CHAPTER XV._With Porter in the Essex A Story of His Famous Cruise in the Southern Waters During the War of 1812

ON PAROLE.

During the greater portion of that terrible time which has been so

vividly described by one who afterward became familiar with all the

horrible details, I had but little idea of what was going on, save among

us on the gun-deck.

We had nothing to do with the poor efforts at handling the sorely

wounded ship, and could only load and fire so long as a gun's crew

remained alive.

When one fell dead or wounded at his task another was called to fill his

place, and speedily the deck was so littered with the lifeless or the

dying that some of us would be summoned to aid the surgeon's force in

dragging them out of the way.

As during the first portion of the engagement, I was burning with the

fever of battle, and had so little knowledge of what was being done that

I could not have said whether one hour or ten had elapsed since the

action was begun. It seemed to me as if we had been half an ordinary

lifetime at this business, and I had stood so long beneath the shadow

of the death angel's wings that I took it for granted I should be

numbered with the slain when the conflict ceased, but gave no heed to

such possibility.

Phil and I knew vaguely, because of the dreadful slaughter which

followed, when the frigate's bow payed off while Captain Porter was

trying to beach her, and we came to realize dimly--as though it was

something which did not concern us personally--that we were being so

badly cut to pieces as to make it certain our people must finally yield

to the enemy; but above all was the one thought, a single desire, to do

as much damage as possible to the Britishers before our ship went down.

Then, when we were in position where we could fire a broadside, we began

to cheer once more, believing that after all our disadvantages we might

compel the foe to retire; but our hearts did not sink, perhaps because

we were too much excited to realize it, when the hawser of the sheet

anchor parted, leaving us once again where we could be raked.

When the ship was on fire we ran to the spar-deck, yet fighting the

flames, and neither Phil nor I knew until afterward that permission had

been given the men to leap overboard and save themselves.

We would not have deserted the ship, however, because both of us were

following Master Hackett very closely; it seemed much as though he had

become a part of us, and we could do nothing save by his side or under

his direction.

Why we three, when all those brave hearts were sent into eternity on

that 28th day of March, should have escaped a wound I am unable to say;

it must have been, as my mother said, that God was not yet ready to

receive us into that portion of his kingdom that had been allotted us.

The old man took us lads by the hand when finally Captain Porter gave

orders that the colors be hauled down in token of surrender, and there

we stood as if unable to move or speak, when the Britishers came on

board.

The living were allowed to bury the dead; the wounded were taken on

shore, and then we were, with many others, sent on board the _Cherub_,

where we were by no means badly treated. More than one Britisher on

board that ship was ashamed, as I myself heard them say, at our having

been attacked while disabled, and nearly all did whatsoever they might

to ease the burden of grief and disappointment.

There is no good reason why I should set down here what we did or said

during such time as we remained in the harbor of Valparaiso, for it

would be sad reading. It can well be supposed that we mourned for our

brave fellows who had been killed, and our hearts went out in sympathy

to those wounded ashore; but as for ourselves, we could do nothing save

exist.

Then came the day when it was made known that Captain Hillyar had

decided it would be quite out of the question to hamper himself with so

many prisoners, and the _Essex Junior_ was to be converted into a

cartel[5] to take us home after we had given our paroles.

It seemed most wonderful that after passing through so many dangers we

were really to see our native country once more. I wept tears of joy

when the news came to me, and was not ashamed of so doing. During the

fight, and for many a long day afterward, I thought of myself as so

nearly in the clutches of death that I was already done with the things

of this world.

When the arrangements had finally been made, however, we learned that my

cousin, Lieutenant McKnight, Mr. Adams, the chaplain, Mr. Lyman, a

master's mate, and eleven of our sailors had already been exchanged for

some prisoners taken from the _Sir Andrew Hammond_, and were then on

board the _Essex Junior_.

Later, after we had sailed for the United States, my cousin and Mr.

Lyman went to Rio de Janeiro in the _Phoebe_ in order to give some

testimony in behalf of the captors. From that port they sailed in a

Swedish brig bound to England, and since that moment it has been

impossible to learn aught concerning their fate. The captain of the brig

declares that his passengers were sent on board the British sloop-of-war

_Wasp_, at their own request. The _Wasp_ was never heard from after she

parted company with the brig; but it is my opinion, and shared by many,

that Lieutenant McKnight and his companion were foully murdered by the

Swede.

We left the port of Valparaiso with our papers in good order, and all on

board rejoicing at the prospect of seeing their loved ones once more. At

that time I believed nothing could tempt me to leave my mother again;

but "once a sailor always a sailor" is the proverb, and I am inclined to

think it has in it much truth.

The voyage was a prosperous one; we doubled Cape Horn without

difficulty or incident, and had we but been in the good ship _Essex_,

returning home after a successful cruise, the days would not have been

long enough for all our happiness. As it was, however, we lived over and

over again the past, discussing the battle which had cost us so dearly

and left the poor old frigate a wreck in the harbor of Valparaiso, and

speaking tenderly with many a choking sob of the shipmates who stood

gallantly to their posts of duty until death struck them down.

Now we were returning on parole, the survivors of a ship's company which

had struck their colors to the enemy, and it weighed us down, even

though we knew full well that the cruise of the _Essex_ had been of

greatest value to our country.

We talked of the old ship as if she had once been a living thing, and

regretted most deeply that we had not succeeded in beaching her, or that

we had extinguished the flames when her hold was apparently a mass of

fire.

In fact, we went over all the details of our voyage which was ending so

sadly, never tiring during all the long weeks, and many times did we

conjure up pictures of our shipmates who had been left behind on

Nukuheva, wondering what they would do after months had passed and we

failed to return, or speculating upon the possibility that they would

attempt the homeward cruise in one of the prizes.

Poor fellows! While we spoke of them as living happily and amid plenty,

they were battling for life, as I may one day set down in detail, if it

so be that this feeble apology for a landsman's yarn finds favor with

those who may read it.

The voyage on the cartel was a prosperous one, as I have already said,

and in due time we were off the port of New York, believing that within

a few hours, at the longest, we would be at liberty to go wheresoever it

pleased us. The _Essex Junior_ was no more than thirty miles from land

when we sighted a Britisher who speedily gave us to understand that we

must heave to and show our papers.

The stranger proved to be the _Saturn_, a razee (meaning a ship-of-war

cut down to a smaller size by reducing the number of decks), commanded

by Captain Nash.

We had not supposed there might be any question of our detention, for we

had a passport in due form from Captain Hillyar; but this Britisher took

it into his head that there must be something wrong with our craft; he

even questioned the right of Captain Hillyar to parole us, and ended by

giving the order that we lay by him during the night.

Immediately visions of a British prison danced before our eyes. We had

been forced into a fight when our ship was little better than a wreck,

by one Englishman, and now here was another who proposed to take in

charge a lot of paroled men who were free to sail to their port of

destination according to the usages of war among all nations.

After a time of jawing and tongue wagging among our sailors, we came to

believe that Captain Porter was the one whom the Britisher particularly

desired to hold; for surely he could have no wish to hamper himself with

a lot of seamen whom he must, beyond a peradventure, set at liberty when

his government learned the facts in the case.

What they would do with our captain no one seemed to so much as guess;

we had decided among ourselves that some indignity would be put upon

him, and when the word was passed from one to another that Captain

Porter was inclined to make his escape in one of the small boats, every

man jack volunteered to pull him ashore.

To row a ship's boat thirty miles, with the chances of being lost in the

fog which was even then creeping over the waters, seemed like a

desperate undertaking; but when Master Hackett, who had been selected by

the crew as their spokesman, went aft and made known to Captain Porter

what they desired to do, he accepted the offer without hesitation.

One of our boats was launched to leeward, where she might not be seen by

those on the razee, and our commander, with little Midshipman Farragut

by his side, lowered himself into the stern-sheets after the crew were

at their stations.

Six hardy seamen gave way at the oars, and Phil and I waved our hats in

parting at Master Hackett, whom we did not see again until many a long

day had passed.

The Britisher caught a glimpse of the small boat as she pulled out past

our ship, and he pitched a shot after her as a signal to heave to; but

the old shellbacks who sat at the oars were not the kind to be

frightened by the burning of British powder. They had sniffed the odor

many times before, and if they would voluntarily remain on a burning

ship while the enemy was plugging ball after ball into her as if she had

been no more than a target, they could be depended upon to hold their

course regardless of Captain Nash and the razee _Saturn_.

Before the Britishers could fire at them again they were lost to view

in the fog, and, as we learned two days afterward, landed in safety on

Long Island.

Next morning Captain Nash, after examining our papers once more, gave us

permission to continue the voyage, and before nightfall we were lying in

the harbor of New York, rejoicing at having escaped death or a British

prison.

Yes, we were made much of, once it was known in the city who we were,

but of that there is no reason why I should speak at any length.

I should add, however, that after sailing and rowing sixty miles or

more, the boat in which was our commander arrived at Babylon, on the

south side of Long Island, and even then her occupants were not free

from trouble. Captain Porter was suspected by the citizens of being a

British officer, and but for the fact that he had his commission from

Congress in his pocket, he might have been detained.

He made his way to New York, where he was received with demonstrations

of most profound respect; and when the exploits of the _Essex_ had been

told, every city, village, and hamlet in the country sung the praises of

the frigate and those who manned her.

Phil and I went home as soon as it was possible to escape from those who

were eager to show their admiration of what had been done by the

_Essex_, and I carried in my pocket a song which was made especially for

the frigate. It was printed and sold on the streets; there was in the

verses no little praise for all hands; but the lines I set down here

pleased me more than all the rest, since they referred to that gallant

sailor who by his skill and courage had made it possible for any of us

to see home again.

"From the laurel's fairest bough

Let the muse her garland twine,

To adorn our Porter's brow,

Who, beyond the burning line,

Led his caravan of tars o'er the tide.

To the pilgrims fill the bowl,

Who, around the southern pole,

Saw new constellations roll,

For their guide."

FOOTNOTE:

[5] A ship employed in the exchange of prisoners, or in communicating

with the enemy.