A YANKEE FRIGATE TAKEN BY THE ENEMY
THEY COMPLETELY MOBBED “THE WAGGON” AND SO GOT HER AT LAST--THE
FIRST NAVAL CONTEST AFTER THE TREATY OF PEACE WAS SIGNED--THE
_PRESIDENT_, WHEN RUNNING THE BLOCKADE AT NEW YORK, GROUNDED
ON THE BAR, AND, ALTHOUGH SHE POUNDED OVER, SHE FELL IN WITH
THE SQUADRON--A BRITISH FRIGATE THOROUGHLY WHIPPED, BUT TWO
MORE OVERTOOK HER--A POINT ON NAVAL ARCHITECTURE--A TREATY THAT
HUMILIATES THE PATRIOT.
The treaty which the British and American commissioners negotiated at
Ghent and which they signed on December 24, 1814, is as instructive as
it is humiliating to an American patriot. There are eleven articles
to this treaty. These provided for a cessation of hostilities; for
a boundary line; for public and private property and documents
captured, or to be captured before the ratification of the treaty;
for the red Indians of the frontier; for the negro slaves and the
suppression of the black slave trade on the high seas. It provided
for everything needful but one. The American Government had been
forced to declare war because of a popular sentiment generated by
the friends of the American seamen who had been forced into slavery
by British press-gangs: the American naval seamen had fought as no
naval seaman had ever fought before because they were fighting for
“sailors’ rights”; but when the treaty of peace was written there was
not one word in it about those rights--not one. The British ministers
stubbornly refused to touch upon or even consider the subject of
impressment, and the American commissioners, on the plea that the
question was now “purely theoretical,”--that, the war in Europe being
over, there would be no longer any occasion for impressment--the
American commissioners, be it said, consented to omit the point. The
real cause of the war was ignored in the treaty of peace.
It is humiliating to a patriot to recall this fact, but it is equally
humiliating to remember that the motto on the big burgee flaunted by
Yankee cruisers read “_Free trade_ and Sailors’ Rights.” The rights
of property were placed ahead of the rights of man. The sneer of the
British historian Napier, when he referred to the Americans as “a
people who (notwithstanding the curse of black slavery which clings
to them, adding the most horrible ferocity _to the peculiar baseness
of their mercantile spirit_, and rendering their republican vanity
ridiculous) do, in their general government, uphold civil institutions
that have startled the crazy despotisms of Europe”--this sneer was
justified in its day, by the treaty of Ghent, as by the treatment
accorded the unfortunate colored race.
Nevertheless, because of the qualities displayed by the American
seamen, from the battle between the _Guerrière_ and the _Constitution_
to Macdonough’s victory on Lake Champlain, and in all the naval
encounters, except possibly one that followed the signing of the
treaty--because of the hearty good will that backed the strong and
well-trained arm of the republican sailor, what was denied in the
promise of peace was granted when peace came. The British politicians
quibbled and the British historians have garbled and sneered, but the
full significance of the naval battles of the War of 1812 was and
is appreciated by the real rulers of the British nation. And that
significance, though it brought a treaty--a written document--that
is humiliating, brought a lasting state of peace that was and is a
matter of pride to all who honor the flag. It did more. The manifest
superiority of the American seamen was so great that, by degrees, the
British naval authorities were led to abandon their cruel methods of
manning and disciplining their ships and to adopt the American system
of good pay and good food and just treatment instead. Treating men as
men has worked as well, these late years, in the British navy, as it
has always worked in the American. Moreover a day was to come when the
British Government was to say, in a most emphatic Government document,
that the American declaration of war in 1812 was entirely justified.
As said, the treaty of peace was signed on December 24, 1814. But
it had to be ratified by both Governments, and the news that peace
had been declared had to be promulgated throughout the world before
hostilities would cease. There were battles not a few thereafter.
The Yankee sailor was to be heard from on the sluggish waters of the
Mississippi’s swamps; under the bleak cliffs of Tristan d’Acunha, on
the sunlit seas of India, and elsewhere. He did not always triumph,
but his flag did not come down save at the behest of greatly superior
numbers; and this chapter shall tell how it came down in the first
naval contest after the treaty was signed.
[Illustration: Commodore Stephen Decatur.]
It was on the unlucky _President_ when she was commanded by Stephen
Decatur. As the reader will recall, Decatur was blockaded with the
_United States_, the _Macedonian_, and the _Hornet_ at New London by
a British squadron, beginning in June, 1813. There the two frigates
remained until the end of the war. Late in 1814 Decatur was transferred
to the _President_, then in New York harbor. Rodgers had had the ill
luck to make four cruises in her without ever having a battle or even
taking enough merchantmen to pay the expense of keeping the ship in
commission. A very excellent revision of an old proverb says that “all
things come to him who ‘rustles’ while he waits.” It is a fact that the
active aggressive men of the navy in that war did not have much bad
luck.
Decatur, when in command of the _President_, was ordered to take the
little sloop-of-war _Hornet_, Captain James Biddle, and the new Yankee
corvette _Peacock_, Captain Lewis Warrington, and go on a cruise to
the East Indies, as Captain Bainbridge with the _Constitution_, the
_Essex_, and the _Hornet_ had started to do. Accordingly, having
appointed the island of Tristan d’Acunha as a rendezvous, Decatur
sailed out of New York harbor with a substantial northerly gale to help
him, on the night of January 14, 1815. The gale had prevailed long
enough to blow the blockading squadron clear of Sandy Hook, and all
went well until the ship was crossing the bar, when, by a mistake of
the pilots, she struck the sand. There was enough of a sea rolling to
lift and drop the big ship on the bar and for an hour and a half she
lay there pounding. By that time the tide had raised her and over she
went, though very much “hogged and twisted.” That is she had literally
broken her back, and her fair shape was warped into an irregular one.
Because of the wind Decatur was compelled to go to sea. Skirting the
Long Island coast for about fifty miles he concluded he must be clear
of the British squadron, and so headed away on his course for Tristan
d’Acunha. As it happened, Captain John Hayes, commanding the British
blockading squadron, had calculated that any ship leaving New York
would try to get to sea by hugging the Long Island coast, on the theory
that the British would be blown away down the Jersey beach; so he had
kept his squadron “bucking the gale” off the Long Island coast, and
thus it happened that when Decatur eased his sheets to run away on his
course, he ran right into the British squadron.
The British squadron included the razee _Majestic_ (a cut-down
liner); the frigate _Endymion_, that had been built to meet the big
Yankees and was armed as they were, with long twenty-fours; the
ordinary (eighteen-pounder) frigate _Pomone_, and the ordinary frigate
_Tenedos_. There was also a brig, but it had no part in the fight.
It was just before daylight when the enemy were seen. Decatur hauled
up to the wind and headed for the east end of Long Island, but the
_President_ was seen by the British and the whole squadron went after
her. The good judgment of Captain Hayes was going to win him a ship.
As the _President_ stood away, the _Majestic_ and the _Endymion_ were
directly astern, with the _Pomone_ on the port and the _Tenedos_ on
the starboard quarter. The wind still held strong, and the _Majestic_
led the _Endymion_ and gained on the _President_ enough to warrant an
occasional shot. Then the wind slackened and the _Pomone_ outsailed
all the rest, until Captain Hayes blundered by supposing the _Tenedos_
was also a Yankee and sent the _Pomone_ after her, thus prolonging the
chase of the _President_.
However, in the afternoon the wind became light and baffling, and
this was the weather for the _Endymion_. Decatur had done everything
possible to lighten ship except throwing over his guns. Anchors, boats,
spare spars, provisions, and water had all been thrown overboard, but
in vain, and soon after 4 o’clock the _Endymion_ was firing her bow
chasers and the _President_ her stern chasers with some effect. The
_Endymion_, proving the swifter, was able to reach forward until on the
_President’s_ quarter. There she could shoot the _President_ to pieces
without receiving a shot in return, and for half an hour she held that
position, while Decatur held on, hoping the _Endymion_ would range up
for a close conflict.
But no such move as that was in the mind of the Englishman. Captain
Hope, who commanded her, was not guilty of the “uncircumspect
gallantry” of which Sir Howard Douglas wrote so feelingly. So Decatur
determined on a desperate move. Calling the crew aft, he addressed
them, so it is said, as follows:
“My lads, that ship is coming up with us. As our ship won’t sail we’ll
go on board of theirs, every man and boy of us, and carry her into New
York. All I ask of you is to follow me. This is a favorite ship of the
country. If we allow her to be taken we shall be deserted by our wives
and sweethearts. What! let such a ship as this go for nothing! ’Twould
break the heart of every pretty girl in New York.”
The crew responded with three cheers and ran to the braces. The
_President_ came around on the other tack. But she did not get on board
the _Endymion_, for her prudent captain tacked her as soon as he saw
the sails of the _President_ lift. This is not to say that he was a
coward; he merely was not “uncircumspect.” He was “wary” enough to hold
the advantage his good ship gave him.
[Illustration:
_Despatch_
_Majestic_
_Endymion_
_Tenedos_
_President_
_Pomone_
The _President_ Engaging the _Endymion_, while Pursued by the British
Squadron.
_From a wood-cut in the “Naval Monument.”_]
By dusk, however, Decatur found the _Endymion_ broad off to starboard,
and a fierce cannonade followed at musket-range. The Americans fired
rigging-cutting shot as well as round, and one of the chain-shot
stripped the entire foresail from the _Endymion_. And as for the
round shot, they played such havoc with masts and guns that the
_Endymion_ was well-nigh wrecked, while her fire was entirely stopped.
She was, in short, whipped. Decatur might now have exchanged ships with
Captain Hope, without material difficulty, but that would now avail
nothing because she was too badly crippled to escape the others. So he
had to turn once more to fly.
But this was a hopeless effort, because the _President_ had been
crippled too badly on the bar to outsail the others. Moreover, he had
lost several of his best officers. First Lieutenant Fitz-Henry Babbitt
was standing near a hatch when a cannon-ball took off his right leg and
he pitched head-first down the hatch. His leg was broken anew and his
skull was fractured, yet he lived two hours and dictated messages to
his friends before he died.
Lieutenant Archibald Hamilton (son of the former Secretary of the
Navy)--he who had carried the _Macedonian’s_ flag to Washington--was
cut in two by another round shot as he stepped to speak to Second
Lieutenant John Temple Shubrick. And then as the _Endymion’s_ fire
slackened, Lieutenant Edward F. Howell was killed. He was leaning over
the rail looking away at the dim outline of the _Endymion_ when he said
to Midshipman Emmet:
“Well, we’ve whipped that ship, at any rate.”
Just then a single gun flashed from the frigate and he continued:
“No, there she is----” But he never finished the sentence, for a
grape-shot crashed through his brain killing him instantly. And that
was the last gun fired from the _Endymion_.
In turning to fly, Decatur squared away before the wind and set
studding-sails just as a heavy mass of clouds obscured the moon. In
doing so he turned the stern of the _President_ directly toward the
_Endymion_, and he was so close to her that she might have raked him
terribly. The fact that she did not fire a shot then proves that she
could not. For two hours Decatur ran without seeing the enemy, but when
the clouds cleared away (it was then 11 o’clock at night) he found both
the _Pomone_ and the _Tenedos_ within point-blank range. “The _Pomone_
opened her fire on the port bow, within musket-shot, the other about
two cables’ lengths astern, and the rest, with the exception of the
_Endymion_, within gunshot. Thus situated, with about one-fifth of my
crew killed and wounded, my ship crippled, and a more than fourfold
force opposed to me, without a chance of escape, I deemed it my duty to
surrender.” So wrote Decatur. He hauled down the flag after the first
broadside of the _Pomone_.
The officers of the _Pomone_ did not see that the flag was down and
fired again, when Decatur shouted:
“She means to sink us. To your quarters, my lads, and renew your fire!”
But before they got their guns cast loose the _Tenedos_ ranged up on
the other side and hailed:
“What ship is that?”
Decatur replied:
“The American frigate _President_. We have surrendered.”
The _Tenedos_ sent a boat and took possession, but Decatur gave
his sword to Captain John Hayes, of the _Majestic_, that was soon
alongside. Hayes, of course, returned it with the usual complimentary
speech.
Although the facts of the movements in battle here given appear
in the British histories--although it is admitted that both the
_Pomone_ and the _Tenedos_ were beside the _President_ before Decatur
surrendered--the British historians treat the battle as a victory won
by the _Endymion_, and print a table showing the relative forces of the
two ships! And Allen, in his table, prints the number of the crew of
the _Endymion_ as three hundred and nineteen, although he says in the
body of his story that her crew numbered “three hundred and nineteen
men and twenty-seven boys.” The number of officers carried in addition
to these is not given. And the British Government, to perpetuate the
idea that the _Endymion_ captured the _President_, gave her captain a
gold medal and promoted her executive officer.
[Illustration:
_Tenedos._
_President._
_Pomone._
Capture of the _President_ by a British Squadron.
_From a rare lithograph._]
However, Rear-Admiral H. Hotham, in reporting her capture to
Vice-Admiral Cochrane, said: “I have the honor to acquaint you with the
capture of the United States ship _President_ by the following force,
_viz._: the _Majestic_, Captain Hayes; the _Tenedos_, Captain Hyde
Parker; the _Endymion_, Captain Hope; the _Pomone_, Captain Lumley.”
Further than that, all these ships shared in the prize-money. To this
may be added the words of Admiral Cochrane, at a public dinner, some
years later, when some younger British officers were felicitating
themselves on the victory, as they called it, of the _Endymion_.
“The _President_ was completely mobbed,” he said.
But when all this is said--when it is proved by the enemy’s reports
that a squadron captured the _President_--it is perfectly clear to an
impartial mind, as Roosevelt says, that Decatur “acted rather tamely,
certainly not heroically, in striking to the _Pomone_.”
Because the American Navy was insignificant in the number of its ships
when compared with the enemy--because it always will be comparatively
small in numbers--_it is the duty of every American officer to fight
as long as he can float and fire a gun._
Jeremiah O’Brien, with his Machias haymakers on a merchant-sloop,
points his finger at Stephen Decatur with a well-disciplined crew on
the man-of-war.
As the _President_ did all of her fighting with the _Endymion_ and
surrendered as soon as the other two frigates were upon her, the
losses on both are interesting. The _President_ lost twenty-four
killed and fifty-five wounded. The _Endymion_ lost eleven killed and
fourteen wounded. Since the _President_ threw 765 pounds of shot to the
_Endymion’s_ 680, the difference in casualties seems remarkable until
it is noted that the _President_ fired chiefly at the _Endymion’s_
rigging--it was a fight to escape on the part of the _President_ after
it was found the _Endymion_ could not be boarded. Decatur crippled the
_Endymion_ until she was thrown out of the battle absolutely. He could
have chosen his position and shot her to pieces had she been alone. He
“incidentally killed eleven men.” The _Endymion’s_ gunners aimed lower,
and killed more. The battle lasted two hours and a half.
The _President_ was carried to the Bermudas. There a newspaper called
the _Gazette_ printed an article so scandalous that the British
officers compelled the editor to publish a retraction, and a pugnacious
midshipman, R. B. Randolph, of the _President_, publicly thrashed him.
But the articles in this newspaper are used by the historian James in
writing the story of the capture.
On the way to the Bermudas a gale came on, when the _President_ was
dismasted. The _Endymion_ was not only dismasted but had to throw over
all the guns (short thirty-twos) on her forecastle and quarter-deck.
The _President_ was so badly strained when on the bar at Sandy Hook
that she was never commissioned in the British Navy. But, although she
had been derisively called “the waggon” while she carried the American
flag, her lines were followed by her captors in building new ships
after she was taken, and so, too, was her style of armament.
It is interesting, in view of the changes in British naval ideas which
the two American frigates they captured wrought, to note that in
Peake’s “Rudiments of Naval Architecture,” a British work, formerly
a text-book in all English-speaking navies, the ideal frigate there
described has a gun-deck length of one hundred and seventy-six feet,
a breadth of fifty-two feet, and a depth of hold of only seventeen
feet--which, if slang be permitted, is “seeing” the American model
and “going several better.” The _President_ was one hundred and
seventy-five feet long by forty-five broad and twenty deep. And as
for guns, while the Yankees of 1812 used long twenty-fours for the
main-deck battery, to the infinite amusement as well as the scorn
of the British, Peake’s ideal frigate carried six long eight-inch
guns (sixty-eight-pounders!) and twenty-two long thirty-twos, besides
twenty-two thirty-twos on the upper deck that were only a foot
shorter-than those below. Thus they had, with experience, added to the
weight of the broadside they found on the _President_ one hundred and
forty-three pounds, and by the use of long upper-deck guns they had
vastly increased the effectiveness of a broadside.