fifteen guns. In the harbor were moored nineteen gunboats, two
galleys, two schooners, and a brig. The available force under the
command of the Bashaw numbered not less than twenty-five thousand men.
It was no pygmy undertaking upon which the Americans had embarked.
On the 31st of August, 1804, the first attack was made; and though
only a bombardment of the town had been contemplated, there followed
one of the most desperate hand-to-hand naval battles recorded in
history.
It was a sultry midsummer day, and the white walls of the city of
Tripoli glared under the fierce rays of a tropical sun. A light breeze
stirred the surface of the water, and made life on the ships bearable.
Before this breeze the American squadron ran down towards the town.
All preparations had been made for a spirited bombardment; and as the
Americans drew near the shore, they saw that the Tripolitans had
suspected the attack, and had made ready for it.
The attacking forces formed into two lines, with the regular naval
vessels in the rear, and the gunboats and bomb-vessels in front. As
the vessels in the van were to bear the brunt of the battle, they were
manned by picked crews from the larger vessels, and had for their
officers the most daring spirits of the Mediterranean squadron. At
half-past two the firing commenced, and soon from every vessel in the
American line shells and shot were being thrown into the city of the
Bashaw. The Tripolitan batteries returned the fire with vigor, and
their gunboats pressed forward to drive the assailants back. At the
approach of the Tripolitan gunboats, the Americans diverted their aim
from the city, and, loading with grape and canister, turned upon
their foes a murderous fire. Upon the eastern division of the enemy's
gunboats, nine in number, Decatur led the four boats under his
command. The advance of the enemy was checked; but still the Americans
pressed on, until fairly within the smoke of the Tripolitans' guns.
Here the boats were held in position by the brawny sailors at the
sweeps, while the gunners poured grape and canister into the enemy.
Fearfully were the Americans outnumbered. They could hope for no help
from their friends in the men-of-war in the rear. They were hemmed in
on all sides by hostile gunboats, more strongly manned, and heavier in
metal, than they. They were outnumbered three to one; for gunboat No.
3, which had belonged to Decatur's division, had drawn out of the
fight in obedience to a signal for recall, which had been displayed by
mistake on the "Constitution." Then Decatur displayed his desperate
courage. Signalling to his companions to close with their adversaries
and board, he laid his vessel alongside the nearest gunboat; and in a
trice every American of the crew was swarming over the enemy's
bulwarks. Taken by surprise, the Turks retreated. The gunboat was
divided down the centre by a long, narrow hatchway; and as the Yankees
came tumbling over the bulwarks, the Turks retreated to the farther
side. This gave Decatur time to rally his men; and, dividing them into
two parties, he sent one party around by the stern of the boat, while
he led a party around the bow. The Turks were dazed by the suddenness
of the attack, and cowed by the fearful effect of the Americans' last
volley before boarding. Their captain lay dead, with fourteen bullets
in his body. Many of the officers were wounded, and all the survivors
were penned into a narrow space by the two parties of blue-jackets.
The contest was short. Hampered by lack of room in which to wield
their weapons, the Turks were shot down or bayoneted. Many leaped over
the gunwale into the sea; many were thrown into the open hatchway; and
the remnant, throwing down their arms, pleaded piteously for quarter.
Decatur had no time to exult in his victory. Hastily securing his
prisoners below decks, and making his prize fast to his own vessel, he
bore down upon the Tripolitan next to leeward.
While shaping his course for this vessel, Decatur was arrested by a
hail from the gunboat which had been commanded by his brother James.
He was told that his brother had gallantly engaged and captured a
Tripolitan gunboat, but that, on going aboard of her after her flag
had been struck, he had been shot down by the cowardly Turk who was in
command. The murderer then rallied his men, drove the Americans away,
and carried his craft out of the battle.
Decatur's grief for the death of his brother gave way, for the time,
to his anger on account of the base treachery by which the victim met
his death. Casting prudence to the winds, he turned his boat's prow
towards the gunboat of the murderer, and, urging on his rowers, soon
laid the enemy aboard. Cutlass in hand, Decatur was first on the deck
of the enemy. Behind him followed close Lieut. Macdonough and nine
blue-jackets. Nearly forty Turks were ready to receive the boarders.
As the boarders came over the rail, they fired their pistols at the
enemy, and then sprang down, cutlass in hand. The Turks outnumbered
them five to one; but the Americans rallied in a bunch, and dealt
lusty blows right and left. At last, Decatur singled out a man whom he
felt sure was the commander, and the murderer of his brother. He was a
man of gigantic frame; his head covered with a scarlet cap, his face
half hidden by a bristly black beard. He was armed with a heavy
boarding-pike, with which he made a fierce lunge at Decatur. The
American parried the blow, and make a stroke at the pike, hoping to
cut off its point. But the force of the blow injured the Tripolitan's
weapon not a whit, while Decatur's cutlass broke short off at the
hilt. With a yell of triumph the Turk lunged again. Decatur threw up
his arm, and partially avoided the thrust; so that the pike pierced
his breast, but inflicted only a slight wound. Grappling the weapon,
Decatur tore it from the wound, wrested it from the Turk, and made a
lunge at him, which he avoided. The combatants then clinched and fell
to the deck, fiercely struggling for life and death. About them fought
their followers, who strove to aid their respective commanders.
Suddenly a Tripolitan officer, who had fought his way to a place above
the heads of the two officers, aimed a blow at the head of Decatur.
His victim was powerless to guard himself. One American sailor only
was at hand. This was Reuben James, a young man whose desperate
fighting had already cost him wounds in both arms, so that he could
not lift a hand to save his commander. But, though thus desperately
wounded, James had yet one offering to lay before his captain,--his
life. And he showed himself willing to make this last and greatest
sacrifice, by thrusting his head into the path of the descending
scimetar, and taking upon his own skull the blow intended for Decatur.
The hero fell bleeding to the deck; a pistol-shot from an American
ended the career of the Turk, and Decatur was left to struggle with
his adversary upon the deck.
But by this time the great strength of the Turkish captain was
beginning to tell in the death-struggle. His right arm was clasped
like an iron band around the American captain, while with his left
hand he drew from his belt a short _yataghan_, which he was about to
plunge into the throat of his foe. Decatur lay on his side, with his
eyes fixed upon the face of his foe. He saw the look of triumph flash
in the eyes of the Turk; he saw the gleaming steel of the _yataghan_
as it was drawn from its sheath. Mustering all his strength, he
writhed in the grasp of his burly foe. He wrested his left arm clear,
and caught the Turk's wrist just as the fatal blow was falling; then
with his right hand he drew from his pocket a small pistol. Pressing
this tightly against the back of his enemy, he fired. The ball passed
through the body of the Turk, and lodged in Decatur's clothing. A
moment later the Tripolitan's hold relaxed, and he fell back dead;
while Decatur, covered with his own blood and that of his foe, rose to
his feet, and stood amidst the pile of dead and wounded men that had
gathered during the struggle around the battling chiefs.
The fall of their captain disheartened the Tripolitans, and they
speedily threw down their arms. The prize was then towed out of the
line of battle; and, as by this time the American gunboats were
drawing off, Decatur took his prizes into the shelter of the
flag-ship.
While Decatur had been thus engaged, the gunboats under his command
had not been idle. Lieut. Trippe, in command of No. 6, had fought a
hand-to-hand battle that equalled that of Decatur. Trippe's plan of
attack had been the same as that of his leader. Dashing at the enemy,
he had let fly a round of grape and canister, then boarded in the
smoke and confusion. But his boat struck that of the enemy with such
force as to recoil; and Trippe, who had sprung into the enemy's
rigging, found himself left with but nine of his people, to confront
nearly twoscore Tripolitans. The Americans formed in a solid phalanx,
and held their ground bravely. Again the two commanders singled each
other out, and a fierce combat ensued. The Turk was armed with a
cutlass, while Trippe fought with a short boarding-pike. They fought
with caution, sparring and fencing, until each had received several
slight wounds. At last the Tripolitan struck Trippe a crushing blow on
the head. The American fell, half stunned, upon his knees; and at this
moment a second Tripolitan aimed a blow at him from behind, but was
checked and killed by an American marine. Rallying all his strength,
Trippe made a fierce thrust at his adversary. This time the sharp pike
found its mark, and passed through the body of the Tripolitan captain,
who fell to the deck. His men, seeing him fall, abandoned the contest,
and the Americans were soon bearing away their prize in triumph. But
in the excitement of victory no one thought to haul down the
Tripolitan flag, which-still flaunted defiant at the end of the long
lateen mast. So, when the prize came near the "Vixen," the American
man-of-war, mistaking her for an enemy, let fly a broadside, that
brought down flag, mast and all. Luckily no one was hurt, and the
broadside was not repeated.
But by this time the wind had veered round into an unfavorable
quarter, and the flag-ship showed a signal for the discontinuance of
the action. The gunboats and their prizes were taken in tow by the
schooners and brigs, and towed out of range of the enemy's shot. While
this operation was going on, the "Constitution" kept up a rapid fire
upon the shore batteries, and not until the last of the smaller craft
was out of range, did she turn to leave the fray. As she came about, a
shot came in one of her stern-ports, struck a gun near which Commodore
Preble was standing, broke to pieces, and scattered death and wounds
about.
When the squadron had made an offing, Preble hoisted a signal for the
commanders to come aboard the flag-ship, and make their reports. He
was sorely disappointed in the outcome of the fray, and little
inclined to recognize the conspicuous instances of individual
gallantry shown by his officers. He had set his heart upon capturing
the entire fleet of nine Tripolitan gunboats, and the escape of six of
them had roused his naturally irascible disposition to fury. As he
stalked his quarter-deck, morose and silent, Decatur came aboard. The
young officer still wore the bloody, smoke-begrimed uniform in which
he had grappled with the Turk, his face was begrimed with powder, his
hands and breast covered with blood. As he walked to the quarter-deck,
he was the centre of observation of all on the flag-ship. Stepping up
to the commodore, he said quietly,--
"Well, commodore, I have brought you out three of the gunboats."
Preble turned upon him fiercely, seized him with both hands by the
collar, and shaking him like a schoolboy, snarled out,--
"Ay, sir, why did you not bring me more?"
The blood rushed to Decatur's face. The insult was more than he could
bear. His hand sought his dagger, but the commodore had left the
quarter-deck. Turning on his heel, the outraged officer walked to the
side, and called his boat, determined to leave the ship at once. But
the officers crowded about him, begging him to be calm, and reminding
him of the notoriously quick temper of the commodore. While they
talked, there came a cabin steward with a message. "The commodore
wishes to see Capt. Decatur below." Decatur hesitated a moment, then
obeyed. Some time passed, but he did not re-appear on deck. The
officers became anxious, and at last, upon some pretext, one sought
the commodore's cabin. There he found Preble and Decatur, sitting
together, friendly, but both silent, and in tears. The apology had
been made and accepted.
There is one humble actor in the first attack upon Tripoli, whom we
cannot abandon without a word. This is Reuben James. That heroic young
sailor quickly recovered from the bad wound he received when he
interposed his own head to save his commander's life. One day Decatur
called him aft, and publicly asked him what could be done to reward
him for his unselfish heroism. The sailor was embarrassed and
nonplussed. He rolled his quid of tobacco in his mouth, and scratched
his head, without replying. His shipmates were eager with advice.
"Double pay, Jack: the old man will refuse you nothing;" "a
boatswain's berth;" "a pocket-full of money and shore leave," were
among the suggestions. But James put them aside. He had decided.
"If you please, sir," said he, "let somebody else hand out the
hammocks to the men when they are piped down. That is a sort of
business that I don't exactly like."
The boon was granted; and ever afterwards, when the crew was piped to
stow away hammocks, Reuben James sauntered about the decks with his
hands in his pockets, the very personification of elegant leisure.
For modesty, the request of the preserver of Decatur is only equalled
by that of the sailor who decided the battle between the "Bon Homme
Richard" and the "Serapis." He had stationed himself on the yard-arm,
and was dropping hand-grenades upon the deck of the "Serapis." At last
a well-aimed grenade set fire to some powder on the enemy's ship, and
virtually decided the day in favor of the Americans. When asked by
Paul Jones what he would have as a reward for this great service, he
suggested double rations of grog for the next week as the proper
recompense. This he got, and no more.
But to return to the American fleet before Tripoli. Four days were
spent in repairing damages, and on the 7th of August a second attack
was made upon the town. The disposition of the American forces was
much the same as on the occasion of the first attack, although the
Americans were re-enforced by the three captured gunboats. The
fighting was confined to long-range cannonading; for the enemy had
been taught a lesson, and was afraid to try conclusions hand to hand
with the Americans. About three o'clock in the afternoon, a tremendous
explosion drew the gaze of every one to the spot where gunboat No. 8
had been anchored. At first only a dense mass of smoke, with the water
surrounding it littered with wreckage, was to be seen. When the smoke
cleared away, the extent of the disaster was evident. The gunboat had
blown up. Her bow alone remained above water, and there a handful of
plucky men were loading the great twenty-six-pound cannon that formed
her armament. Lieut. Spence commanded the gunners, and urged them on.
"Now, lads, be lively," he cried. "Let's get one shot at the Turks
before we sink."
Every ship in the squadron was cheering the devoted crew of No. 8.
From every vessel anxious eyes watched the men who thus risked their
lives for one shot. The water was rushing into the shattered hulk; and
just as Spence pulled the lanyard, and sent a cast-iron shot into
Tripoli, the wreck gave a lurch, and went down. Her crew was left
struggling in the water. Spence, who could not swim, saved himself by
clinging to an oar, while his men struck out for the nearer vessels,
and were soon receiving the congratulations of their comrades.
In this attack, Richard Somers, a most courageous and capable officer,
who a few weeks later met a tragic end, narrowly escaped death. He was
in command of gunboat No. 1, and while directing the attack stood
leaning against her flagstaff. He saw a shot flying in his direction.
Involuntarily he ducked his head, and the next instant the flying
shot cut away the flagstaff just above him. When the action was over,
Lieut. Somers stood by the pole, and found that the shot had cut it at
the exact height of his chin.
After firing for about three hours, the American squadron drew off.
Little had been accomplished, for the stone walls and fortresses of
Tripoli were not to be damaged very greatly by marine artillery. The
Americans themselves had suffered seriously. Their killed and wounded
amounted to eighteen men. They had lost one gunboat by an explosion,
and all the vessels had suffered somewhat from the Tripolitan fire.
That night the Americans were gladdened by the arrival of the frigate
"John Adams," bringing letters and news from home. She brought also
the information that re-enforcements were coming. Accordingly Preble
determined to defer any further attack upon Tripoli until the arrival
of the expected vessels. In the mean time he had several interviews
with the Bashaw upon the subject of peace; but, as the Turk would not
relinquish his claim of five hundred dollars ransom for each captive
in his hands, no settlement was reached.
While waiting for the re-enforcements, Preble continued his
preparations for another attack. The ships were put into fighting
trim, munition hauled over, and repeated and thorough reconnoissances
of the enemy's works made. It was while on the latter duty, that the
brig "Argus" narrowly escaped destruction. With Preble on board, she
stood into the harbor, and was just coming about before one of the
batteries, when a heavy shot raked her bottom, cutting several planks
half through. Had the shot been an inch higher, it would have sunk the
brig.
By the 24th of August, Preble's patience was exhausted; and, without
waiting longer for the expected squadron, he began an attack upon the
town. On the night of the 24th, a few shells were thrown into Tripoli,
but did little damage. Four days later, a more determined attack was
made, in which every vessel in the squadron took part. Two of the
enemy's gunboats were sunk; but with this exception little material
damage was done, though the Americans chose the most advantageous
positions, and fired fast and well. It was becoming evident that
men-of-war were no match for stone walls.
During this engagement, the American fleet came within range of the
Bashaw's palace, and the flying shot and shell drove that dignitary
and his suite to a bomb-proof dungeon. One heavy shot flew in at the
window of the cell in which Capt. Bainbridge was confined, and
striking the wall, brought down stones and mortar upon him as he lay
in bed, so that he was seriously bruised. But the American captain was
in no way daunted, and the next day wrote in sympathetic ink to
Preble, telling him to keep up his fire, for the Tripolitans were
greatly harassed by it.
On Sept. 3, yet another attack upon the town and fortress was made. As
in the foregoing instances, nothing was accomplished except the
throwing of a vast quantity of shot and shell. Capt. Bainbridge, in a
secret letter to Preble, reported, that of the shells he had seen
falling in the city very few exploded, and the damage done by them was
therefore very light. Preble investigated the matter, and found that
the fuse-holes of many of the shells had been stopped with lead, so
that no fire could enter. The shells had been bought in Sicily, where
they had been made to resist a threatened invasion by the French. It
is supposed that they had been thus ruined by French secret agents.
But, before this time, Commodore Preble, and the officers under his
command, had about reached the conclusion that Tripoli could not be
reduced by bombardment. Accordingly they cast about for some new
method of attack. The plan that was finally adopted proved unfortunate
in this instance, just as similar schemes for the reduction of
fortresses have prove futile throughout all history. Briefly stated,
the plan was to send a fire-ship, or rather a floating mine, into the
harbor, to explode before the walls of the fortress, and in the midst
of the enemy's cruisers.
The ketch "Intrepid," which had carried Decatur and his daring
followers out of the harbor of Tripoli, leaving the "Philadelphia"
burning behind them, was still with the fleet. This vessel was chosen,
and with all possible speed was converted into an "infernal," or
floating mine. "A small room, or magazine, had been planked up in the
hold of the ketch, just forward of her principal mast," writes
Fenimore Cooper. "Communicating with this magazine was a trunk, or
tube, that led aft to another room filled with combustibles. In the
planked room, or magazine, were placed one hundred barrels of
gunpowder in bulk; and on the deck, immediately above the powder, were
laid fifty thirteen-and-a-half-inch shells, and one hundred nine-inch
shells, with a large quantity of shot, pieces of kentledge, and
fragments of iron of different sorts. A train was laid in the trunk,
or tube, and fuses were attached in the proper manner. In addition to
this arrangement, the other small room mentioned was filled with
splinters and light wood, which, besides firing the train, were to
keep the enemy from boarding, as the flames would be apt to induce
them to apprehend an immediate explosion."
Such was the engine of death prepared. The plan of operations was
simply to put a picked crew on this floating volcano, choose a dark
night, take the "infernal" into the heart of the enemy's squadron,
fire it, and let the crew escape in boats as best they might.
The leadership of this desperate enterprise was intrusted to Lieut.
Richard Somers. Indeed, it is probable that the idea itself originated
with him, for a commanding officer would be little likely to assign a
subordinate a duty so hazardous. Moreover, there existed between
Decatur and Somers a generous rivalry. Each strove to surpass the
other; and since Decatur's exploit with the "Philadelphia," Somers had
been seeking an opportunity to win equal distinction. It is generally
believed, that, having conceived the idea of the "infernal," he
suggested it to Preble, and claimed for himself the right of
leadership.
But ten men and one officer were to accompany Mr. Somers on his
perilous trip. Yet volunteers were numerous, and only by the most
inflexible decision could the importunate ones be kept back. The
officer chosen was Lieut. Wadsworth of the "Constitution," and the men
were chosen from that ship and from the "Nautilus."
As the time for carrying out the desperate enterprise drew near,
Preble pointed out to the young commander the great danger of the
affair, and the responsibility that rested upon him. Particularly was
he enjoined not to permit the powder in the ketch to fall into the
hands of the Tripolitans, who at that time were short of ammunition.
One day, while talking with Somers, Preble burned a port-fire, or
slow-match, and, noting its time, asked Somers if he thought the boats
could get out of reach of the shells in the few minutes it was
burning.
"I think we can, sir," was the quiet response.
Something in the speaker's tone aroused Preble's interest, and he
said,--
"Would you like the port-fire shorter still?"
"I ask no port-fire at all," was the quiet reply.
At last the day of the adventure was at hand. It was Sept. 4, the day
following the last attack upon Tripoli. The sky was overcast and
lowering, and gave promise of a dark night. Fully convinced that the
time for action was at hand, Somers called together the handful of
brave fellows who were to follow him, and briefly addressed them. He
told them he wished no man to go with him who did not prefer being
blown up to being captured. For his part, he would much prefer such a
fate, and he wished his followers to agree with him. For answer the
brave fellows gave three cheers, and crowded round him, each asking to
be selected to apply the match. Somers then passed among the officers
and crew of the "Nautilus," shaking hands, and bidding each farewell.
There were few dry eyes in the ship that afternoon; for all loved
their young commander, and all knew how desperate was the enterprise
in which he had embarked.
It was after dusk when the devoted adventurers boarded the
powder-laden ketch, as she lay tossing at her anchorage. Shortly after
they had taken possession, a boat came alongside with Decatur and
Lieut. Stewart in the stern-sheets. The officers greeted their
comrades with some emotion. They were all about of an age, followed
one loved profession, and each had given proofs of his daring. When
the time came for them to part, the leave-taking was serious, but
tranquil. Somers took from his finger a ring, and breaking it into
four pieces, gave one to each of his friends. Then with hearty
handshakings, and good wishes for success, Decatur and Stewart left
their friends.
On the ketch was one man who had not been accepted as a volunteer.
This was Lieut. Israel of the "Constitution," who had smuggled himself
aboard. With this addition to his original force, Somers ordered sail
made, and the "Intrepid" turned her prow in the direction of the
Tripolitan batteries.
As far as the harbor's mouth, she was accompanied by the "Argus," the
"Vixen," and the "Nautilus." There they left her, and she pursued her
way alone. It was a calm, foggy night. A few stars could be seen
glimmering through the haze, and a light breeze ruffled the water, and
wafted the sloop gently along her course. From the three vessels that
waited outside the harbor's mouth, eager watchers with night-glasses
kept their gaze riveted upon the spectral form of the ketch, as she
slowly receded from their sight. Fainter and fainter grew the outline
of her sails, until at last they were lost to sight altogether. Then
fitful flashes from the enemy's batteries, and the harsh thunder of
the cannon, told that she had been sighted by the foe. The anxious
watchers paced their decks with bated breath. Though no enemy was near
to hear them, they spoke in whispers. The shadow of a great awe, the
weight of some great calamity, seemed crushing them.
"What was that?"
All started at the abrupt exclamation. Through the haze a glimmering
light had been seen to move rapidly along the surface of the water, as
though a lantern were being carried along a deck. Suddenly it
disappeared, as though dropped down a hatchway. A few seconds
passed,--seconds that seemed like hours. Then there shot up into the
sky a dazzling jet of fire. A roar like that of a huge volcano shook
earth and sea. The vessels trembled at their moorings. The concussion
of the air threw men upon the decks. Then the mast of the ketch, with
its sail blazing, was seen to rise straight into the air, and fall
back. Bombs with burning fuses flew in every direction. The distant
sound of heavy bodies falling into the water and on the rocks was
heard. Then all was still. Even the Tripolitan batteries were silent.
For a moment a great sorrow fell upon the Americans. Then came the
thought that Somers and his brave men might have left the ketch before
the explosion. All listened for approaching oars. Minutes lengthened
into hours, and still no sound was heard. Men hung from the sides of
the vessels, with their ears to the water, in the hopes of catching
the sound of the coming boats. But all was in vain. Day broke; the
shattered wreck of the "Intrepid" could be seen within the harbor, and
near it two injured Tripolitan gunboats. But of Somers and his brave
followers no trace could be seen, nor were they ever again beheld by
their companions.
To Capt. Bainbridge in his prison-cell came a Tripolitan officer,
several days later, asking him to go to a point of rocks, and view
some bodies thrown there by the waves. Thither Bainbridge went, and
was shown several bodies shockingly mutilated and burned. Though they
were doubtless the remains of some of the gallant adventurers, they
could not be identified.
The exact reason for this disaster can never be known. Many have
thought that Somers saw capture inevitable, and with his own hand
fired the fatal charge; others believed the explosion to be purely
accidental; while the last and most plausible theory is, that a shot
from the enemy's batteries penetrated the magazine, and ended the
career of the "Intrepid" and her gallant crew. But however vexed the
controversy over the cause of the explosion, there has been no denial
of the gallantry of its victims. The names of all are honored in naval
annals, while that of Somers became a battle-cry, and has been borne
by some of the most dashing vessels of the United States navy.
It may be said that this episode terminated the war with Tripoli.
Thereafter it was but a series of blockades and diplomatic
negotiations. Commodore Barron relieved Preble, and maintained the
blockade, without any offensive operations, until peace was signed in
June, 1805. The conditions of that peace cannot be too harshly
criticised. By it the United States paid sixty thousand dollars for
American prisoners in the hands of the Bashaw, thus yielding to
demands for ransom which no civilized nation should for a moment have
considered. The concession was all the more unnecessary, because a
native force of insurrectionists, re-enforced by a few Americans, was
marching upon Tripoli from the rear, and would have soon brought the
Bashaw to terms. But it was not the part of the navy to negotiate the
treaty. That rested with the civilians. The duty of the blue-jackets
had been to fight for their country's honor; and that they had
discharged this duty well, no reader of these pages can deny.
PART II
BLUE-JACKETS OF 1812.
CHAPTER I.
THE GATHERING OF THE WAR-CLOUD. -- THE REVOLUTION ENDED, BUT
THE WAR FOR INDEPENDENCE YET UNFOUGHT. -- OUTRAGES UPON
AMERICAN SAILORS. -- THE RIGHT OF SEARCH. -- IMPRESSMENT. --
BOYHOOD OF COMMODORE PORTER. -- EARLY DAYS OF COMMODORES
PERRY AND BARNEY. -- BURNING A PRIVATEER. -- THE EMBARGO. --
WAR INEVITABLE.
On a bright November afternoon in the year 1783, the streets of New
York City, bordering on the bay, were crowded with excited people,
pushing and elbowing each other rudely, and all pressing down to the
water-side, where was collected a huge crowd, looking anxiously across
the broad waters of the noble bay, to a spot where lay anchored a
large squadron of ships. The taut cordage, the trimly squared yards,
and the rows of cannon protruding from the open ports made it evident
to the veriest landsman that many of the ships were men-of-war; while
the scarlet flags crossed by the emblem of St. George, flaunting from
the peak of every vessel, declared the allegiance of the fleet to the
monarch of Great Britain, against whose rule the hardy Colonists had
been for years waging a warfare, now to end in victory. Between the
ships and the landing-place of old Fort George, that then stood where
now extends the green sward of the Battery park, a fleet of long-boats
was actively plying; the long, swinging strokes of the blue-clad
sailors stamping them as men-o'-war's men beyond doubt. The
landing-place was thronged with troops, whose glistening muskets,
scarlet coats, gold trimmings, and waving plumes contrasted
beautifully with the bright blue jackets of the sailors, as file after
file of the soldiers boarded the boats, and were rowed away to the
waiting ships. The troops drawn up on the shore formed long lines of
scarlet against the green background of the bastions of Fort George.
The men standing at rest talked loudly to each other of the coming
voyage, and now and again shouted fiercely at some soberly clad
citizen who strolled too near the warlike ranks; for had not all the
sturdy citizens of New York come down to see the hated British
evacuate the city, forced out by the troops of Gen. Washington (plain
_Mr._ Washington, the British liked to call him)? The ragged gamins
scurried here and there, yelling ribald jests at the departing
soldiers; and the scarlet-coated troopers had hard work keeping down
their rising anger, as suggestive cries of "boiled lobsters" rose on
every side. Even the staid citizens could hardly conceal their
exultation, as they thought that with those soldiers departed forever
the rule of Great Britain over the Colonies. It was a quaint-looking
crowd that had gathered that day, at the end of the little town. The
sturdy mechanics and laborers, who were most numerous, were dressed in
tight leather or yellow buckskin breeches, checked shirts, and flaming
red flannel jackets. Their heads were covered with rusty felt hats,
cocked up at the sides into a triangular shape, and decorated with
feathers or bright buckles. On their feet were heavy leathern shoes,
fastened with huge brass buckles that covered the entire instep. Here
and there in the crowd stood a prosperous merchant or man of fashion,
whose garb, if less rough than that of his humbler fellow-citizen, was
no less odd and picturesque. At first sight, an observer might think
that all the men of New York were white-haired; but a closer
examination would show that the natural color of the hair was hid by
dense layers of white powder. The hair was done up in a short cue tied
by black ribbons, and on top of all rested a three-cornered cocked
hat, heavily laced with gold or silver braid. The coat was
light-colored, with a profusion of silver buttons, stamped with the
wearer's monogram, decorating the front. Over the shoulders hung a
short cape. The knee-breeches, marvellously tight, ended at the tops
of gaudy striped stockings, which in turn disappeared in the recesses
of pointed shoes adorned with gleaming buckles. The broad cuffs of the
coat-sleeves were heavily laden with lead, to keep them in proper
position.
[Illustration: Derelict.]
Such were the characteristics of the crowd that had assembled that day
to witness the closing scene of British domination in America. Even as
they stood there, they heard, faintly rising on the autumnal air, the
sound of the fife and drum, as the American troops came marching down
into the city, from their camp at the upper end of the island. And, as
the last boat-load of grenadiers pushes off from the shore, the crowd,
no longer restrained by the glittering bayonets, rushes down to the
water's edge, and hurls taunts and gibes after the retreating boats,
until the grizzled old soldiers curse the "Yankee rebels" fiercely,
under their mustaches, and beg the officers to give them a volley.
Now the advance guard of the little American army, with fifes
shrilling out the notes of "Yankee Doodle," comes marching down to the
fort. No gay trappings, scarlet or gold lace about these soldiers, but
ragged suits of homespun and homely flint-lock muskets, whose barrels
are better burnished within than without. They march quickly to the
water-front, and halt. The captain looks at the British squadron, now
getting under way, and then, with true soldierly instinct, flashes a
glance to the top of the flagstaff in the centre of the fort. His brow
contracts, he stamps his foot, and the soldiers and citizens who have
followed his glance break out into a cry of rage that rings far out
over the placid waters of the bay, and makes the tough old British
veterans chuckle grimly over the success of their little joke upon the
Yankees; for there, high above the heads of the wrathful crowd,
flaunting its scarlet folds over the roofs of the liberated city,
floats proudly the BRITISH FLAG.
"Tear it down!" The cry rises hoarsely from a thousand throats; and
the Colonial officer springs with glittering sword to cut the
halliards, but finds them cut away already, and the flag nailed to the
mast. Then a trim sailor-boy works his way through the crowd, and,
grasping the pole firmly, attempts to climb up, but soon slides down
ingloriously over the greasy surface, freshly slushed by the British
before their departure. The crowd yells in wrathful impotence; and a
few hot-headed youths spring forward, axe in hand, to bring down pole
and all to the earth. But the firm hand of the commanding officer
restrains them. He whispers a few words into their ears; and they
start briskly away, followed by a dozen or two of the steadily growing
crowd.
"Gen. Washington will be here soon," says the captain; "we must get
that rag down at once."
[Illustration: Cutting Away The Flag.]
In a few minutes the messengers return. They have been to a
neighboring hardware store, and startled the gray-haired old merchant
so that he stared vaguely at them through his spectacles, as they
fiercely demanded hammers, nails, and wooden cleats. Loaded with
these, they dash back to the scene of action; and again the sailor-boy
becomes the hero of the moment. With his pockets filled with cleats,
and his mouth stuffed with nails, he begins again his ascent of the
slippery staff. He nails cleat after cleat upon the pole, and step by
step mounts toward the top. At last he reaches the flag; and, with a
few quick jerks, it is torn from the pole, and thrown contemptuously
out into the air, to float down upon the crowd, and be torn to pieces
by curiosity seekers. Then the halliards are lowered, and soon the
flag of the young and struggling nation floats in the cool breeze;
while from the neighboring heights the cannon of the forts speak in
deep-mouthed salvos of applause, that mingle with the rejoicings of
the people, and do not cease until the ships of the enemy have passed
through the Narrows, and are out of sight and hearing. The British had
evacuated New York, and America had won her independence.
Not many years, however, had passed after this memorable event, when
the citizens not only of New York, but the people of all the United
States, began to find out that America had not won her true
independence, but merely a slight relief from the oppressions of Great
Britain. Already the nations of Europe were beginning to encroach upon
the rights and liberties of the infant nation. For this the States
were themselves greatly to blame. Nobly as they had fought in unison
to throw off the yoke of Great Britain, they fell into strife among
themselves as soon as the war was at an end, and by their quarrels and
bickerings led all the European nations to believe that the
contentious Colonies, like the Kilkenny cats, would end by destroying
each other. Such a nation could command little respect, and the
stronger powers were not slow to show their contempt for the United
States. American vessels, coming back to port, would report that a
British ship-of-war had halted them in mid-ocean, and seized American
sailors as suspected British deserters. Other American ships, sailing
full of hope from American ports, would never re-appear, and their
fate would be a mystery, until, after many months, some sailor
wandering home told of his ship's capture by a French privateer or
Tripolitan war vessel. For years a debasing tribute was paid to the
Bashaw of Tripoli, upon condition of his granting to American ships
the privileges of the sea, that are the undoubted rights of every
nation; yet even this compact was more often ignored than observed.
Small wonder was it that the sage old statesman, Benjamin Franklin, on
hearing a young man speak of the "glorious war for independence,"
responded gravely, "Say rather the war of the revolution: the war for
independence is yet to be fought."
In the year 1789, the States, after much debate and bickering, finally
ratified the document known as the Constitution of the United States.
While the work of the American Revolution was thus being completed,
and a new nation was being formed, events were transpiring on the
other side of the Atlantic that were destined to affect gravely the
growth of the new nation. The oppressed peasantry and laborers of
France, smarting under the wrongs of centuries, rose in a mighty wave,
and swept away the nobles, their masters. The royal head of King Louis
fell a prey to the remorseless spirit of the guillotine, and the reign
of terror in Paris began. Soon the roll of the drum was heard in every
European city, and the armies of every nation were on the march for
France. England was foremost in the fray; and the people of the United
States, seeing their old enemy at war with the country of Lafayette,
fired by generous enthusiasm, were ready to rush to the aid of their
old ally. But the wise prudence of their rulers restrained them; and
for the next twenty years the United States were neutrals, while all
the nations of Europe were plunged in war.
The first effect of this condition of affairs was most beneficial. As
neutrals, the ships of the United States could trade with all the
battling peoples; while any vessel flying a European flag was sure to
find an enemy somewhere on the broad seas, and suffer confiscation.
While France was giving her farmers and mechanics to follow in the
glorious footsteps of Napoleon, the industrious citizens of the United
States were reaping a rich reward in trade with the warring nation.
The farmers received the highest prices for their grain, the ingenious
mechanics of New England reaped fortunes from the sale of their wares,
and the shipyards were filled to their greatest capacity with the
graceful frames of fast clipper vessels destined for the trade with
Europe. In 1780 the shipping of the United States was confined to a
few coasting-vessels, and the American flag was seldom seen beyond the
Atlantic. Fifteen years later, the white sails of American ships
dotted every sea, and but few European ports did not show some trim
clipper floating in the harbor, bearing at her peak the stars and
stripes.
From Maine to Georgia the people were building ships, and manning
them. The vast forests resounded with the strokes of the woodman's
axe, getting out the timber; and the seaport towns were given over to
ship-wrights, who worked day and night at their craft. In New England
there sprung up a race of hardy seamen. Boys of twelve or fourteen ran
away to sea, made a coasting voyage or two, and, after a voyage to
some European port, became captains of ocean-going ships,--often
before they were twenty years of age. The people of the coastwise
towns of New England can tell of hundreds of such cases. There was
"Nat" Palmer of Stonington, who shipped when a boy of fourteen, and,
after four years' coasting, was made second mate of the brig
"Herselias," bound around Cape Horn, for seals. On his first voyage
the young mate distinguished himself by discovering the South Shetland
Islands, guided by the vague hints of a rival sealer, who knew of the
islands, and wished them preserved for his own trade, as the seals
swarm there by the hundred thousands. The discovery of these islands,
and the cargo of ten thousand skins brought home by the "Herselias,"
made young Palmer famous; and, at the age of twenty, he was put in
command of a sloop, and sent to the South Seas again. One day he found
his passage in the desired direction blocked by two long islands, with
a narrow opening between them. To go around the islands would have
been a long voyage; and the young captain headed his craft for the
opening, but soon found himself on the rocks. Luckily, the vessel
backed off, and the crew set about repairing damages. While thus
engaged, the great, blunt head of a whale was seen in the narrow
channel; and, after blowing a column of water high in the air, the
monster swam lazily through the strait. "If a whale can go through
that channel, I can," quoth "Cap'n Nat." And he forthwith did so.
Quick of observation, and prompt of action, the sailors of the United
States became the foremost seamen of the world, and guided their
little vessels over every known sea.
But the growing commerce of the United States was destined to meet a
series of checks, that seemed for a time likely to destroy it forever.
England, jealous of the encroachments of the Americans upon the broad
seas of which she had long called herself the mistress, began a series
of outrages upon American ships, and, not content with acting in open
hostility, incited the piratical rulers of Tripoli and Algiers to make
war upon American shipping. In this volume it is not my purpose to
tell of the means adopted by England to let the swarming ships of the
Barbary pirates out of the Mediterranean Sea, to prey upon the vessels
of the United States; nor do I intend to tell how, after peaceful
arguments had been exhausted, Decatur and Preble, with a fleet of
American vessels and a handful of fighting jack-tars, crossed the
ocean, and thrashed the pirates of the Mediterranean into subjection.
That may well be left for future consideration, and this chapter
devoted to a history of the acts of insolence and oppression on the
part of England, that finally forced the United States to declare war
against a power so vastly superior to them in wealth, population, and
military and naval strength.
The first great and crying outrage, protested against by the
statesmen, the newspapers, and the people of the United States, was
the so-called right of search. By this was meant the right claimed by
every British man-of-war to stop an American vessel on the high seas,
muster her crew on the forecastle, and seize and carry away any sailor
thought to be a native of Great Britain. This outrageous act was
committed time and time again by the commanders of British frigates,
who knew no easier way of filling up a short-handed crew than by
stopping some passing vessel flying the stars and stripes, and taking
from her the best-looking sailors of her crew. Hardly a week passed
without the arrival of a ship at New York, New London, or any of the
shipping towns of New England, bringing some such tale. The
merchant-vessel, skimming lightly over the ocean, at peace with all
the world, and with nothing to fear save the terrors of the storms,
against which the sturdy mariners knew so well how to guard, would be
suddenly halted by a shot from a frigate of a nation with whom the
United States had no quarrel. A hail from the frigate told the
American to come up into the wind, while a boat was sent aboard. Soon
a long-boat filled with man-o'-war's men, and with a beardless young
midshipman in the stern-sheets, came dancing over the water; and in a
minute or two a lieutenant, the middy, and a few sailors clambered
aboard the wondering merchantman. There was small ceremony about the
proceedings then.
"Muster your men aft," quoth the middy peremptorily; "and you'd better
be quick about it, too."
Perhaps the American captain protested,--they generally did,--and
talked about the peace between the nations, and the protection of his
flag; but his talk was usually of little avail.
"Get those man aft, and be quick about it," orders the British
officer. "You've got deserters from his Majesty's service in your
crew; and I'll have them. Do you want me to send the boat back for the
marines?"
The American crew came aft unwillingly, grumbling, and cursing his
Majesty's service under their breath, and formed a line before the
boarding officer. That worthy whispered a minute or two with the
boatswain and sailors who came aboard with him, and then, pointing out
one man, boldly claimed him as a British subject. American captains
declared that the man so chosen was generally the most ship-shape
sailor aboard; and indeed it seemed but natural that the English, in
filling out their crew, should choose the best. Sometimes the American
captain went on board the British ship, to protest against so summary
a draft upon his crew. In such a case he was usually received with
courtesy by the commander, but never did he regain his kidnapped
sailors. The commander trusted in every thing to his first lieutenant,
who boarded the merchantman; and that officer was thus made, in the
words of an English journalist, "at once accuser, witness, judge, and
captor."
The men thus pressed were expected to serve with all the zeal and
bravery of regularly enlisted sailors. The slightest sign of
hesitation or unwillingness was met with blows. A pressed man who
refused to serve was triced up, and lashed with the cat-o'-nine tails
until his back was cut to ribbons, and the blood spurted at every
blow. Few cared to endure such punishment twice. Yet the sailors taken
from the American ships lost no opportunity for showing their desire
to get out of the service into which they had been kidnapped.
Desertions from ships lying near the coast were of weekly occurrence,
although recaptured deserters were hanged summarily at the yard-arm.
Sailors who found no chance to desert made piteous appeals to the
American consuls in the ports at which they stopped, or wrote letters
to their friends at home, begging that something should be done to
release them from their enforced service. It was not the severity of
man-o'-war discipline that so troubled the poor fellows; many of them
were old man-o'-war's men, and all would have been glad of berths in
the United States navy; but the sight of the red flag of Great Britain
waving above their heads, and the thought that they were serving a
nation with which their country had just fought a bloody war, were
intolerable.
One "pressed man," on a British ship lying in the West Indies, managed
to write the following letter to a newspaper editor in New York, and,
after much planning, succeeded in mailing it.
Port Royal, Jamaica, June 30, 1811.
Mr. Snowden,--I hope you will be so good as to publish these few
lines. I, Edwin Bouldin, was impressed out of the barque
"Columbus" of Elizabeth City, and was carried on board his
Britannic Majesty's brig "Rhodian," in Montego Bay, commanded by
Capt. Mowbary. He told me my protection was of no consequence,
and he would have me whether or not. I was born in Baltimore, and
served my time with Messrs. Smith & Buchanan. I hope my friends
will do something for me to get my clearance; for I do not like
to serve any other country but my own, which I am willing to
serve. I am now captain of the forecastle, and stationed captain
of a gun in the waist. I am treated very ill, because I will not
enter. They request of me to go on board my country's ships to
list men, which I refused to do, and was threatened to be
punished for it.
I remain a true citizen of the United States
EDWIN BOULDIN.
Pathetic letters such as this appear often in the columns of the
newspapers published in the early part of this century; and are
usually accompanied by petitions from the relatives and friends of the
pressed man, begging that Congress take some action to secure American
sailors from such outrages. But year after year the practice went on,
and higher and higher grew the enmity between England and the United
States. Among the sailors who suffered impressment at the hands of the
British were many who afterward in the naval battles of the ensuing
war won ample revenge from the nation that had so abused their
liberties.
Most prominent of all these men was David Porter, who, from the humble
station of a cabin boy on his father's ship in 1796, rose in twenty
years to be commodore in the United States navy. The name of Porter is
one famous in the naval annals of the United States; and probably
there never existed a family in which the love for the life of a
fighting jack-tar was so strong as among these representative American
sailors. David Porter, sen., and Samuel Porter served the American
Colonies dashingly upon the sea in the Revolution. Of David Porter,
jun., we shall have much to say in this volume. Of his children the
eldest, William D., rose to the post of commodore, United States navy,
and died of wounds received in the civil war; Henry O. Porter was
first lieutenant of the "Hatteras" when she sunk before the fire of
the Confederate ship "Alabama;" Thomas Porter served in the Mexican
navy; Hambleton Porter died of yellow-fever while a midshipman in the
United States navy; Lieut. Theodoric Porter, U.S.A., was the first
officer killed in the Mexican war; and Admiral David D. Porter,
U.S.N., by virtue of his exploits on blue water and in the ditches and
bayous back of Vicksburg during the civil war, now stands at the head
of living naval officers.
But to return to David Porter. He was sixteen years old, when, in
1796, his father, having obtained command of a vessel in the West
India trade, determined to take the lad to sea, that he might learn
the profession of his ancestors. It was hardly a favorable time to
inspire an independent boy with admiration for the life of an American
merchant sailor. The United States had no navy to protect its merchant
ships; and the British cruisers that scoured the ocean felt little
hesitation about boarding the ships of the infant nation, and
kidnapping such sailors as they might desire. Of this young Porter
soon had evidence. While his ship, the "Eliza," was lying in the port
of Jeremie in San Domingo, a British frigate came into the harbor, and
dropped anchor near by. One morning the lookout on the "Eliza" saw a
boat, manned by armed men, put off from the frigate, and steer for the
American merchantman. The movement was quickly reported to Capt.
Porter, who was too old a seaman not to know what it portended, and
too plucky an American to submit willingly to any indignity. His
preparations were quickly made; and by the time the frigate's boat
came alongside, the crew of the "Eliza" were armed and ready to rush
to the deck at the first alarm. Capt. Porter with his officers and
son stood on the quarter-deck, and awaited with great dignity the
arrival of the boat. Soon the British came alongside; and an officer
in the stern-sheets announced that he was about to board the "Eliza,"
and demanded to search the vessels for deserters from the British
service.
Capt. Porter replied that his was an American ship, and the British
might board at their peril; for he was armed, and would resist the
boarders to the last extremity. A great laugh went up from the boat
alongside. A Yankee merchantman to resist British sailors, indeed! And
the officer, without more ado, ordered his men to board. Hardly had
the order passed his lips, than Porter's clear voice rang out, "Repel
boarders!" and the crew of the "Eliza," armed with pikes and muskets,
rushed upon their assailants, and drove them into the sea. Young
Porter was not behindhand in the fight, but lent his boyish aid to
the vindication of American sailors' rights. One man was shot down by
his side; and Porter received his first baptism of blood in this
encounter, which thus early rooted in his mind a detestation for the
arrogance of the British, and a determination to devote his life to
the cause of his seafaring countrymen.
On his second voyage, a year later, young Porter was destined to
experience still further the hardships and ignominy which American
sailors only too often encountered at the hands of the British. Once
again the boy, now a first officer, was walking the deck of his vessel
in a San Domingo port, when a boat's-crew from a British frigate came
on board on the usual errand of impressment. This time the sturdy,
independent spirit of the elder Porter was absent; and the captain of
the American vessel basely permitted a portion of his crew, among whom
was Porter, to be carried aboard the frigate, where they were to be
kept until they agreed to enlist. Loaded with irons, they were thrust
into "the brig," or guard-room of the frigate; but, though the case
seemed hopeless, Porter gallantly refused to enter the king's service,
and ceaselessly exhorted his comrades to stand firm against the
commands of the British. Days passed, and still the frigate's crew was
in no wise increased from among the obstinate Americans. The British
captain lost patience, and commanded that all the prisoners be brought
out on deck, triced up, and publicly flogged with the cat-of-nine
tails, for "the bad example they set the crew of his Majesty's ship."
The order was duly put into execution. The prisoners, still ironed,
were brought up under a heavy guard, and taken to the gratings; but
when young Porter reached the deck, and saw the ignominious punishment
in store for him, he fought desperately with his guards, and, finally
breaking away, ran below, and hid in some corner of the hold, from
which the most careful search failed to dislodge him. The captain
finally gave orders to leave him alone, saying, "He'll come out fast
enough when he gets hungry." But the lad did not wait for hunger to
drive him from his hiding-place. That very night he came from the
hold, crawled stealthily across the deck, and dropped into the water,
regardless of the sharks that abound in those tropic seas. A short
swim took him to a Danish vessel, by which he was carried across the
Atlantic. Only after many months of voyaging as a common sailor did
the lad succeed in working his way back to his home.
Even this experience could not deter the young seaman from again
seeking employment upon the billowy main, and for the third time he
shipped upon an American merchantman. Again his course lay toward the
West Indies, and again he was intercepted by the inevitable
man-of-war. This time he was not so fortunate as to escape until after
a month or more of captivity, during which time he was treated with
the greatest cruelty on account of his persistent refusal to serve
under any flag save that of his own country. At last he made his
escape, and reached home. By this time he was naturally somewhat
disgusted with the life of a sailor on an American merchant-vessel;
and he cast about for an appointment to the navy, which he soon
received. It is impossible to doubt that his three adventures with the
British press-gang had much to do with the ardor and bravery with
which in later days the young sailor, then elevated to the highest
ranks, did battle with the enemies of his country. When, at the close
of the War of 1812, the veteran naval officer looked back upon his
record during that conflict, he could point to one captured British
man-of-war and scores of captured British merchantmen as the measure
of his retaliation for the wrongs done him as a defenceless American
sailor-boy.
Oliver Hazard Perry, of whose famous victory over the British on Lake
Erie we shall speak later, also was brought into conflict with the
British in the days of the "right of search." His father, Christopher
Raymond Perry, in command of the United States ship "Gen. Greene," was
escorting an American brig freighted with a valuable cargo. Near
Gibraltar they were sighted by a British man-of-war, which bore down
quickly upon the two ships. Perry was an old and cautious naval
officer; and, though peace reigned between his country and Great
Britain, he no sooner saw an armed vessel approaching, than he put his
vessel in trim for action, and sent the crew to the guns. Nearer and
nearer came the great English man-o'-war; and, as she came within
range, a puff of smoke burst from her bow-port, and a ball skipped
along the water before Perry's unarmed convoy, conveying a forcible
invitation to heave to. Perry at once made signal to his convoy to pay
no regard to the Englishman; and, setting the American flag, the two
ships continued on their way. But at this moment the breeze died away,
and all three ships lay becalmed within easy range of each other. The
British captain was not slow to take advantage of this; and a boat
soon put off from his ship, and made for the American brig. This move
Perry promptly checked by a shot from the "Gen. Greene," which so
narrowly missed the boat that the crew thought it well to run
alongside the American man-o'-war, and arrange the matter peaceably.
As the boat came alongside the "Gen. Greene," the gangway was manned,
and the British officer escorted with the greatest formality to
Perry's presence.
He at once stated his purpose in attempting to board the merchantman;
claiming that, by virtue of the right of search, he was entitled to
visit the brig, and examine into the nationality of her crew.
"I deny the existence of any right, on the part of British vessels, to
search any American vessel, except with the consent of the American
commander," responded Perry; "and my shot was intended to warn you
that you had received no such permission."
By this time the British vessel had come within hailing distance of
the "Gen. Greene;" and the captain demanded why his boat had been
fired upon, and was now detained. Perry responded in the same words
with which he had answered the boarding-officer.
"It's a most surprising thing," shouted the Englishman, losing his
temper, "if a British seventy-four-gun ship cannot search a pitiful
little Yankee merchantman."
"By Heaven!" responded Perry. "If you were a ship of the first rate,
you should not do it, to the dishonor of my flag." And in an instant
the ports of the "Gen. Greene" were triced up, and the British captain
saw that his adversary was prepared for battle. After a moment's
thought, he abandoned all attempts at violence, and sent a courteous
letter to Perry, begging leave to visit the brig in search of British
deserters, which request Perry as courteously granted.
To this list of American seamen who suffered indignities at the hands
of the British, and afterwards won reparation from their enemies in
the War of 1812, may be added the name of Joshua Barney. Few Americans
have given to their country a longer service or more efficient aid
than he. In the little Colonial navy of the Revolution, he held high
rank, and won the plaudits of older sailors. At the close of the
Revolution, he served for a time in the merchant-marine; then entered
the naval service of France, and, at the first news of war between
England and America, returned to his country, to enlist under the
stars and stripes. It was while he was in command of a merchantman
that he was brought into collision with the British in a way that well
might make the doughty old sea-dog doubt if the Revolutionary days,
when he suffered in the noisome confines of Mill Prison, had not come
again.
It was in the summer of 1793, that the good ship "Sampson," two days
out from Cape Francois, West Indies, was slowly making her way
northward, over the tropic seas, and under the glaring rays of the
summer sun of the torrid zone. Capt. Barney and his crew were ever on
the watch for danger; for, in addition to the hurricanes and typhoons
common to the equatorial latitudes, much was to be feared from the
lawless British privateers that then swarmed in the West Indies and
Bermudas. That the "Sampson" was under the flag of a neutral power,
was but little protection; for the commanders of the semi-piratical
craft cared little for international law or for justice. War was
raging between France and England; and a mere suspicion of traffic
with French colonies was enough, in the eyes of these worthies, to
condemn a vessel of any nationality.
Knowing his danger, Capt. Barney strove to avoid the localities
frequented by the privateers, but to no avail. One bright morning, the
lookout reported three sail in sight from the masthead, and in a few
hours Barney found himself hemmed in by privateers. Three officers
boarded him, and began a rigid examination of the cargo and papers.
Two finally expressed themselves as satisfied of the neutral character
of the vessel; but the third exclaimed that he had discovered in the
cabin an iron chest, full of money, which surely proved that the
"Sampson" had something to do with the French, for "no blasted Yankee
ever had iron chests or dollars on board his vessel!" Such conclusive
proof as this could not be overlooked by the sapient privateers; and,
after a little consultation, they informed Capt. Barney that they
would let the ship go, if the money were given to them. As it amounted
to eighteen thousand dollars, Capt. Barney looked upon this demand as
nothing short of robbery, and indignantly refused to consider it;
whereupon his captors took from the "Sampson" all her crew except the
carpenter, boatswain, and cook, sent a prize-crew aboard, and ordered
that she be taken to New Providence, a British naval station. The
privateers were soon hull down on the horizon; and Barney found
himself a prisoner on his own ship, exposed to ceaseless insolence
from the British prize-master.
[Illustration: Commodore Perry.]
Several days passed, as the "Sampson" lay becalmed in the tropics.
Barney, though too old a sailor to be cast down by misfortune,
nevertheless chafed under his situation. From prize-master and
prize-crew he received nothing but scurrilous epithets; and the
oft-repeated murmurs of "Rebel rascal!" "Yankee traitor!" "Blow out
his brains!" and "Throw him overboard!" made it hard for him to
believe the Revolution over, and the United States and England at
peace. Even while they thus abused the captain, the rogues were
feasting upon his provisions and drinking his wines; and only his firm
refusal to give up his keys prevented their rifling his iron chest,
and filling their pockets with his dollars. At last he began to feel
that his life was no longer safe in the hands of his captors; and,
though he had by him but three men of his original crew, he determined
to attempt to recapture the ship.
One evening the captain managed to catch a few minutes' conversation
with the carpenter and boatswain of his own crew, and broached to them
the project for a recapture. No argument was needed to induce these
bold men to embark in the perilous enterprise. Indeed, from the very
moment of the capture, they must have cherished some such purpose; for
each had hidden away in his bunk a gun and bayonet. Barney, on his
part, had secreted a small brass blunderbuss and a broad-sword; and
with this meagre armament the three determined to take the ship from
its captors.
The success of the project then depended upon a favorable opportunity,
and the three conspirators watched eagerly for the decisive moment to
arrive. At last there came a day so squally that all the prize-crew
were kept busy with the sails all the morning. Much exhausted, the
sailors sat down to their dinner on the forecastle at noon, while the
three British officers spread their mess amidships. Barney saw that
the moment had arrived; and, giving the signal to his men, the
plotters went below for their weapons. Barney was the first to
re-appear,--the blunderbuss, loaded and cocked, in his hand, and the
naked cutlass under his arm. Hardly had he stepped on deck when one of
the officers saw him, and, throwing down dishes and dinner, sprang at
the American and grappled with him. Barney struggled violently, and
soon managing to get the blunderbuss against his enemy's shoulder,
fired it, filling the wretch's arm and side with buckshot. Freed from
his adversary, the gallant captain cut down with a blow of his
cutlass the second prize officer, who was advancing upon him; and the
third, seeing his two companions lying, drenched with blood, upon the
deck, ran below. In the mean time the crew, startled from their dinner
by the report of the blunderbuss, had rushed below for their weapons;
but the last man had hardly dived down the hatchway when the wily
carpenter and boatswain rushed forward, clapped on the hatches, and in
a trice had the British sailors nicely cooped up in the forecastle.
The two wounded officers were quickly cared for, and the unhurt
fugitive secured; and Barney found himself again in control of the
ship.
The victors then held a consultation as to their future action. They
controlled the ship, it was true; but what were three men to do with a
full-rigged ship on the stormy Atlantic? Clearly they must get aid
from their captives, or all might go to the bottom together.
Accordingly the three, with loaded weapons, went forward, and standing
at the hatchway, proposed terms to the imprisoned sailors below. Capt.
Barney acted as spokesman.
"You shall be released from confinement," cried he to the captives,
"and may now come on deck one at a time, each one bringing his weapons
with him."
The hatches were then thrown back, and the carpenter and boatswain
stood with cutlasses and muskets ready to cut down the first who
should make an offensive movement. The British saw the preparations
for their reception, and came up one at a time as ordered. As each
came up, his arms were seized and thrown overboard; and a gruff order
given for him to go forward. Before long the crew, deprived of all
means of resistance, were gathered on the forecastle. Barney then
retired to the quarter-deck, and ordered that the crew be mustered
before him.
"You are now my prisoners," said he; "and I have not only the power,
but the right, to hang every man jack of you. You seized this vessel
without any just cause, and simply because you were the stronger; and
you have further used that strength to abuse and ill-treat me and
waste my property. I do not propose to execute you, but will give you
the choice of two alternatives. You may either stay with me and work
this ship to Baltimore, there to be discharged with wages; or I will
give you a small boat with provisions, and set you adrift to shift for
yourselves. One condition I attach to the first alternative. If one
of you is seen talking with his former officers, or if one man steps
abaft the main-mast, he shall be instantly shot."
[Illustration: Barney Regains His Ship.]
The crew wasted no time in deliberation, but decided to stay with the
ship, and at once went forward on duty. Then began a fortnight of
ceaseless watchfulness and grave anxiety for Capt. Barney. At night he
never closed his eyes, but took his sleep by day in an armchair on
deck, his blunderbuss and cutlass by his side, and a sentinel ready to
awaken him at the slightest alarm. At last, however, he brought his
ship safely to Baltimore, and discharged his crew. But the memory of
that month of violence remained with him; and we shall hear of him
again as a brave sailor in the service of the United States, and an
uncompromising foe to England.
Among the most adventurous of American merchant seamen in the days
following the Revolution was Capt. Thomas Macdonough. Like others of
his class, his daring and ability as a navigator gained him a
commission in the very small American navy of that time. On one
occasion the United States ship "Siren," of which he was first
lieutenant, was lying at anchor in the harbor of Gibraltar, surrounded
by a number of merchantmen, from the peak of one of which floated the
stars and stripes. While pacing the deck one bright afternoon,
Macdonough observed a boat manned with armed men put off from a
British man-of-war that rode at anchor a mile away. At once his
suspicions were aroused, and with a strong glass he watched the
movements of the British. As he had expected, the boat steered
straight for the American merchantman; and through his glass
Macdonough could see the boarders scramble over the bulwarks of the
vessel, and soon thereafter return to their boat, taking with them a
man dressed in the garb of a merchant seaman, and tightly bound.
The captain of the "Siren" was on shore; and Macdonough, as the
officer in command, determined that so audacious an impressment should
not succeed under the guns of an American war-vessel, small though she
might be.
"Clear away the long-boat," he shouted; and the boat quickly was
lowered to the water, and a dozen jackies grasped the oars. Macdonough
sprung into the stern-sheets, and grasped the tiller.
"Let fall! Give way! Pull hard, men!" He gave the orders in quick
succession, and laid his course straight for the British boat, which
was soon overtaken. He laid his boat alongside the British cutter, and
demanded that the captive be given up. The English officer began to
protest, but Macdonough cut his protests short.
"You have no right to that man. He is an American sailor.--Tumble in
here, my man."
The pressed man, delighted with the prospect of rescue, sprang into
the American boat; and before the British officer had recovered from
his amazement sufficiently to offer resistance, the blue-jackets were
pulling away toward the "Siren," with the long, swinging, man-o'-war
stroke. When he reached his vessel, Macdonough retired to his cabin to
await further developments, which were not long in appearing.
"Boat from the British frigate heading for the ship, sir," reported
the officer of the deck, in a few minutes.
"Very good, sir. Have the gangway manned," returned the lieutenant.
The boat was soon alongside; and the British captain, white with rage,
leaped to the gangway, and was shown to Lieut. Macdonough's cabin.
"How dare you take a man from a boat of his Majesty's ship, sir?" was
his salutation.
"'Dare' is not a word to be spoken to an officer of the United States
navy," responded Macdonough. "As for the man, he is a citizen of the
United States; and I propose to protect him, at all hazards."
"I'll bring my frigate alongside, and sink your beggarly little
craft," shouted the visitor, with a volley of oaths.
"That you may do," responded the American; "but while she swims, the
man you shall not have."
"You are a hair-brained young fellow, and will repent this rashness,"
cried the irate Briton. "Do you mean to say, that, if I had been in
that boat, you would have dared to commit such an act?"
"I should have made the attempt, sir, at all hazards."
"What, sir!" shouted the captain, greatly enraged, "would you venture
to interfere, if I should now impress men from that brig?"
"You have but to try it, sir," was the pithy response. And the British
captain returned to his frigate, vowing all sorts of vengeance, but
nevertheless did not again annoy the American ship.
While the popular clamor against the hateful right of search was still
at its height in America, Great Britain unwisely added yet another
outrage to the already long list of grievances complained of by the
Americans. Notwithstanding the danger of Barbary pirates and British
impressment, the merchants of the United States were carrying on a
thriving trade with France. England, then at war with the great
Napoleon, looked upon this commerce at first with disfavor, and
finally with such intense hatred that she determined to put an end to
it altogether. Accordingly, she issued the celebrated "Orders in
Council," forbidding all traffic with French ports. For such action
the imperious nation had no authority by any principle of
international law. Her blockade of the French ports was very
imperfect, and easily evaded. It is a perfectly well-established
principle of the common law of nations that a blockade, to be legal,
must be complete and effective; otherwise, it is known as a "paper
blockade," and neutral vessels are justified in attempting to evade
it. Instead of posting blockading vessels at the entrances of French
ports, to warn off all vessels, Great Britain contented herself with
licensing hordes of privateers, that roamed the seas and snapped up
vessels with little regard to law or justice. Hundreds of American
vessels were thus captured; for our trade with France and the French
West Indian colonies at that time was of vast proportions. The ocean
soon became so infested with privateers that every American
merchantman carried cannon, and an array of small-arms that would have
done credit to a sloop-of-war. The New England sailors became able
naval fighters, as well as experienced seamen; for a man shipping for
a voyage knew well that, in addition to battling with the angry
elements, he might be required to sight truly the great "long Tom," or
beat back piratical boarders at the muzzle of the muskets. But even
these heroic remedies could not save many a good ship.
Occurrences such as these fanned into flaming fury the smouldering
fires of the American hatred for Great Britain. The people saw their
old oppressor and enemy engaged in war with their old ally France, and
the popular cry went up for a union of France and the United States
against England. Happily, the statesmen of the time--Washington,
Hamilton, and Jay--were too firm of purpose, and too clear-sighted, to
be led away by popular clamor; and they wisely kept the United States
Government in a position of neutrality between the two nations. Deep
and loud were the murmurs of the people at this action. Could
true-hearted Americans desert their friends in such a manner? Never!
And so, whatever might be the policy of the rulers, the many-headed
people welcomed French ambassadors, feted the officers of visiting
men-of-war, and hung the tricolor and the stars and stripes side by
side on all public holidays.
It was in 1795, while the popular affection for France was at its
height, that a merchant-vessel flying the British flag sailed into
Boston Harbor, and made fast to the Long Wharf. Under her stern
appeared the legend, "The Betsy of St. Croix;" her decks were
littered with poultry and domestic animals, her cordage flapped
loosely in the breeze, and every thing about her bespoke the
merchant-vessel. Her captain, being hailed by the dock-loafers, and
made the victim of the proverbial Yankee inquisitiveness, stated that
he had just come from the West Indies with a load of lignum-vitae,
pineapples, and hides, which he hoped to sell in Boston. The
self-constituted investigating committee seemed satisfied, and the
captain strolled on into the city.
But the French consul at Boston was far from satisfied, and he took
care to let his suspicions become generally known. "That
innocent-looking merchantman is a British privateer," quoth he; "and
it's a shame to harbor her in the good port of Boston, amid
French-loving people." The consul's words spread like wildfire; and
his suspicions soon passed for facts, without any supporting proof. No
one knows who was the writer, or who the printer; but in a few hours
the people upon the streets had thrust into their hands the following
handbill:--
THIS NIGHT
Will be performed at the steps bottom of
Long Wharf
A COMEDY
of stripping the
BERMUDIAN PRIVATEER.
CITIZENS. Remember there have been
near three hundred of our American vessels
taken by these Bermudians, and have received
the most barbarous treatment from those
Damn'd PIRATES!!!
Now, Americans, if you feel the spirit of
resentment or revenge kindling in your hearts,
let us be united in the cause.
This was enough to rouse the turbulent people of Boston to action.
They well remembered the winter's night, twenty-two years before, when
their harbor was the scene of the first protest against the oppression
of Great Britain. Then they threw overboard the tea, and spared the
ships; this time ship and cargo alike should be destroyed. When night
fell, small bodies of men could be seen marching down to the wharfs,
through the narrow, crooked streets of the old town. Before eight
o'clock Long Wharf was crowded with an angry mob. On the deck of the
threatened vessel stood the captain, arguing and pleading with the
crowd, and at times pointing to the scarlet flag above his head, and
threatening his assailants with the wrath of mighty England. Argument,
entreaty, and threats proved unavailing; and the crowd, gaining
courage with numbers, rushed upon the vessel, and ordered captain and
crew ashore. Leaving the scene, the captain rushed wildly into the
city in search of the British consul; and, in his absence, the mob
began to search his ship. An active and careful search soon brought to
light in an out-of-the-way corner of the hold two swivel-guns, two
three-pounders, forty charges of shot, fifteen pounds of powder, and
eight muskets. All was piled upon the deck, and pointed out to the
captain on his return, amid frantic yells from the enraged populace.
He solemnly protested that the ordnance was only intended for purposes
of defence against the pirates that infested the Bermudas. But the
case was already judged. The people laughed at the captain's
declarations; and in a few minutes the "Betsy," a mass of flame, was
drifting across the harbor to the Charlestown beach. There she blazed
away, while the crowd watched the bonfire from the dock, until the
last timbers of the ship fell with a hiss into the black waters, and
all was dark again.
Popular sympathy is at best but an unstable sentiment, and so it
proved with this unreasoning affection of the American people for
France. Firmly the American authorities held to their policy of
neutrality, refusing to be influenced in the slightest degree by the
popular clamor of the people for an alliance with France. Then the
French sympathizers made their fatal error. In the presidential chair
of the United States sat Washington, the hero of the Revolution.
Rashly the French minister and his following began an onslaught upon
this great and wise man, because of his firm determination to keep the
United States neutral. They accused him of being an "aristocrat;" of
wishing to found an hereditary monarchy, with himself at the head. No
epithet was too vile for them to apply to him: "liar" and "traitor"
were terms freely applied to him whom we regard as the veritable
founder of our free Republic. Such intemperate and unreasoning malice
as this had a very different effect from what was intended by the
French sympathizers, or Republicans as the party was then termed. The
party supporting the President gained strength and influence, even
while the actions of Napoleon and the French Chamber of Deputies were
giving American seamen the same grounds of complaint as those which
Great Britain had so long forced upon them.
It was during the last year of the administration of Washington, that
the French Directory issued secret orders to the commanders of all
French men-of-war, directing them to treat neutral vessels in the same
manner as they had suffered the English to treat them. The cunning
intent of this order is apparent by its wording: "Treat American
vessels as they suffer themselves to be treated by the British." What
course does that leave open to the Americans, save to resist the
British, thereby become involved in a war, and so aid France? But
there was one other alternative; and, much to the surprise and chagrin
of the French, the Americans adopted it. And the only effect of the
diplomatic secret order was to embroil France in a naval war with the
United States.
The condition of American commerce, after the promulgation of the
French decree, became deplorable indeed. A merchant-vessel flying the
American flag was never safe unless under the guns of an American
war-vessel; and the reduction of the navy had made these few indeed.
Should the brig "Nancy" or "Sarah Jane" put out from the little port
of Salem or New London, she was certain to be overhauled by some
British frigate, whose boarding officer would pick from the brig's
crew a few able sailors, and leave her to make her way short-handed as
best she might. Next would come along some French frigate or
privateer,--some "Terreur," "Incroyable," or "Insurgente,"--whose
astute officers would quickly notice the gaps in the American crew,
and, finding out that the brig had been boarded by the English, would
declare her a prize for having given aid to the enemies of _la belle
France_. Should the little brig be so fortunate as to escape the
civilized belligerents, there were still the pirates of Tripoli, the
picaroons of the French West Indies, and the unauthorized and
irresponsible pirates, who, with forged commissions and flying the
Spanish or Portuguese colors, ravaged the seas in all directions. The
career of an American merchantman at that time is admirably told by
our great novelist Fenimore Cooper in his sea-tale of "Miles
Wallingford." The fate of the good brig "Dawn" was the fate of too
many an American vessel in those turbulent times; and the wondrous
literary art with which the novelist has expanded the meagre records
of the times into an historical novel of surpassing interest makes an
acquaintance with the book essential to a proper knowledge of American
naval history.
The first act of retaliation on the part of the United States was the
embargo ordered by Congress, which prohibited any vessel from leaving
American ports. This action had two effects. It quickly brought about
great distress in European countries, which even then relied much on
the United States for food. This was the chief object of the embargo.
The second effect was inevitable. The sudden check upon all foreign
commerce plunged business in all parts of the United States into
stagnation. Sailors out of work thronged the streets of the seaport
towns. Farmers trudged weary miles beside their ox-teams, only to
find, when they had hauled their produce to town, that there was no
market for it. Along the docks the ships lay idly tugging at their
cables, or stranded on the flats as the tide went out. Merchants
discharged their clerks, and great warehouses were locked up and
deserted. For nearly a year the ports were closed, and commerce thus
languished. Then Congress substituted for the embargo the
Non-intercourse Act, which simply prohibited commerce with France and
England; and again the American flag appeared upon the ocean. But the
two warring nations had learned neither wisdom nor justice, and began
again their depredations upon the unoffending Americans. Envoys were
sent to France to protest against the outrageous action of that
nation; but they were told that no audience could be granted them,
unless they paid into the French treasury two hundred and forty
thousand dollars. This last insult was too great. The envoys returned
home, told of their treatment, and the war party in the United States
rallied to the defence of their nation's honor, shouting Pinckney's
noble sentiment, "_Millions for defence, but not one cent for
tribute_."
CHAPTER II.
WAR WITH FRANCE. -- THE BUILDING OF A NAVY. -- FIRST SUCCESS
FOR THE AMERICANS. -- CUTTING OUT THE "SANDWICH." -- THE
"CONSTELLATION" AND "L'INSURGENTE." -- THE "CONSTELLATION"
AND "LA VENGEANCE."
While France and England were waging a desperate and bloody war, the
United States was like a shuttlecock, being struck repeatedly by the
diplomatic battledores of each nation. Between the British "Orders in
Council" and the French "Milan Decree," American commerce was in a
fair way of being obliterated. To declare war against both nations,
would have been absurd in so young a people; and for months, and even
years, the fierce contests of political parties in the United States
made a declaration of war against either aggressor impracticable. Now
the Franco-maniacs were in the ascendency, and the country rang with
praises of France,--the nation which had cast off aristocrats, and,
like America, was devoted to republican principles; the nation which
had aided the Colonies in their war for freedom. What though a French
privateer did occasionally seize an American ship? The Americans alone
were to blame for that; for was not their attitude toward England,
their natural foe, enough to inflame the French? And were not the
British aggressions more oppressive than those of France? War there
must be, but let it be declared against the hated British.
Such were the sentiments of the French sympathizers, or Democrats as
they were then termed in political parlance. But the English
sympathizers, or Federalists, held very different opinions. They made
no attempt to excuse the offensive attitude assumed by England, but
claimed that so soon as her war with France was over she would admit
the injustice of her actions, and make due reparation for the injuries
she had heaped upon American commerce. But they pointed out that for
one vessel taken by England, ten were seized by French privateers, or
piratical vessels of nondescript nationality, but bearing French
papers. As for France loving republican principles, her republicanism
was founded upon blood and the guillotine. She was no longer the
nation that had aided the struggling Colonies. She was the nation that
had foully murdered the kind king who had lent that aid two decades
before. Besides these arguments, the Federalists did not scruple to
hint, that, in a second war with England, the United States might lose
the independence so recently won, while the navy of France was not so
greatly to be dreaded.
Indeed, the American people of that day might well be excused for
lethargy in resenting the insults of any first-class naval power. It
is not too strong a statement, to say that at this time, when the need
was greatest, the United States had no navy. At the close of the
Revolution, the navy had been disbanded, the ships sold, and the
officers dispersed among the vessels of the merchant marine. This fact
alone is enough to account for the depredations of French, English,
Portuguese, Tripolitans, and the hordes of pirates without a country.
Is there no lesson in this? From this lesson of history cannot we
deduce the rule that a nation with 6,000 miles of seacoast, a republic
hated by all monarchies, must maintain its sea-power if it would
maintain its honor? The naval regeneration begun in 1893 ought not to
be checked until the United States ranks next to Great Britain as a
naval power.
But the depredations of the enemies of American commerce at last
reached such a point that Congress could no longer overlook the
necessity for an American navy. In March, 1794, Congress, after
listening to a message from the President detailing the depredations
of the Algerines, passed an Act authorizing the construction or
purchase of six frigates, or an equivalent naval force. This was the
beginning of the present United States navy; for some of the frigates
built under that law are still afloat, although no longer exposed to
the rude shocks of battle or the still more violent onslaughts of the
mighty ocean.
In accordance with the law, the frames of six frigates were quickly
laid upon the stocks at six different shipyards; and even while the
ribs were yet uncovered, commanders were selected for the unbuilt
ships. The names of ships and officers alike are famous in American
annals, and may well be mentioned here. The "Constitution,"
"President," "United States," "Chesapeake," "Constellation," and
"Congress" were the vessels begun at this time; and the rolls of no
navy of the world ever bore six more famous names. The captains chosen
were John Barry, Samuel Nicholson, Silas Talbot, Joshua Barney,
Richard Dale, and Thomas Truxton. Of these, all save Truxton had
served the Colonies in the Revolution. Barney narrowly escaped being
totally disowned by his country, because while holding a commission in
the French navy he had once accidentally hoisted the American flag
upside down. A cry went up from his enemies, that it was an
intentional insult to the country; but his friends, with justice,
pleaded that the flag had been wet, and a sailor, running it up to
dry, had thus carelessly inverted it.
In the mean time the building of the ships went merrily on, until,
when they were nearly finished, a disgraceful treaty was made with
Algiers, and work on the new navy was neglected, and three of the
unfinished ships sold. But in 1797 the French depredations became so
unbearable that work was hastened; and cities and towns, not satisfied
with the three frigates provided for, began collecting subscriptions
for the purchase of ships, to be presented to the Government. The
first of the frigates building by the Government to reach the water
was the "United States." As the first vessel built by the United
States under the Constitution, her launch was an event to be
celebrated. At noon on the bright May afternoon chosen, the streets of
Philadelphia leading to the ship-yard, where the hull of the great
frigate lay upon the stocks, were thronged with holiday-making people.
The sun had hardly risen, when anxious spectators began to seize upon
the best points of observation about the ship-yard. The hour of the
launch was set at one P.M.; and for hours before the crowd of watchers
sung patriotic songs, cheered for Congress and the new navy, and
anxiously debated the chances of a successful launch. The river was
covered with pleasure-craft, decked with flags, and bright with the
gay dresses of ladies. The great frigate, too, was a mass of bunting
from stem to stern. At one precisely, the blows of many hammers were
heard knocking out the blocks; and, after a moment's trembling pause,
the first United States frigate glided swiftly into the water, and,
after a graceful dip, rode buoyantly on the placid surface of the
Delaware.
[Illustration: Toasting The Wooden Walls Of Columbia.]
While the ships were building, the war-feeling against France was
steadily growing, and the enthusiasm of the people over the infant
navy knew no bounds. Toasts to the "wooden walls of Columbia," and the
"rising navy of America," were drunk with cheers at stately public
banquets, and by bands of jolly roisterers at tap-houses. The
patriotic song writer invaded the columns of the newspapers; and, as
these could not afford space for all the poetic effusions, they were
printed on broadsides, and hawked about the streets. At Harvard
College the students made the chapel walls ring with the ode written
by Joseph Story:--
"Shall Gallia's clan our coast invade,
With hellish outrage scourge the main,
Insult our nation's neutral trade,
And we not dare our rights maintain?
Rise, united Harvard's band,
Rise, the bulwark of our land."
Admirable as may be the patriotism of this ode, the poetry is not
above criticism; but it is classic in comparison with many others. The
following stanza and chorus will show the character of one of the most
popular street-songs of the day:--
"Americans, then fly to arms,
And learn the way to use 'em.
If each man fights to 'fend his rights,
The French can't long abuse 'em.
Yankee Doodle (mind the tune),
Yankee Doodle Dandy;
For the French there's trouble brewin':
We'll spank 'em, hand and handy."
From Maine to Georgia the mania for writing such doggerel spread with
a rapidity only equalled by the avidity with which the people seized
upon the songs, and sung them. A complete collection of these
remarkable efforts of poetic art would form an amusing volume, and
from it alone a history of political movements in the United States
might be written. That even such wretched doggerel had its effect upon
popular sentiment, cannot be doubted; for has it not been said, "I
care not who makes the laws of a nation, let me but write its songs"?
But the manifestation of the growing ill-feeling towards France was
not confined to poor but harmless poetizing. The first open rupture
took place at Savannah. In the port of that city were lying two long,
rakish schooners flying the French tricolor. Their decks were crowded
with men, whose rough actions and brutal countenances showed them to
be no respecters of law or order. It did not need the rows of cannon
protruding from the ports, nor the carefully covered "long Toms"
amidships, to indicate to the good people of Savannah that their
harbor sheltered two French privateers. Among the seafaring people of
the city, the sight of these two vessels aroused the greatest anger.
Were they not representatives of the nation whose ships were seizing
and burning American vessels in the West Indies almost daily? Perhaps
these very vessels were then fresh from an action with some American
ship. Who could tell that the holds of the privateers did not at that
very minute contain the best part of the cargo of some captured
American vessel? Probably the last shot fired from that "long Tom" had
crashed into the side of some little brig flying the stars and
stripes, and perhaps ended the career of many an American sailor. From
suspicions and conjectures, positive statements soon grew. It was
whispered about that the two privateers had recently plundered and
burned a Yankee ship returning from the West Indies with a goodly
store of specie in exchange for her cargo. Those cut-throat-looking
Frenchmen were even then stained with the blood of true Americans. The
money they threw on the bars of water-side dram-shops, in exchange for
the vile rum which was the worst enemy of too many a good jack-tar,
was looked upon with suspicion. "What Yankee's pockets did Johnny
Crapaud pick to get all that money?" growled the American sailors.
The Frenchmen were not slow in discovering the dislike manifested by
the people of Savannah; and like true soldiers of fortune, as they
were, they did nothing to make friends of their enemies. They came
ashore in troops instead of singly. Cutlasses hung at their sides.
Their tight leather belts held many a knife or clumsy pistol. Their
walk on the street was a reckless swagger; and a listener who could
understand French could catch in their loud conversation many a
scornful sneer or braggart defiance of the Americans.
[Illustration: Commodore Macdonough.]
Such a state of affairs could not long continue. Each party was ready
and waiting to fight, and it was not hard to find an excuse. How the
fighting began, no one ever knew; but one night the streets of the
little city resounded with cries of rage and groans of agony. Soon
crowds began to gather; and sailors rushed up and down the streets,
crying that the French desperadoes had killed three Americans. The
rage of the populace, and particularly of the seafaring community, had
no bounds. "Arm! arm! and take bloody vengeance upon the murderers,"
was the cry in all quarters. The mob blocked all the roadways
leading to the water-front. With cutlasses and guns they attacked the
sailors on "L'Agile," which lay at a wharf, and drove them overboard.
Once in possession of the ship, the enraged rioters vented their fury
by cutting away the masts and rigging, tearing to pieces the woodwork
of the cabin, and finally putting the torch to the battered bulk, and
sending her drifting helplessly down the river. This summary vengeance
did not satisfy their anger. They looked about them for the other
vessel, "La Vengeance," and discovered that she had been towed away
from the shore, and was being warped up stream to a place of safety.
Boats were secured, and the irresistible mob set out in mad pursuit. A
militia company, hastily sent to the scene of action by the
authorities of the town, failed to check the riot; and, after a futile
struggle on the part of her crew, "La Vengeance" shared the fate of
her consort. Sympathy for France was well rooted out of Savannah then,
and the cry of the city was for war.
Before the news of the uprising at Savannah was known in New England,
the navy had struck the first blow against French oppression, and the
victory had rested with the sailors of the United States. Congress had
at last been aroused to a sense of the situation, and had issued
orders to captains of American war-vessels, directing them to capture
French cruisers wherever found. A number of large merchant-vessels and
Indiamen had been armed hastily, and sent out; and at last the country
had a navy on the seas. One of the first vessels to get away was the
"Delaware," a twenty-gun ship, commanded by Stephen Decatur the elder.
Decatur had been out but a few days when a merchantman, the "Alexander
Hamilton," was sighted, from the halliards of which a flag of distress
was flying. The "Delaware" ran toward the vessel, and sent a boat
aboard, which returned, bringing the captain of the distressed craft.
To Decatur the captain related the old story of French aggression,
which had become so hateful. Only the day before, he said, his ship
had been boarded by boats'-crews from a French privateer of twenty
guns. The assailants, once on board, had eaten his provisions, and
plundered his cargo without scruple. He gave careful directions as to
the course of the privateer after leaving the "Alexander Hamilton,"
and returned to his ship happy in the thought, that, though he could
not regain his plundered property, the thieves at least would be
punished.
Decatur crowded on all sail, and set off in pursuit of the oppressor.
Four hours later, the lookout forward reported four schooners in sight
off the bow. For a moment the captain was puzzled, as he had no means
of knowing which was the guilty privateer; but, after brief
deliberation, he determined to adopt strategy. The rigging of his
vessel was slackened, the yards slewed round, and every attempt made
to transform the trim man-o'-war into a shiftless merchantman. Then
the helmsman was instructed to carefully avoid running near the
suspected schooners. The ruse succeeded admirably. The lookouts in the
tops of the schooners reported an American merchantman in sight, but
making attempts to escape. The cupidity of the Frenchmen was aroused.
In the "Delaware" they saw only a defenceless ship, from which, by
virtue of their strength, they could take whatever plunder they
desired. From the decks of the "Delaware," the sailors could see the
Frenchmen shaking out sail after sail; and soon one schooner, a
perfect cloud of canvas, took the lead, and left her consorts far in
the rear. It was the privateer they were after. The jackies of the
"Delaware" clambered into the rigging, and set all sail, with the
clumsiness of merchant-sailors; but, though the ship spread a large
expanse of canvas, she was making but little progress, for two long
cables dragged in the water astern, holding her back. The Frenchman
came up gallantly, but suddenly discovered the ports along the side of
the "Delaware," and concluded he had caught a Tartar. It was too late
to escape then; for the "Delaware," coming about, had the schooner
directly under her guns, and the Frenchman had no course left but to
surrender. The privateer proved to be "Le Croyable," of fourteen guns
and seventy men. Her captain was vastly astounded to hear that the
United States had at last sent out cruisers against the French, who
had come to look upon Americans as their legitimate prey. Keeping "Le
Croyable" alongside, Decatur ran for Philadelphia, where he was
received with unbounded enthusiasm. The captured ship was taken into
the United States navy, under the name of the "Retaliation," and sent,
under command of Lieut. Bainbridge, to cruise in search of other
privateers.
But the career of the "Retaliation" under the American flag was
neither long nor glorious. Ill luck seemed to attend the vessel in all
her cruises, and Bainbridge wandered up and down the high seas without
getting within range of a French cruiser or privateer. In November,
1798, the "Retaliation" was cruising, with two other men-of-war, in
the West Indies, not far from Guadaloupe. One day three sails were
made out to the eastward, and two more to the westward. Bainbridge
thought that at last his opportunity had arrived; and the
"Retaliation" set off to reconnoitre the strangers on the eastward,
while the two other American ships made after the three sails in the
opposite direction. As Bainbridge gained upon his chase, he concluded
from their appearance that they were two English ships, and
accordingly threw aside all caution, and sailed boldly alongside.
Unluckily, they proved to be hostile French cruisers; and, when the
discovery was made, the "Retaliation" was well within range. Every
sail was set, and the ship put before the wind, to escape from the
enemy, but too late. The leading ship of the enemy was a fine frigate;
and she rushed through the water after the fugitive, like a dolphin
after a flying-fish. Soon a heavy shot from one of the frigate's
bow-chasers came whizzing by the "Retaliation," unpleasantly reminding
the Americans that they were still within range, and their adversaries
carried heavy metal. The second frigate soon opened fire, and the
position of the "Retaliation" became hopeless. Her flag was
unwillingly hauled down, and the vessel became again the property of
its original owners. It is a strange coincidence, that this ship
should have thus been the first prize of both Americans and French in
the war.
The Frenchmen were not content with their success in capturing the
"Retaliation:" so, while one frigate stopped to secure the prize, the
other passed on in hot chase after "The Retaliation's" two former
consorts, the "Montezuma" and "Norfolk." Bainbridge was taken aboard
the French frigate "Volontaire," which then continued her course in
the wake of her consort, the "Insurgente." For the captured American
captain on the deck of the "Volontaire," the chase was one of great
excitement. He well knew that the two stately French frigates were
much more than a match for the flying Americans; and, should they
overhaul the chase, the "Montezuma" and the "Norfolk" would join the
"Retaliation" in French captivity. Racked with anxiety he paced the
deck, trying in vain not to perceive that the pursuers were steadily
gaining, and chafing under the position of helplessness in which he
found himself. But an opportunity to help did unexpectedly present
itself. The French captain, after a long look through his
marine-glasses at the flying craft, turned to Bainbridge, and
inquired,--
"What may be the force of your consorts, captain?"
Without a moment's hesitation, Bainbridge responded,--
"The ship carries twenty-eight twelve-pounders, and the brig twenty
nines."
The Frenchman was astounded, as well he might be; for Bainbridge's
answer was a most preposterous falsehood, nearly doubling the actual
armament of the two vessels. An eager consultation was immediately
held by the officers on the quarter-deck. Bainbridge looked on
anxiously, and was delighted with the success of his ruse, when he
heard orders for the hoisting of a signal which should call back the
frigate leading in the chase. The signal was hoisted; and the
"Insurgente," obeying, abandoned the chase, and returned. Her captain
was indignant at his recall, and curious to know the cause of it. When
told of Bainbridge's statement, he was furious; for his ship had been
close enough to the chase to see that the Americans were small craft,
utterly unable to cope with the two pursuing frigates. For his
falsehood, Bainbridge was roundly abused, and many a French oath was
hurled at his head. His action was indeed inexcusable by the rules of
honor; and the utmost that can be said of it by the most patriotic
American is, that by his falsehood he saved two good ships for the
infant navy of the United States. From a military point of view,
however, his conduct was commendable; and in recognition thereof, on
his release from captivity, he was made commander of the "Norfolk,"
one of the vessels he had saved.
France and the United States were now actually at war, although no
definite declaration of war had been made by either party. This fact
made many French privateers assume an injured air, on being captured
by United States ships, and complain that they had never heard of any
declaration of war. With a Frenchman of this sort, Stephen Decatur the
younger had an experience early in his naval career.
This occurred in February, 1799. The frigate "United States" was
cruising near Martinique in that year, and to her young Decatur was
attached as a sub-lieutenant. One morning a French privateer was
sighted, and the frigate set out in hot pursuit. The privateer took
the alarm quickly, and crowded on all sail, until her long, narrow
hull slipped through the waves like a fish. The breeze was fresh, and
the chase an exciting one; but gradually the immense spread of the
frigate's canvas began to tell, and she rapidly overhauled the
fugitive. The French captain was plucky, and even desperate, in his
attempt to escape; for, seeing that he was about to be overhauled, he
resorted to the expedient of a fox chased by hounds, and doubled,
turning short to windward, and running right under the guns of the
frigate. The move was a bold one, and might well have succeeded, had
it not been for the good marksmanship of a gunner on the frigate, who
promptly sent a twenty-four-pound shot (the only one fired in the
affair) straight through the hull of the privateer, between wind and
water. In an instant all was confusion on the French vessel. The water
poured into her hold through the hole cut by the shot; and the hasty
lowering of her sails, and the frantic howls for succor from the crew,
told the people of the "United States" that their chase was at an end.
The boats of the frigate were quickly lowered, and Decatur went in one
as officer in command. When he reached the sinking ship, he found a
scene too ludicrous to be pathetic. Along the rail of the vessel, from
bow to stern, the Frenchmen were perched like birds. Many had stripped
off all their clothes, in order to be prepared to swim; and from all
arose a medley of plaintive cries for help, and curses on that unlucky
shot. By skilful management of the boats, all were saved; and it
happened that Decatur pulled into his own boat the captain of the
sinking vessel.
Brushing the salt water out of his eyes, this worthy expressed great
surprise that he had been fired upon by a vessel bearing the United
States flag.
"Ees eet that that ees a sheep of les Etats-Unis?" he inquired, in the
broken English that four years of cruising against Americans had
enabled him to pick up.
"It is," responded Decatur.
"I am indeed sairprised. I had not thought that les Etats-Unis had the
war with La Republique Francaise."
"No, sir," responded Decatur, thoroughly provoked; "but you knew that
the French Republic was at war with the United States, that you were
taking our merchant-vessels every day, and crowding our countrymen
into prison at Basseterre to die like sheep."
This was more than the Frenchman could deny, and he was constrained to
accept his capture with the best grace possible.
An audacious, but clearly illegal, exploit of the blue-jackets in this
war, was the cutting out and capture of the French letter-of-marque
vessel "Sandwich," as she lay in Port Platte, a small harbor on the
Spanish side of St. Domingo. Commodore Talbot, who won a reputation
for daring and recklessness in the Revolution, was cruising about on
the San Domingo station, and had spent some weeks in monotonous
voyaging, without an opportunity to capture a single prize. Word was
brought to the squadron, that in the little harbor of Port Platte a
vessel was taking in a cargo of coffee. From the description of the
vessel, Commodore Talbot recognized her as a former British packet,
the "Sandwich," now sailing under French letters of marque. Her known
speed and seaworthy qualities made her too valuable a prize to be left
in the hands of the enemy; and Talbot, without more ado, determined to
capture her. The first difficulty that lay in the way was the fact
that the vessel was under the protection of Spain, a neutral power.
Talbot was no man to notice so purely formal an obstacle. He growled
out a decided negative to all hints about respecting a neutral flag.
Spain neutral, indeed! She might claim to be neutral, but her
Picaroons were too often to be found among the French pirates to leave
any respect for Spain's neutrality in the mind of a man of sense; and
the "Sandwich" he was going to take, and on his own responsibility.
This silenced all opposition.
Having arrived at the determination to take the "Sandwich," the next
problem to be solved was, how shall she be taken? Obviously the first
step was to make a careful reconnoissance of the ship and her
defences. To Lieut. Hull of the "Constitution," this duty was
assigned. One dark and stormy night Mr. Hull took one of the frigate's
cutters, and, pulling into the harbor, carefully examined the
situation. On his return, he reported that the "Sandwich" was stripped
of her rigging, and lay directly under the guns of a small battery,
built on shore for her protection. To sail in with the frigate, and
capture the enemy by mere force of arms, would have been simple
enough; but the object of the Americans was to take the ship without
injuring her, in order that she might at once join the United States
squadron. Strategy was therefore necessary.
It was accordingly determined to secure an American merchant-vessel,
that could enter the port, and run alongside the "Sandwich," without
arousing suspicion. Luckily at that very moment a craft turned up that
filled the need precisely. This was the American sloop "Sally," a
battered, weather-beaten little craft, that had for some time been
trading in the West Indies, and by her very insignificance had escaped
capture by the French. She had often entered and cleared from Port
Platte, and therefore her appearance there would create no suspicion.
[Illustration: Hull Makes A Reconnoissance.]
The "Sally" was accordingly chosen to bear the sailors on their
audacious expedition. A rendezvous having been appointed, the sloop
met the "Constitution" far out at sea; and a large body of
blue-jackets and marines left the frigate, and took quarters on the
clumsy little merchantman, which then laid her course for Port Platte.
About midnight the lookouts on the "Sally" saw a vessel's lights near
at hand; but, beyond reporting to the officer of the deck, they paid
no heed to their neighbor. Suddenly, however, out of the darkness came
a bright flash; and the hum of a heavy shot in the air above the
"Sally" was followed by the dull report of a cannon. At the same time
a blue light burned on the deck of the vessel from which the shot
proceeded, showed her to be a powerful frigate. Then ensued a few
moments of intense suspense for the little band on the "Sally." Should
the stranger prove to be a French frigate, all was lost; but in that
latitude English vessels were common, and possibly this might be one.
Soon the regular thumping of oars in the tholepins, and the splashing
of the waves against an approaching boat, could be heard; and in a few
minutes a hail came from the black water alongside, and the dark
figure of a man standing in the stern-sheets of a boat was seen. A
rope was thrown him, by the aid of which he nimbly clambered aboard.
An involuntary murmur of relief arose from the party on the "Sally,"
as by the dim light of the lanterns they saw that the officer wore a
British uniform. The officer himself could not repress a start and
exclamation of surprise as he saw a band of officers in naval uniform,
and a large body of blue-jackets and marines, on the vessel which he
expected to find manned by a half-dozen lanky Yankees, commanded by a
down-east "skipper."
"Why, what ship's this?" he exclaimed in surprise, as he looked upon
the armed men about him. Lieut. Hull, who was in command, explained to
him the situation, and told him of the adventure that was being
attempted. The officer seemed much disappointed, and told Mr. Hull
that the British frigate was standing about outside the harbor, to
capture the "Sandwich" as she came out; but the idea of so boldly
setting at naught the principles of neutrality had not occurred to
them. After a few minutes' conversation, the visitor returned to his
ship, and the "Sally" proceeded on her errand. She reached the
entrance to the harbor of Port Platte in the morning, and sailed
boldly in. Most of the crew and the marines were hidden beneath the
bulwarks, or sent below; so that the people on the "Sandwich" gave but
a glance to the approaching vessel, until she ran so close to their
vessel's bows that they feared an accident.
"Look out there, or you'll run foul of us!" shouted a mate from the
deck of the "Sandwich"; and, as if his cry was a signal, the helm of
the "Sally" was put down, the vessel ranged up alongside, and in an
instant a torrent of armed men poured over the sides of the surprised
Frenchman, and drove the crew below. There was no resistance. The ship
was captured in five minutes. The marines of the expedition had been
sent ashore to spike the guns of the battery, and their work was
performed with equal promptitude. Then all hands set to work rigging
the captured vessel, and getting her ready for sea. On the shore the
people were in the greatest excitement, beating drums, parading the
few militia, and threatening dire revenge in the name of outraged
Spain. But the captors of the vessel paid but little attention to
their enemies; and by sunset the "Sandwich," with all sails set, left
the harbor, and joined the United States squadron.
The news of this achievement, lawless as it was, evoked great
enthusiasm in the United States. A nation's conscience is elastic; and
the people praised the heroes of the "Sandwich" episode, much as
sixty-five years later they commended the commander of the "Wachuset"
for running down and capturing the Confederate ship "Florida," which
was relying upon the protection of a neutral port in Brazil. Yet in
1814, when two British frigates attacked and captured the "Essex" in
the harbor of Rio Janeiro, the good people of the United States were
loud in their denunciations of the treachery of a commander who would
so abuse the protection of a neutral nation. Such inconsistencies are
only too common in the history of nations. In the end, however, the
affair of the "Sandwich" terminated disastrously for the bold
adventurers; for the protests of Spain were too forcible to be
disregarded, and the prize-money of all concerned in the exploit was
confiscated to pay the damages awarded the injured party.
Not all the successes of the United States navy in the war with France
were, like those we have related, dependent upon the speed rather than
the fighting qualities of our ships. Not many months had passed, when
two representative ships of the warring nations met, and tried
conclusions at the mouths of their cannon. It was on the 9th of
February that the "Constellation," one of the new American frigates,
was cruising on her station in the West Indies, when her lookout
reported a large ship some miles to leeward. The frigate at once ran
down the stranger, which hoisted American colors. Among ships of the
same navy it is customary to have private signals of recognition; and
Commodore Truxton, who commanded the "Constellation," set his signal,
and awaited the answer. But no answer came; and the stranger,
evidently considering further disguise impossible, boldly set French
colors, and fired a gun to windward by way of a challenge.
On the "Constellation" the challenge aroused universal enthusiasm. For
the first time since the Revolution, the gallant defenders of the
stars and stripes were to have an opportunity to try their strength
with a hostile man-of-war. The enemy seemed no less ready for the
conflict, and waited gallantly for the "Constellation" to come down to
closer quarters. From both ships came the roll of the drums and the
shrill pipings of the bo's'n's whistle, as the men were called to
quarters. Then all became still, and the two frigates bore down upon
each other. Neither antagonist was hasty about opening fire, and the
report of the first gun came from the Yankee when she had come into
point-blank range. Then began the thunderous broadsides, that soon
enveloped the hulls of the two ships in dense gray smoke; so that, to
an observer at a little distance, all that could be seen of the fight
was the tapering masts and yard-arms, above the smoke, crowded with
sailors repairing damages, and nimble young midshipmen shrilly
ordering about the grizzled seamen, and now and again taking a crack
at the enemy with pistol or musket, by way of recreation. In the
foretop of the "Constellation" was stationed young David Porter, who
in that trying moment showed the result of his hard schooling in the
merchant-service, of which we have spoken. By the rapid fire of the
enemy, the fore-topmast was badly cut, and there was great danger that
it might go by the board. Porter hailed the deck several times for
instructions, but, finding that his voice could not be heard above the
roar of battle, determined to act upon his own responsibility, and
accordingly cut away the sails, lowered the yards, and, by relieving
the injured spar of all strain, prevented its falling. In the mean
time the battle raged fiercely below. The American frigate was more
powerful in her armament, and better handled, than the Frenchman. Her
guns were handled with deliberation, and the aim of the gunners was
sure and deadly; while the shot from the enemy went hurtling through
the rigging of the "Constellation," doing but little damage. The
decks of the Frenchman were covered with dead and wounded, and at
last two raking broadsides from the American frigate ended the
conflict. When the vanquished ship was boarded, she proved to be the
"Insurgente," the same frigate that had captured the "Retaliation"
some months before. Her loss in this engagement amounted to
twenty-nine killed and forty-one wounded, while the cock-pit of the
"Constellation" was tenanted by but three wounded men; and but one
American had lost his life, he having been killed by an officer, for
cowardice. Both ships were badly cut up in the engagement.
The news of this victory was received with great rejoicing in the
United States, and was celebrated with cannon-firing and the ringing
of bells. At Boston, the fourth Sunday in March was set for a day of
general rejoicing; and on that day huge crowds gathered in State
Street, and after salutes had been fired, and the city's bells pealed,
the people, at a given signal, joined in three mighty cheers, that
fairly shook the surrounding houses, for Truxton, the "Constellation,"
the blue-jackets, and the success of the wooden walls of America.