Rodgers. In many ports of the Mediterranean Sea, the American flag, then
bearing twenty-four stars, had never been seen. The right man and the
right ships were now to represent us.
Perry joined the _North Carolina_ July 26, 1824. She sailed in April,
and arrived at Malaga, May 19, 1825. During three days she was inspected
by the authorities and crowds of people, who were deeply impressed by
the perfect discipline observed on the finest ship ever seen in those
waters.
Gibraltar on June 7th, and Tangier, June 14th, were then visited, and by
the 17th, the whole squadron, among which was the _Cyane_, assembled in
the offing before the historic fortress near the pillars of Hercules,
prior to a visit to the Greek Archipelago.
This too, was an epoch of vast ceremony and display on board ship. War
and discipline of to-day, if less romantic and chivalrous are more
business-like, more effective, but less spectacular. Mackenzie with a
pen equal to that of his friend, N. P. Willis, has left us a graphic
sketch of the receptions and departures of the Commodore. As we read his
fascinating pages:
“The herculean form and martial figure of the veteran,” who as monarch
reigned over “the hallowed region of the quarterdeck,” the “band of
music in Moorish garb,” the “groups of noble looking young officers,”
come again before us.
A “thousand eyes are fixed” on “the master spirit,” hats are raised,
soldiers present arms, the “side boys” detailed at gangways to attend
dignitaries,—eight to an admiral, four to a captain,—are in their
places, and the blare of brazen tubes is heard as the commodore
disembarks.
Perry, as executive officer, held the position which a writer with
experience has declared to be the most onerous, difficult, and thankless
of all. His duties comprised pretty much everything that needed to be
done on deck. Whether in gold lace or epaulettes by day, or in oil-skin
jacket with trumpet at night or in storm, Perry was regent of the ship
and crew. Charles W. Morgan, afterwards commodore, was captain.
The business of the squadron, consisting of the _North Carolina_,
_Constitution_, _Erie_, _Ontario_, and _Cyane_ was to protect American
commerce. The ships were to sail from end to end of the Mediterranean,
touching at Algiers, Tunis and Tripoli, which “Barbary” powers were now
very friendly to Americans. Other classic sites were to be visited, and
although the young officers anticipated the voyage with delight, yet the
cruise was not to be a mere summer picnic. American commerce was in
danger at the Moslem end of the Mediterranean, for much the same
political causes previously operating in the West Indies. The cause lay
in the revolt of a tribute nation against its suzerain, or rather in the
assertion of her liberty against despotism. That struggle for Hellenic
Independence, which becomes to us far-away Americans more of an entity,
through the poetry of Byron and Fitz-Greene Halleck, than through
history, had begun. It seems, in history, a dream; in poetry, a fact.
While the Greek patriots won a measure of success, they kept their hands
off from other people’s property and regarded the relation of _mine_ and
_thine_; but when hard pressed by the Turks, patriotism degenerated into
communism. They were apt to forage among our richly-laden vessels. Greek
defeat meant piracy, and at this time the cause of the patriots, though
a noble one, was desperate indeed. Five years of fighting had passed,
yet recognition by European nations was withheld. The first fruits of
the necessity, which knows no law, was plunder.
On the 29th of May, an American merchantman from Boston was robbed by a
Greek privateer, and this act became a precedent for similar outrages.
While at Patras, the chief commercial town of Greece, Perry had the
scripture prophecy of “seven women taking hold of one man” fulfilled
before his eyes. The Biblical number of Turkish widows, whose husbands
had been killed at Corinth, were brought on board the _North Carolina_
and exposed for sale by Greeks, who were anxious to make a bargain. The
officers paid their ransom, and giving them liberty sent them to Smyrna
under charge of Perry.
While there, an event occurred which had a disastrous physical influence
upon Matthew Perry all his life, and which remotely caused his death. A
great fire broke out on shore which threatened to wrap the whole city in
conflagration. The efficient executive of the flag-ship, ordered a large
detail to land in the boats and act as firemen. The men, eager for
excitement on land, worked with alacrity; but among the most zealous and
hard working of all was their lieutenant. In danger and exposure,
alternately heated and drenched, Perry was almost exhausted when he
regained the ship. The result was an attack of rheumatism, from the
recurring assaults of which he was never afterwards entirely free.
Hitherto this species of internal torture had been to him an
abstraction; henceforth, it was personal and concrete. Shut up like a
fire in his bones, its occasional eruptions were the cause of that
seeming irritableness which was foreign to his nature.
Among other visitors at Smyrna, were some Turkish ladies, who, veiled
and guarded by eunuchs, came on board “ships of the new world.” No such
privilege had ever been accorded them before, and these exiles of the
harem, looked with eager curiosity at every-thing and everybody on the
ship, though they spoke not a word. Nothing of themselves was visible
except their eyes, and these—to the old commodore—“not very
distinctly,” though possibly to the young officers they shone as
brightly as meteors. This visit of our squadron had a stimulating effect
on American commerce, though our men-of-war convoyed vessels of various
Christian nations.
The Greek pirates extending the field of their operations, had now begun
their depredations in open boats. Dissensions among the patriots were
already doing as much harm to the sinking cause as Turkish arms.
Captain Nicholson of our navy, visiting Athens and Corinth, found the
Acropolis in the hands of a faction, and the country poor and
uncultivated. Corinth was but a mere name. Its streets were overgrown,
its houses were roofless and empty, and the skeletons of its brave
defenders lay white and unburied. The Greek fleet of one-hundred sail
was unable to do much against the Turkish vessels, numbering fifteen
more and usually heavier. The best successes of the patriots were by the
use of fire-ships.
In spite of the low state of the Hellenic cause, Americans manifested
strict neutrality, and the Greek authorities in the ports entered were
duly saluted, an example which the French admiral and Austrian commodore
followed.
The fleet cruised westwardly, arriving at Gibraltar, October 12, where
Perry found awaiting him his appointment to the grade of acting Master
Commandant.
The opening of the year 1827, found the cause of the Greeks sunk to the
lowest ebb of hopelessness. Even the crews of the men-of-war, unable to
get wage or food, put to sea for plunder. Friend and foe, American, as
well as Turk, suffered alike.
While war and misery reigned in the eastern part of the Mediterranean,
commerce with the north African nations was rapidly obliterating the
memories of piracy and reprisal, which had once made Berber scimeter and
Yankee cutlass cross. Peace and friendship were assiduously cultivated,
and our officers were received with marked kindness and attention.
Our three little wars with the Moslems of the Mediterranean, from 1794
to 1797, from 1801 to 1804, and in 1815, seem at this day incredible and
dream-like. In view of the Bey of Tunis, on the assassination of Abraham
Lincoln sending a special envoy to express sympathy, and presenting his
portrait to the State Department, and at the Centennial Exposition
joining with us; and of Algeria being now the play ground of travelers,
one must acknowledge that a mighty change has passed over the spirit of
the Berbers since this century opened.
Sickness broke out on the big ship _North Carolina_, and at one time
four lieutenants and one-hundred and twenty-five men were down with
small-pox and catarrh. The wretchedness of the weather at first allowed
little abatement of the trouble, but under acting Master Commandant
Perry’s vigorous and persistent hygienic measures, including abundant
fumigation, the scourge was checked. His methods were very obnoxious to
some of the officers and crew, but were indispensable to secure a clean
bill of health. The commodore wrote from Malta, February 14th, 1827,
that the condition of the ship’s people had greatly improved.
The balmy spring breezes brought recuperation. The ship, clean and in
splendid condition, was ready to sail homewards. The boatswain’s call,
so welcome and always heard with a thrill of delight—“All hands up
anchor for home,”—was sounded on the 31st of May. The _North Carolina_,
leaving behind her classic waters, moved towards “the free hearts’ hope
and home.”
The old weather-beaten hulk that now lies in the Wallabout is the same
old _North Carolina_. What a change from glory to dry rot! It came to
pass that the American line-of-battle ships, while the most showy, were
also the most unsatisfactory class of ships in our navy. They all ended
their days as store ships or as firewood. “The naval mind of the United
States could not work well in old world harness.”
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[5] See description in the novel _Trafalgar_, New York, 1885.