in the harbor three American merchantmen. No sooner had Endicott
told his story to their commanders than they resolved to attempt the
recapture of the _Friendship_, for they recognized the fact that, once
the natives found that they could attack with impunity a vessel flying
the stars and stripes, no American would be safe upon those coasts.
This, remember, was in the days when we had no Asiatic squadron and
when Americans doing business in that remote quarter of the globe had,
in large measure, to settle such scores for themselves. There have,
indeed, been hundreds of occasions on these far-distant seaboards,
which the historians have either forgotten, or of which they have
never known, when American merchant sailors engaged in as desperate
actions and fought with as reckless courage against overwhelming odds
as did ever the men who wore the navy blue. This was one of those
occasions. In those days, when the fewness of prowling gunboats offered
the pirates of Malaysia many opportunities to ply their trade, all
merchantmen venturing into those waters went armed, and their crews
were as carefully trained in cutlass drill and the handling of guns
as they were in boat drill and in handling the sails. Therefore,
notwithstanding the fact that their combined crews numbered barely half
a hundred men, the three American ships which the next morning bore
down on Qualla Battoo were not to be despised.
To the message sent by the American captains to the rajah of Qualla
Battoo demanding the immediate surrender of the _Friendship_, he
returned the insolent reply: “Why don’t you come and take her--if you
can?” As soon as this message was received, the American vessels ran in
to the shore as close as they dared and, bringing every gun to bear,
opened fire upon the town, the forts at Qualla Battoo, which mounted
several heavy guns, replying without effect. Though the bombardment
destroyed a number of native huts, the American commanders quickly
recognized that it was doing no serious harm and decided to get the
business over with by making a boat attack on the _Friendship_ and
retaking her at the point of the cutlass. Three boats were accordingly
lowered and, loaded with sailors armed to the teeth and eager to avenge
their countrymen, steered toward the _Friendship_, whose bulwarks were
black with Malays. As the boats drew within range the Malays, who were
armed with muskets of an antiquated pattern, greeted them with a heavy
fire; several of the crews dropped forward, wounded, and for a moment
the progress of the boats was checked. “Give way, men! Give way all!”
bellowed the officers, and, thus steadied, the sailors bent again to
their oars. As they swung alongside the _Friendship_ the sailors at
the bow and stern of each boat held it in place with boat-hooks, while
the crews, pistols in their belts and cutlasses between their teeth,
swarmed up the side in obedience to the order: “Boarders up and away!”
They may have been amateurs at the business, these merchant seamen,
but they did the job as though they were seasoned man-of-war’s men
with “U. S.” stamped in gilt upon their hatbands. There have been few
more gallant or daring actions in the history of the sea, for the
boarders numbered less than twoscore men all told, and awaiting them on
the decks above were three hundred desperate and well-armed natives.
Though bullets and arrows and javelins were rained down upon them,
the Americans went up the side with the agility of monkeys; though
the Malays slashed at them with scimitars and _krises_ and lunged at
them with spears, the seamen, their New England fighting blood now
thoroughly aroused, would not be denied. Scrambling over the bulwarks,
they fairly hewed their way into the mass of brown men, hacking,
stabbing, shooting, cursing, cheering--a line of grim-faced fighters
sweeping forward as remorselessly as death. Before the ferocity
of their attack the Malays, courageous though they were, became
panic-stricken, broke, and ran, until, within five minutes after the
Americans had set foot upon the _Friendship’s_ decks, such of the enemy
as were not dead or wounded had leaped overboard and were swimming
for the shore. Upon examining the vessel, Captain Endicott found that
she had been rifled of everything that was portable, including twelve
thousand dollars in coin. Even the copper bolts had been taken from her
timbers and everything that could not be taken away had been wantonly
destroyed. So great was the havoc that had been wrought that it was
impossible to continue the voyage; so, after effecting temporary
repairs at Muckie, Captain Endicott and the survivors of his crew
sailed for home and, with the exception of one of them, out of this
story.
If the rajah of Qualla Battoo had been acquainted with the manner of
man who at this time occupied the White House, he would probably have
thought twice before he molested an American vessel. With far less
provocation than that given by the Malays, Andrew Jackson had virtually
exterminated the powerful nation of the Creeks; defying the power of
Spain, he had invaded the Floridas, captured Spanish forts, seized
Spanish towns, and executed Spanish subjects. In fact, he was the very
last man who could be affronted with impunity by any sovereign--much
less by the ruler of an insignificant state in Malaysia. When the
news of the attack on the _Friendship_ and the murder of her American
sailors reached Washington, the 44-gun frigate _Potomac_, Captain John
Downes, lay in New York harbor waiting to convey Martin Van Buren, the
newly appointed minister to the court of St. James, to England. But
Jackson, who always wanted quick action, ordered Captain Downes to
sail immediately for Sumatran waters and teach the Malays that, merely
because they happened to dwell at the antipodes, they could not escape
American retribution.
On the 6th of February, 1832--a year to a day after the treacherous
attack on the _Friendship_--the _Potomac_ appeared off Qualla Battoo.
As Captain Downes had planned to give the Qualla Battooans as much of
a surprise as they had given Captain Endicott, he ordered the guns
run in, the ports closed, the topmasts housed, and the Danish colors
displayed, so that to the untrained native eye the big frigate would
have the appearance of an unsuspecting merchantman. Even the officers
and men who were sent in a whale-boat to take soundings and to choose
a place for a landing were dressed in the nondescript garments of
merchant sailors, so that the hundreds of Malays who lined the shore
did not hesitate to threaten them with their weapons. John Barry,
the second mate of the _Friendship_, had come with the expedition as
a guide and from the whale-boat he had indicated to the officers the
mouth of the river, where a landing could be effected with comparative
ease. Everything being in readiness, Captain Downes issued orders that
the landing would take place at midnight. The fact was impressed upon
every one that if the Qualla Battooans were to be taken by surprise,
the strictest silence must be observed. At the hour appointed, the
men assembled at the head of the gangway on the side away from the
town and, at the whispered order, noiselessly took their places
in the waiting boats. Through a fragrance-laden darkness, under a
purple-velvet sky, the line of boats pulled silently for the shore, the
occasional creak of an oar-lock or the clank of a cutlass being drowned
by the thunder of the surf. As the keels grated on the beach, the
men jumped out and formed into divisions in the darkness, the boats,
with enough men to handle them, being directed to remain outside the
line of breakers until they were needed. No time was lost in forming
the column, which was composed of a company of marines, a division of
seamen, a division of musketeers and pikemen, and another division of
seamen, the rear being brought up by a gun crew dragging a six-pounder
which the sailors had dubbed the “Betsy Baker.”
The Qualla Battooans, who were far from being on good terms with the
neighboring tribes, had encircled their town with a chain of forts
consisting of high stockades of sharpened teakwood logs loopholed for
musketry. In the centre of each of these stockaded enclosures stood
a platform raised on stilts to a height of fifteen or twenty feet,
from which swivel-guns could sweep an attacking force and to which the
defenders could retreat for a last desperate stand in case an enemy
should succeed in taking the stockade. Barry, who was well acquainted
with the defenses of the town, had drawn a map indicating the position
of the various forts, so, as soon as the debarkation was completed,
the divisions marched off to take up their positions in front of the
forts which they had been designated to capture. To Lieutenant Huff,
commanding the division of musketeers and pikemen, had been assigned
the taking of the fort on the northern edge of the town, which was
garrisoned by a strong force of Malays under Rajah Maley Mohammed,
one of the most powerful chieftains on the west coast of Sumatra.
As the Americans stealthily approached in the hope of taking the
garrison by surprise, their presence was discovered by a sentry and
an instant later flame spurted from every loophole in the stockade as
the defenders opened fire. The Yankee sailors paused only long enough
to pour in a single volley and then, their bugles screaming the charge,
raced for the stockade gate. It was built of solid teak and defied the
efforts of the sailors to batter it down with their axes; whereupon
a marine dashed forward with a bag of powder, a fuse was hastily
attached and lighted, and when the smoke of the ensuing explosion
cleared away the gates had disappeared. Through the breach thus made,
the Americans poured and an instant later were at hand-grips with the
enemy. For twenty minutes the struggle within the stockade was a bloody
one, for the Malays fought with the courage of desperation, asking no
quarter and giving none. But their numbers were unavailing against the
discipline and determination of the Americans, who, by a series of
rushes, drove the enemy before them until they finally retreated to the
shelter of their high platform, drawing the ladders up after them. Now
the struggle entered upon its most desperate phase, for the defenders,
anticipating no mercy, prepared to sell their lives at the highest
possible price. From the bamboo poles of which the huts were built the
dexterous sailors quickly improvised ladders and, rushing forward
under cover of a heavy rifle fire, planted them against the platform on
all four sides. Then, while the riflemen picked off every defender who
ventured to expose himself, the sailors swarmed up the ladders, firing
their pistols pointblank into the savage faces which glared down upon
them from the platform’s edge. It was a perilous feat, this assault by
ladders on a platform held by a desperate and dangerous foe, but its
very daring made it successful, and almost before the Malays realized
what had happened the Americans had gained the platform and were at
their throats. It was all over save the shouting. Those of the warriors
who were not despatched by the sailors leaped from the platform only
to be shot by the Americans below. It was a bloody business. The rajah
fought with the ferocity of a Sumatran tiger, even after he was dying
from a dozen wounds, slashing with his scimitar at every American who
came within reach, until a bayonet thrust from a marine sent him to the
Moslem paradise. As he fell, a young and beautiful woman, who, from her
dress, was evidently one of his wives, sprang forward and, snatching up
the scimitar which had dropped from his nerveless fingers, attacked the
Americans like a wildcat, laying open one man’s head and slicing off
the thumb of another. The sailors, loath to fight a woman--particularly
one so young and lovely--fell back in momentary confusion, but as they
attempted to surround her, she weakened from loss of blood caused by
a stray bullet, the scimitar fell from her hand, and she fell forward
dead across the body of her husband.
While this struggle was in progress, Lieutenants Edson and Tenett, in
command of the marines, had surprised the fort in the middle of the
town, battered in the gates, and, after a brisk engagement, had routed
the garrison. The first division of seamen, under Lieutenant Pinkham,
had been ordered to take the fort in the rear of the town, but it was
so cleverly concealed in the jungle that Mr. Barry was unable to locate
it in the darkness, whereupon Pinkham joined Lieutenant Shubrick’s
command in an assault upon the most formidable fort of all, which
occupied an exceptionally strong position on the bank of the river.
Here the reigning rajah of Qualla Battoo had collected several hundred
of his best fighting men, who announced that they would die rather than
surrender. And they kept their word. By this time daybreak was at hand,
and as soon as the Americans came within range the Malays opened on
them with their swivel-guns, which were mounted on the high platform
in the centre of the stockade. Taking such shelter as they could find,
the Americans opened a brisk rifle fire, but the walls were of teak,
which turned a bullet as effectually as armor-plate, and it soon became
evident that if the place was to be taken, some other means of attack
must be adopted. Leaving sufficient men in front of the fort to keep
the Malays fully engaged, Lieutenant Shubrick with the fusileers and
the “Betsy Baker” made a détour, and, unobserved by the defenders,
succeeded in reaching the river bank at the rear of the fort. But here
the Americans met with a surprise, for, lying in the river, a few rods
off the fort, were three large and heavily armed _proas_ filled with
warriors awaiting a favorable opportunity to take a hand in the battle.
But this was just such an opportunity as the gun crew had been hoping
and praying for. Swinging their little field-piece into position, they
trained it on the crowded deck of the nearest of the pirate craft,
and the first intimation the Malays had that the Americans were in
their vicinity was when they were swept by a storm of grape which
turned their decks into a shambles. So deadly was the fire of the
American gunners that, though the Malays succeeded in getting up sail
on one of the _proas_ and running her out of the river, the crews of
the other two boats were compelled to jump overboard and swim to the
opposite bank. Before they could escape into the bush, however, they
were intercepted by a force of warriors under our old friend, Po Adam,
who, having seen the approach of the _Potomac_ and shrewdly suspecting
that she was a war-ship, had hastily collected his fighting men and,
slipping up the coast, had hovered in the jungle at the outskirts
of the town, awaiting an opportunity to assist the Americans and,
incidentally, to even up a few scores of his own.
The _proas_ thus disposed of, Lieutenant Shubrick ordered his bugler
to sound the “charge,” which was the signal agreed upon with the other
portion of his force, whereupon they were to storm the citadel from
the front while he attacked it from the rear. As the bugle sang its
piercing signal, the gunners sent a solid shot from the “Betsy Baker”
crashing into the gates of the fort, and at the same instant the whole
line raced forward at the double. Though the gates were splintered,
they were not down, but half a dozen brawny bluejackets sprang at
them with their axes, and before their thunderous blows they went
crashing in. But as the head of the storming column burst through
the passageway thus opened they were met with a blast of lead which
halted them as abruptly as though they had run against a granite wall.
A sailor spun about on his heels and collapsed, an inert heap, with a
bullet through his brain; another clapped his hand to his breast and
gazed stupidly at the ever-widening splotch of crimson on his tunic;
all down the column could be heard the never-to-be-forgotten sound of
bullets against flesh and the groans or imprecations of wounded men.
“Come on, men! Come on!” screamed the officers. “Get at the beggars!
Give ’em the bayonet! Get it over with! All together, now--here we go!”
and, themselves setting the example, they plunged through the opening,
cutlass in hand. For a few moments the battle was as desperate as any
ever waged by American arms. The cutlasses of the sailors fell like
flails, and when they rose again their burnished blades were crimson.
The marines swung their bayonets like field-hands loading hay, and at
every thrust a Malay shrieked and crumpled. Meanwhile the little squad
of artillerymen had dragged their gun to an eminence which commanded
the interior of the stockade and from this place of vantage were
sweeping bloody lanes through the crowded mass of brown men. But the
Malays were no cowards. They knew how to fight and how to die. As fast
as one man went down another sprang to take his place. The noise was
deafening: the _bang--bang--bang_ of muskets, the crack of pistols,
the rasp of steel on steel, the deep-throated hurrahs of the sailors,
the savage yells of the Malays, the groans and curses of the wounded,
the gasps of the dying, the labored breathing of struggling men, the
whole terrifying pandemonium punctuated at thirty-second intervals by
the hoarse bark of the brass field-gun. Magnificently as the Malays
fought, they could not stand against the cohesion and impetus of the
American assault, which pushed them back and carried them off their
feet as a ’varsity football team does a team of scrubs. After a quarter
of an hour of fighting the survivors of the garrison retreated to their
platform in the air, leaving the space within the stockade carpeted
with their dead and wounded. Even then the Malays never dreamed of
surrendering, but constantly called down to the Americans in broken
English to “Come and take us.” To add to the confusion, if such a thing
were possible, the portion of the stockade captured by Lieutenants Huff
and Edson had, in pursuance of orders, been set on fire. So rapidly did
the flames spread among the sun-dried, straw-thatched huts, however,
that for a few minutes it looked as though Lieutenant Shubrick’s party
would be cut off. The men handling the “Betsy Baker” having run out of
ammunition, a messenger was hastily despatched to the boats for more
and returned on a run with several bags of bullets. One of these was
stuffed into the muzzle and the little gun was trained on the Malays
who occupied every foot of the aerial retreat. When the smoke cleared
away it was seen that the bag of bullets, fired at such close range,
had created awful havoc among the defenders, for dead and dying men
were scattered everywhere. Instantly Shubrick appreciated that now was
his time to act, before the Malays had an opportunity to recover from
their confusion. “Now’s our chance, boys!” he shouted. “Let’s get up
on top there and clean out the nest of niggers.” At the words, his
bluejackets rushed forward with a cheer. Nothing could stop them. Some
ascended hastily constructed ladders; others swarmed up the poles which
supported the platform as they were accustomed to swarm up the masts at
sea, wriggling over the edge of the platform, emptying their pistols
into the snarling countenances above them, and, once on their feet,
going at the Malays with cold steel. The battle in the air was short
and savage. In five minutes not an unwounded Malay remained within the
citadel, and, amid a hurricane of cheers, the star-spangled banner was
broken out from the staff where so lately had flaunted the standard
of the rajah--the first time that our flag was ever raised over a
fortification on Asiatic soil.
By this time, the Qualla Battooans were so thoroughly demoralized that
the capture of the two remaining forts was effected with comparatively
little difficulty. The companies composing the expedition now fell in
upon the beach, and the roll was called to ascertain the casualties
and to learn if any men had been left in the jungle. It was found that
the Americans had had only two killed and eleven wounded--an amazingly
small loss in view of the desperate character of the fighting. The
Malays, on the other hand, though fighting from behind fortifications,
lost upward of four hundred men.
The next day, learning that the Malays were still defiant and that a
large force of warriors was gathering at the back of the town, Captain
Downes weighed anchor and, standing as close inshore as the water
permitted, opened fire with his heavy guns, completing the destruction
of the forts, setting fire to the town, and killing a considerable
number of warriors. For more than an hour the bombardment continued,
the American gunners choosing their marks, laying their guns, and
placing their shots with the same coolness and accuracy which, years
later, was to distinguish their successors at Santiago and Vera Cruz.
The Qualla Battooans were even more terrified by the thunder of the
_Potomac’s_ broadsides than by the havoc that they wrought, for they
had never heard big guns or seen a war-ship in action before. Soon
white flags began to appear at various spots along the beach, and when,
in acknowledgment of the signal, the bombardment ceased, a _proa_ set
out through the surf toward the frigate. As it came alongside it was
found to contain emissaries from the surviving rajahs who had come to
beg for peace. The awed and humbled chieftains passed between double
ranks of bluejackets and marines to the quarter-deck, where they were
received by Captain Downes, who was in full uniform and surrounded by
a glittering staff. Nothing was left undone to impress the Malays with
the might and majesty of the nation they had offended or their own
insignificance, they being compelled to approach the American commander
on their knees, bowing their heads to the deck at every yard. But they
had had their lesson; their insolence and haughtiness had disappeared;
all they wanted was peace--peace at any price.
The next morning the crew of the _Potomac_ were gladdened by the cheery
notes of the bo’sn’s whistle piping: “All hands up anchor for home.”
Her mission had been accomplished. As the splendid black-hulled vessel
stood out to sea under a cloud of snowy canvas, the grim muzzles of
her four and forty guns peering menacingly from her open ports, the
chastened and humbled survivors of Qualla Battoo stood on the beach
before their ruined town and watched her go. At the mouths of her
belching guns they had learned the lesson that the arm of the great
republic is very long, and that if need be it will reach half the world
around to punish and avenge.
UNDER THE FLAG OF THE LONE STAR
UNDER THE FLAG OF THE LONE STAR
Had you stood on the banks of the Brazos in December of the year in
which the nineteenth century became old enough to vote and looked
northeastward across the plains of central Texas, your attention
would doubtless have been attracted by a rolling cloud of dust. From
out its yellow haze would have crept in time a straggling line of
canvas-covered wagons. Iron-hard, bearded men, their faces tanned
to the color of a much-used saddle, strode beside the wheels, their
long-lashed blacksnakes cracking spasmodically, like pistol-shots,
between the horns of the plodding oxen. Weary-faced women in sunbonnets
and calico, with broods of barelegged, frowzy-headed youngsters huddled
about them, peered curiously from beneath the arching wagon-tops. A
thin fringe of scouts astride of wiry ponies, long-barrelled rifles
resting on the pommels of their saddles, rode on either flank of the
slowly moving column. Other groups of alert and keen-eyed horsemen led
the way and brought up the rear. Though these dusty migrants numbered
less than half a thousand in all, though their garments were uniform
only in their stern practicality and their shabby picturesqueness,
though their only weapons were hunting rifles and the only music
to which they marched was the rattle of harness and the creak of
axle-trees, they formed, nevertheless, an army of invasion, bent on the
conquest not of a people, however, but of a wilderness.