Heedless of these formidable preparations for their reception, the

enemy set under way two expeditions for the capture of the

"Constellation." In neither case did the antagonists actually come to

blows, for the approach of the British was discovered before they came

within pistol-shot; and, as their only chance lay in surprising the

Americans, they retired without striking a blow. The coming of the

first expedition was known upon the "Constellation" the day before it

actually set out. A Portuguese merchantman, trying to beat out of the

bay, had been stopped by the British, and anchored a few miles below

the American frigate. A guard and lookout from the English fleet were

stationed on the Portuguese to watch the "Constellation." In an

unguarded moment, these men let fall a hint of the movement under way;

and an American passenger on the Portuguese vessel quickly carried the

news to Capt. Stewart, and volunteered to remain and aid in the

defence. The next night was dark and drizzly; and the British, to the

number of two thousand, set out in boats for the "Constellation."

Hardly were they within gunshot, when two lanterns gleamed from the

side of a watchful guard-boat; and the roll of drums and sound of

hurrying feet aboard the frigate told that the alarm was given. The

assailants thereupon abandoned the adventure, and returned to their

ship. The next night they returned, but again retreated discomfited.

Several nights later, a third expedition came up. This time the

guard-boat was far down the bay; and, seeing the huge procession of

boats, the Americans calmly edged in among them, and for some time

rowed along, listening to the conversation of the British, who never

dreamed that an enemy could be in their midst. Suddenly a sailor, more

sharp-eyed than the rest, caught sight of the interlopers; and the cry

was raised, "A stranger!" The Americans tugged at their oars, and were

soon lost to sight; but, not being pursued, returned, and accompanied

their foes up the bay, and even anchored with the flotilla at a point

above the "Constellation." The enemy, finding the Americans constantly

on the watch, abandoned their designs on the ship, and vowed that

Capt. Stewart must be a Scotchman, as he could never be caught

napping. Some days later, an officer, sent with a flag of truce to the

British fleet, vastly chagrined the officers there by repeating their

remarks overheard by the guard-boat officers who joined the British

flotilla in the dark. These three escapes confirmed the reputation

borne by the "Constellation," as a "lucky ship;" and although she

remained pent up in port throughout the war, doing nothing for her

country, her luck was unquestioned in the minds of the sailors. With

her they classed the "Constitution" and "Enterprise," while the

"Chesapeake" and "President" were branded as unlucky. Certainly the

career of these ships in the War of 1812 went far to confirm the

superstitious belief of the sailors.

In the course of the next two months, Chesapeake Bay was the scene of

two gallant adventures, in which American privateersmen were opposed

to the British sailors. On Feb. 8, the privateer schooner "Lottery"

was standing down the bay under easy sail, out-bound on a voyage to

Bombay. The schooner was one of the clipper-built craft, for which

Baltimore ship-builders were famous the world over. Her battery

consisted of six twelve-pounder carronades, and her crew numbered

twenty-five men. Near the point at which the noble bay opens into the

Atlantic ocean, a narrow sheet of water extends into the Virginia

shore, winding in sinuous courses several miles inland. This is known

as Lynnhaven Bay; and on its placid surface there lay, on the morning

of the "Lottery's" appearance, four powerful frigates flying the

British flag. From their tops the approaching schooner could be seen

across the low-lying neck of land that separated the smaller bay from

the main body of water. The cry of "Sail, ho!" roused the fleet to

sudden activity; and an expedition of two hundred men was quickly

organized to proceed against the privateer. Fortune seemed to favor

the British; for hardly had the boats left the fleet, when the fresh

breeze died away, and the schooner was left at the mercy of the boats,

which, propelled by the long, swinging strokes of man-o'-war oarsmen,

bore down rapidly upon her. Capt. Southcomb of the "Lottery" was an

American sailor, who had smelt powder before; and he had no idea of

yielding up his ship without a struggle. The formidable force sent

against him merely moved him to more desperate resistance. When the

boats came within range, the guns of the "Lottery" opened upon them

with a hail of grape and round shot. Still the assailants pressed on,

and soon came beneath the schooner's lee. Dropping their oars, the

plucky British tars sprang into the chains, swarmed up the bobstay and

over the bow, and used each other's backs as ladders to aid them to

reach the schooner's deck. The little crew of privateersmen fought

viciously, guarding the side with cutlasses and pistols, hurling the

boarders back into the sea, or cutting them down as they reached the

deck. Cold shot and kentledge were dashed upon the boats, in the hopes

of sinking them; while the carronades poured a destructive fire upon

such boats as could be reached by their shot. But the conflict was too

unequal to last long. The English sailors swarmed over the gunwale on

all sides, and, cheering lustily, drove the small remnant of defenders

below. Capt. Southcomb was cut down, and lay mortally wounded upon the

deck when the enemy took possession of the ship. When the victors came

to look about the captured vessel, they found such proofs of a

desperate resistance, that their admiration was open and pronounced.

Five only of the schooner's crew were unhurt, while the British paid

for their success with the loss of thirteen men. Capt. Southcomb, in a

dying condition, was taken aboard the frigate "Belvidera," where he

received the tenderest treatment, and was shown marked respect on

account of his bravery.

[Illustration: Awaiting The Boarders.]

In the next encounter between the blockaders and a privateer, the

British bore away the palm for gallantry. This time the privateersmen

had every advantage, while the British carried the day by pure

courage. The captured vessels were the privateer schooner "Dolphin,"

of twelve guns, and the letters-of-marque "Racer," "Arab," and "Lynx,"

of six guns each. The crews of the four vessels aggregated one hundred

and sixty men. Against this force came five boats manned by one

hundred and five British sailors, who pulled fifteen miles in order to

attack their foes. Wearied though they were by the long pull, the

sight of the privateers seemed to arouse new strength in the plucky

tars; and, without a thought of the odds against them, they dashed

forward, cheering, and calling upon the Americans to surrender. Had

the four schooners been manned by such brave men as those who defended

the "Lottery," the assailants might have been beaten off. As it was,

two vessels surrendered without firing a shot. The crew of the "Racer"

fought pluckily for a time, but were soon overpowered, and the

vessel's guns turned upon the "Dolphin." When fire was opened upon

this last vessel, her crew, affrighted, leaped overboard from every

side; and the "Dolphin" was soon in the hands of her enemies, who had

lost but thirteen men in the whole action.

Many a gallant adventure, such as this, is to be laid to the credit of

the British tars on the American station during the continuance of the

blockade. Right dashing fellows were they, at cutting out a

coasting-schooner as she lay under the guns of some American

earthworks. The lads that have won for England her supremacy upon the

seas have never been behindhand at swarming up the sides of an enemy,

leaping his taffrail, and meeting him on his own deck with the cold

steel. And as the year rolled on, and the blockade along the American

coast was made more strict, the meetings between the enemies became

more frequent. From every seaport town, Yankee privateers were waiting

to escape to sea; and they seldom won clear without a brush with the

watchful enemy. The British, too, had begun to fit out privateers,

though American commerce offered but little enticement for these

mercenary gentry. Between the ships of the two private armed navies,

encounters were common; and the battles were often fought with courage

and seamanship worthy of the regular navy.

Little glory was won by the navy of the United States during the

opening months of the year. Many ships were laid up in port; while

some, like the "Constellation," were blockaded by the enemy. The

"President" and the "Congress" managed to get to sea from Boston in

April, and entered upon a protracted cruise, in which the bad luck of

the former ship seemed to pursue her with malevolent persistence. The

two ships parted after cruising in company for a month, and scoured

the ocean until the following December, when they returned home,

experiencing little but continual disappointments. The "Congress"

could report only the capture of four British merchantmen, as the

result of her eight months' cruise; while the long service had so

seriously injured her hull, that she was condemned as unseaworthy, and

ended her career, a dismantled hulk reduced to the ignoble service of

store-ship at a navy-yard.

The "President" was little more fortunate in her search for prizes.

After parting with her consort, she beat about in the vicinity of the

Gulf Stream, in the hopes of getting a ship or two returning from the

West Indies. But day after day passed, and no ship appeared. Changing

his plan, Commodore Rodgers made for the North Sea, feeling sure that

there he would find in plenty the marine game for which he was

seeking. But, to his astonishment, not an English ship was to be

found. It was then the middle of summer, and the frigate had been at

sea for nearly three months. The jackies on the forecastle were weary

of the long voyage, and fairly at the end of their occupations for

"teasing time." The officers, well knowing the effect of long idleness

upon the sailors, were tireless in devising means of employment. The

rigging was set up weekly, so that the shrouds and stays were like

lines drawn with a ruler. Enough rope-yarn was pulled, and spun-yarn

spun, to supply a navy-yard for months. Laggards were set to scrubbing

the rust off the chain cables, and sharpening with files the flukes of

the anchors. When such work failed, the men were drilled in the use of

cutlasses and single sticks; forming long lines down the gun-deck, and

slashing away with right good will at the word of the instructor. But

the monotony of a long cruise without a prize cannot long be beguiled

by such makeshifts; and it was with the heartiest pleasure that the

sailors heard that the commodore had determined to put into port for a

time, and take on board stores.

It was North Bergen, Norway, that Rodgers chose for this purpose; and

an unfortunate choice it proved to be, for a famine prevailed in the

country, and only water could be obtained for the ship. Leaving the

inhospitable port, the "President" was soon again upon the ocean. She

quickly took two British merchantmen, from which she replenished her

stores. Shortly after, two hostile frigates hove in sight, and the

"President" fled for her life before them for more than eighty hours.

At that season, in those high latitudes, no friendly darkness settled

over the ocean to give the fugitive a chance to escape. Bright

daylight persisted throughout the chase, and the sun never dipped

below the horizon. Sheer good sailing saved the American frigate, and

enabled her to leave her pursuers far in her wake.

For some days thereafter, better luck seemed to attend the frigate

that so pluckily kept up her operations in seas thousands of miles

from a friendly port. With true Yankee audacity, she extended her

cruise even into the Irish Channel, and there preyed upon British

commerce until the enemy was moved to send a squadron to rout out the

audacious intruder. Then Rodgers set sail for home.

On the voyage to the United States, the "President" captured a British

armed schooner by a stratagem which taught at least one British

officer to respect "Yankee cuteness."

It was near the last of September that the frigate was flying along

before a fresh breeze. Her yards were spread with a cloud of snowy

canvas, and the wind sung through the straining cordage a melody sweet

to the ears of the sailor homeward bound. Towards evening, a small

sail was made out in the distance; and, as time wore on, it was seen

that she was rapidly approaching the "President." Rodgers surmised

that the stranger might be a British vessel, and determined to lure

her within range by strategy. In some way he had obtained knowledge of

some of the private signals of the British navy; and in a few minutes

from the masthead of the American frigate, there fluttered a row of

flags which announced her as the British frigate "Sea-Horse." The

stranger promptly responded, and was made out to be the schooner

"Highflyer," a little craft noted for her sailing qualities.

Unsuspectingly the "Highflyer" came under the stern of the American

frigate, and waited for a boat to be sent aboard. Soon the boat came;

and one of Rodgers's lieutenants, clad in British uniform, clambered

up the side, and was received with due honor. He was the bearer of a

message from Commodore Rodgers, requesting that the signal-books of

the "Highflyer" be sent on board the fictitious "Sea-Horse" for

comparison and revision. This the British captain hastened to do, and

soon followed his books to the deck of the frigate, where a

lieutenant met him, clothed in full British uniform. A file of

marines, dressed in the scarlet coats of the British service, stood on

the deck; and the duped Englishman greatly admired the appearance of

the frigate, remarking to the officer who escorted him to Rodgers's

cabin, that so trim a craft could only be found in His Majesty's

service.

On entering the cabin, the English officer greeted Commodore Rodgers

with deference, and proceeded at once to tell of naval matters.

"I have here," said he, placing a bundle of papers in the commodore's

hands, "a numbers of despatches for Admiral Warren, who is on this

station. You may not know that one of the principal objects of our

squadron cruising here is the capture of the Yankee frigate

'President,' which has been greatly annoying British commerce."

Rodgers was naturally much interested in this statement, and asked the

visitor if he knew much about the commander of the "President."

"I hear he is an odd fish," was the response; "and certainly he is

devilish hard to catch."

Rodgers started. He had hardly expected so frank an expression of

opinion.

"Sir," said he emphatically, "do you know what vessel you are on board

of?"

"Why, certainly,--on board of His Majesty's ship 'Sea-Horse.'"

"No, sir, you are mistaken," was the startling response. "You are on

board of the United States frigate 'President,' and I am Commodore

Rodgers."

The astounded Englishman sprang to his feet, and rushed to the deck.

The sight he saw there was still more startling. The quarter-deck was

crowded with officers in United States uniform. The scarlet coats of

the marines had vanished, and were replaced by Yankee blue. Even as he

looked, the British flag came fluttering down, the American ensign

went up, and the band struck up "Yankee Doodle."

Nothing was left to the Englishman but to submit; and, with the best

grace possible, he surrendered his vessel and himself to the "odd

fish," who had so cleverly trapped him.

[Illustration: "I Am Commodore Rodgers."]

Three days later, the "President," with her prize, and crowded with

prisoners, dropped anchor in the harbor of Newport, after a cruise of

one hundred and forty-eight days. In actual results, the cruise was

far from satisfactory, for but eleven vessels had been taken. But the

service rendered the country by annoying the enemy's merchantmen, and

drawing the British war-vessels away in chase, was vast. At one time

more than twenty British men-of-war were searching for the roving

American frigate; and the seafaring people of the United States were

thus greatly benefited by the "President's" prolonged cruise.

CHAPTER IX.

DECATUR BLOCKADED AT NEW YORK. -- ATTEMPTS TO ESCAPE THROUGH

LONG ISLAND SOUND. -- THE FLAG-SHIP STRUCK BY LIGHTNING. --

TORPEDOES. -- FULTON'S STEAM FRIGATE. -- ACTION BETWEEN THE

"CHESAPEAKE" AND "SHANNON."

While the "President" was thus roaming the seas, almost within sight

of the shores of the British Isles, events were occurring along the

American coast which were little likely to raise the spirits of the

people of the United States. From the "President," the "Congress," the

"Essex," and the smaller vessels that were upholding the honor of the

flag upon the ocean, they could hear nothing. But worse than this was

it for the good people of New York or Boston to go down to the

water-side and see stanch United States frigates kept in port by the

overwhelming forces of the enemy, that lay watchfully outside the

harbor's mouth.

For there was no doubt about it: the blockade was daily becoming

closer; and in the months of April and May a ship would have found it

a hard task to run out of New York Harbor without falling into the

hands of the British fleet stationed there. But, at that very time,

three stout men-of-war floated on the waves of that noble bay, under

the command of an officer little used to staying quietly in port in

time of war. The officer was Stephen Decatur: and the ships were the

flag-ship "United States;" the captured "Macedonian," repaired, and

flying the stars and stripes, under the command of the gallant Capt.

Jacob Jones; and the sloop-of-war "Hornet," Capt. Biddle.

With this force under his command, Decatur burned with the desire to

get to sea. The watchfulness of the British at the Narrows made it

useless to think of escaping that way: therefore, he determined to

pass up the sound, and reach the ocean by way of the opening between

Montauk Point and Block Island. At the very outset of this voyage,

however, was a serious obstacle. Through the narrow channel of the

East River, between Ward's Island and the Long Island shore, the tides

rushed with a mad speed and turbulence, that had won for the strait

the significant name of Hell Gate. The United States Government had

not then bent its energies to undermining and blowing into bits the

jagged rocks that at low tide reared their crests above the swirling

eddies. With its tides like mill races, and rocks hidden beneath the

treacherous water, Hell Gate was a fearful place for any ship to make

its way through with the uncertain aid of sails alone. Still greater

were its dangers for the ponderous and deep-laden men-of-war, that

required deep water and plenty of sea-room for their movements. Such

considerations, however, had no weight with Decatur, who had seen his

ships lying idly at their anchorage off Staten Island long enough. In

the night of May 24, he accordingly got up anchors and started for the

sound.

Hell Gate was passed safely, thanks to a skilful pilot, whom neither

the darkness of the night, nor the perils of the narrow channel, could

daunt. Once past this danger, the three vessels made their way up the

sound, with the flag-ship leading. They had gone but a little way when

black clouds to the westward told of a coming storm. The cloud-bank

came rolling up rapidly; and soon, with a burst of rain, the three

vessels were enveloped in the thunder-shower. The lightning flashed

through the black clouds, the thunder crashed and roared, and the wind

shrieked fiercely through the cordage. The "United States" held her

place at the head of the squadron; while behind, at the distance of

half a cable's-length, came the "Macedonian." Suddenly the men on the

deck of the latter vessel were horrified to see a jagged flash of

lightning cut its zigzag course through the clouds, then dart,

straight as an arrow, at the main-mast of the "United States." Hoarse

cries were heard from the deck of the stricken frigate; and the

captain of the "Macedonian," fearing lest the "States" should blow up,

threw all aback on his ship, to escape the explosion. But happily the

thunderbolt had done little serious injury. In its course it had cut

away the pendant; shot into the doctor's cabin, extinguishing that

worthy's candle, to his vast astonishment; then, gliding away, broke

through the ship's hull near the water-line, and plunged into the sea,

after ripping off a few sheets of copper from the ship's bottom. No

delay was caused by the accident; though the superstitious sailors

pronounced it an evil omen, and dismally predicted all sorts of

disasters.

On the 29th of May the squadron reached the strait through which

Decatur hoped to gain the ocean; but, to the intense disappointment of

all on board, a formidable British fleet barred all egress. Three days

later the Americans made an attempt to slip out unseen; but, failing

in this, they returned to New London harbor, where the two frigates

were kept rotting in the mud until the war was ended. The "Hornet"

luckily managed to run the blockade, and of her exploits we shall hear

later.

Upon the arrival of the three American ships at New London, the enemy

guarded the coast with renewed vigilance. The inhabitants made every

attempt to drive away the blockaders; and in the course of this

prolonged struggle there appeared, for almost the first time in the

history of warfare, that most terrible of offensive weapons, the

submarine torpedo.

During the Revolution, two attempts had been made to blow up British

men-of-war by means of torpedoes, invented by a Saybrook mechanic

named Bushnell. Though the attempts failed, yet the torpedoes

demonstrated their tremendous power. Before the declaration of the

second war with England, Robert Fulton, the inventor of the steamboat,

had made many improvements upon Bushnell's designs, and had so

thoroughly spread the knowledge of torpedo warfare that it suggested

itself to many New Englanders as a means of driving the enemy from

their coast.

The first attempt was well planned, but failed through an entirely

accidental combination of circumstances. Certain private citizens (for

in that day it was thought ignoble for a government to embark in

torpedo warfare) fitted out in New York a schooner, the "Eagle," in

the hold of which ten kegs of powder, together with sulphur and piles

of heavy stones, were placed. In the head of one of the casks were two

gun-locks, primed, and held in place by two barrels of flour. Should

either of the barrels be moved, the lock would spring, and the

terrible mine would explode with tremendous force. With this dreadful

engine of destruction, carefully covered by a cargo of flour and naval

stores, the "Eagle" left New York, and made her way up the bay, until,

near New London, she was overhauled and captured by the British

frigate "Ramillies." Boats were sent out by the English to take

possession of the prize; but the crew of the "Eagle," seeing the enemy

coming, took to their small boats, and succeeded in safely reaching

the shore. The captors, on boarding the vessel, were vastly pleased to

find that its cargo consisted largely of flour, of which the

"Ramillies" stood in great need. They at once attempted to get the

frigate alongside the prize, that the captured cargo might be readily

transferred. But a calm had fallen, and two hours' constant work with

sweeps and towing was unavailing. Accordingly, this plan of action was

abandoned, and the boats were ordered to lighter the cargo from the

"Eagle" to the frigate. Hardly had the first barrel been moved, when,

with a roar, and rush of flame and smoke as from a volcano, the

schooner blew up. Huge timbers, stones, and barrels were sent flying

high into the air. The lieutenant and ten men from the frigate, who

were on the "Eagle" at the time, were blown to atoms; and the timbers

and missiles, falling on all sides, seriously injured many men in the

boats near by. Had the frigate been alongside, where her commander had

endeavored to place her, she would have gone to the bottom, with all

her crew.

An attempt so nearly successful as this could not be long in leading

others to make similar ventures. Sir Thomas Hardy, the commander of

the "Ramillies," was kept in a constant fever of apprehension, lest

some night his ship should be suddenly sent to the bottom by one of

the insidious torpedoes. Several times the ship was attacked; and her

escapes were so purely matters of accident, that she seemed almost to

be under the protection of some sailors' deity. A Norwich mechanic,

who had invented a submarine boat with a speed of three miles an hour,

succeeded in getting under the bottom of the blockader three times,

but was each time foiled in his attempt to attach a torpedo to the

ship's hull. Another American, a fisherman, succeeded in getting

alongside in a whale-boat, unobserved, but was driven away before he

could get his torpedo in position. Such constant attacks so alarmed

Hardy, that at last he gave up bringing his ship to anchor, keeping

her continually under way, and, as a further precaution, causing her

bottom to be swept every two hours throughout the day and night.

The use of torpedoes was not confined to the people of New England.

New York Harbor was closed with a row of them. The British

seventy-four "Plantagenet," lying off Cape Henry, Virginia, was nearly

sunk by one in the charge of Mr. Mix, an American naval officer. The

attack was made near ten o'clock, on an unusually dark night. Mix and

his associates pulled in a heavy boat to a point near the bow of the

menaced vessel. The torpedo was then slipped into the water, with the

clockwork which was to discharge it set in motion. The rushing tide

carried the destructive engine down toward the frigate; and the

Americans pulled away into the darkness, to await the explosion. But

the clockwork had been badly adjusted, and the torpedo exploded just

before it reached the ship. A huge column of water, gleaming with a

ghostly sulphurous light, was thrown high in the air, falling with

terrific force on the deck of the frigate, which was almost capsized

by the shock.

A veritable storm of abuse and condemnation followed the introduction

of torpedo warfare. All countries and all peoples pronounced it

treacherous and cowardly, and the English press was particularly loud

in its denunciations. Yet the torpedo had won its place in the

armaments of nations; and to-day we see all the nations of Europe

vieing with each other in the invention and construction of powerful

and accurate torpedoes and swift torpedo-boats.

The germ of another feature of modern naval organization is to be

found in the annals of the War of 1812. The first war-vessel propelled

by steam was launched by the Americans for service in this war. She

was designed by Robert Fulton, and bore the name of "Fulton the

First." In model she was a queer craft, with two hulls like a

catamaran, with the single propelling-wheel mounted between them

amidships. Her armament was to consist of thirty thirty-two-pounder

guns, and two one-hundred-pounder columbiads. A secondary engine was

designed to throw floods of water upon the decks and through the

port-holes of an enemy. While the vessel was building, reports

concerning her reached England; and soon the most ludicrously

exaggerated accounts of her power were current in that country. "She

mounts forty-four guns," said an English paper, "four of which are

one-hundred-pounders, mounted in bomb proofs, and defended by

thousands of boarding-pikes and cutlasses wielded by steam; while

showers of boiling water are poured over those boarders who might

escape death from the rapidly whirling steel." Unfortunately for the

American cause, this much dreaded vessel did not get into the water in

time to take any active part in the war.

In June, 1813, while the British blockaders in the Sound were

exercising all their ingenuity to keep off the torpedoes, there was

fought off the Massachusetts coast, near Boston, an engagement which

must go down to history as one of the most brilliant naval duels of

the age of sails. The United States frigate "Chesapeake" was refitting

at Boston, after a cruise of four months, during which she had more

than justified her reputation as an unlucky ship. Though she sailed

the waters most frequented by British merchantmen, she returned to

port having captured only four vessels. Three men-of-war were sighted,

but could not be spoken. Strangely enough, the frigate sailed over the

spot where lay the sunken "Peacock" the very day after the "Hornet"

had fought her famous fight. Ill-luck pursued the hapless ship even to

her home port; for, as she was entering the port of Boston, a sudden

squall carried away the topmast, with several men who were aloft at

the time.

When the "Hornet" reached port, after her victory over the "Peacock,"

her gallant captain, James Lawrence, was appointed to the command of

the "Chesapeake." On reaching his ship, he found affairs in a

desperate condition. The sailors who had sailed on the long and

unproductive cruise were firmly convinced that the frigate's bad luck

was beyond remedy. The term of enlistment of many had expired, and

they were daily leaving the ship. Those who remained were sullen, and

smarting under fancied ill-treatment in the matter of the prize-money.

To get fresh seamen was no easy task. Great fleets of privateers were

being fitted out; and sailors generally preferred to sail in these

vessels, in which the discipline was light, and the gains usually

great. Some sailors from the "Constitution" were induced to join the

"Chesapeake;" and these, with the remnant of the frigate's old crew,

formed the nucleus of a crew which was filled up with merchant-sailors

and foreigners of all nations. Before the lists were fairly filled,

the ship put to sea, to give battle to an adversary that proved to be

her superior.

The events leading to the action were simple, and succeeded each other

hurriedly. The port of Boston was blockaded by two British frigates,

the "Tenedos" thirty-eight, and the "Shannon" thirty-eight. The latter

vessel was under the command of Capt. Philip Bowes Vere Broke, a naval

officer of courage, skill, and judgment. His crew was thoroughly

disciplined, and his ship a model of efficiency. No officer in the

service understood better than he the difference between the

discipline of a martinet and the discipline of a prudent and sagacious

commander. His ship might not, like the "Peacock," merit the title of

"the yacht;" but for active service she was always prepared. James, an

English naval historian, turns from his usual occupation of explaining

the American naval victories by belittling the British ships, and

enormously magnifying the power of the victors, to speak as follows of

the "Shannon:"--

"From the day on which he [Capt. Broke] joined her, the 14th of

September, 1806, the 'Shannon' began to feel the effect of her

captain's proficiency as a gunner, and zeal for the service. The

laying of the ship's ordnance so that it may be correctly fired in a

horizontal direction is justly deemed a most important operation, as

upon it depends, in a great measure, the true aim and destructive

effect of the shot; this was attended to by Capt. Broke in person. By

drafts from other ships, and the usual means to which a British

man-of-war is obliged to resort, the 'Shannon' got together a crew;

and in the course of a year or two, by the paternal care and excellent

regulations of Capt. Broke, the ship's company became as pleasant to

command as it was dangerous to meet." Moreover, the historian goes on

to relate that the ship's guns were carefully sighted, and her

ammunition frequently overhauled. Often a cask would be thrown

overboard, and a gun's crew suddenly called to sink it as it bobbed

about on the waves astern. Practice with the great guns was of daily

occurrence. "Every day for about an hour and a half in the forenoon,

when not prevented by chase or the state of the weather, the men were

exercised at training the guns; and for the same time in the

afternoon in the use of the broad-sword, musket, pike, etc. Twice a

week the crew fired at targets, both with great guns and musketry; and

Capt. Broke, as an additional stimulus beyond the emulation excited,

gave a pound of tobacco to every man that put a shot through the

bull's-eye."

Such was the vessel that in June appeared alone off the entrance to

Boston Harbor, and by her actions seemed to challenge the "Chesapeake"

to give her battle. Indeed, Broke's wish to test the strength of the

two vessels was so great, that he sent in, by the hands of an American

prisoner, a written challenge, the terms and spirit of which showed

the writer to be a courageous and chivalric officer and gentleman. "As

the 'Chesapeake' now appears ready for sea," he wrote, "I request you

will do me the honor to meet the 'Shannon' with her, ship to ship, to

try the fortunes of our respective flags. To an officer of your

character, it requires some apology for proceeding to further

particulars. Be assured, sir, it is not from any doubt I can entertain

of your wishing to close with my proposal, but merely to provide an

answer to any objection which might be made, and very reasonably, upon

the chance of our receiving any unfair support." Capt. Broke then

proceeds to assure Lawrence that the other British ships in the

neighborhood would be sent away before the day of combat. To the

challenge was appended a careful statement of the strength of the

"Shannon," that Lawrence might understand that the ships were fairly

matched.

But before this challenge reached Boston, Lawrence had set out to seek

the enemy. He had seen the "Shannon" lying off the entrance to the

port; and, finding out that she was alone, he knew that her presence

was in itself a challenge that he could not honorably ignore. Nor did

he desire to avoid the battle thus offered. He had confidence in his

crew, his frigate, and himself, and looked for nothing but victory. To

the Secretary of the Navy, he wrote, "An English frigate is now in

sight from my deck. I have sent a pilot-boat out to reconnoitre; and,

should she be alone, I am in hopes to give a good account of her

before night. My crew appear to be in fine spirits, and I hope will do

their duty."

In truth, however, the condition of this same crew was such that the

captain would have been justified in refusing the challenge. An

unusual number of foreign sailors were enrolled, among whom was a

Portuguese, who, in the ensuing battle, did incalculable injury to the

cause of the "Chesapeake." The crew had never drilled together; many

of the sailors came on board only a few hours before the ship sailed

out to battle. All the old sailors were sullen over the delay in the

payment of the prize-money of their last cruise. Lawrence attempted to

allay their discontent by giving them checks for the prize-money; but

the sense of injury still lingered in the minds of the men, and they

were ill-fitted to do battle for the honor of the flag. Added to this

evil was the fact that the first and second lieutenants and two acting

lieutenants were away on sick-leave, and the ship was thus left short

of officers on the eve of battle.

Regardless of the disadvantages under which he labored, Lawrence

weighed anchor on the 1st of June, and started down the harbor. As he

approached the ocean, Lawrence mustered his crew aft, and eloquently

urged them to fight bravely, and do their duty to the country, which

had entered upon this war in defence of seamen and their rights. Three

ensigns were run up; and at the fore was unfurled a broad white flag,

bearing the motto, "FREE TRADE AND SAILORS' RIGHTS." When Lawrence

closed his speech, and pointed out the flag floating at the fore, the

men cheered and went forward, leaving the captain convinced that he

could depend upon their loyalty.

The morning was bright and cool, with a fresh breeze blowing, before

which the "Chesapeake" rapidly bore down upon the foe that awaited

her. Following cautiously in her track came a number of small

craft,--pilot-boats, sloops, fishing-smacks, and pleasure-boats,--that

had come down the bay to see the outcome of the battle. Hundreds of

people of Boston rode along the coast, in hopes of gaining an outlook

from which the progress of the fight might be viewed.

At noon the ship rounded Boston Light, and made out into the open sea.

The "Shannon" went ahead, under easy sail, making up the coast toward

Salem. Towards five o'clock the "Chesapeake" luffed up for a moment;

while the pilot clambered down the side, and put off in a small boat.

A gun was then fired, as a signal that the Americans were ready for

action.

The "Shannon" evidently understood the purport of the signal; for she

quickly hove to, and troops of agile jackies clambered up her rigging,

and began to take in sail. The "Chesapeake" followed suit, and was

soon under only topsails and jib. She then laid her course straight

for the enemy.

[Illustration: Beating To Quarters.]

A ship preparing for action in that day was a scene of hurry and

confusion that cannot be equalled in this era of machinery and few

guns. At the short, broken, rolling beat of the drums, calling the men

to quarters, the hurried rush of hundreds of feet began, as the men

came pouring from all parts of the ship to their posts. Some clambered

aloft to their stations in the tops; others invaded the sanctity of

the quarter-deck and captain's cabin, where several guns are always

mounted. But the most stirring scene is on the long gun-deck where the

men gradually fall into their places at the two long rows of great

guns that peer through the open ports on either side. All are stripped

to the waist; and at many a gun the fair skin of the American sailor

gleams white by the side of some swarthy Spaniard, or still darker

negro.

[Illustration: The Only Shot Of The "Chesapeake".]

All quiet down on reaching their stations; and, five minutes after the

drum-beats, no sound is heard, save perhaps the steps of the black

boys, taking rations of grog around, that the men may "splice the

main brace" before going into the fight.

Thus silently did the "Chesapeake" bear down upon her adversary. There

was no long-range firing; for the two commanders were veterans, whose

chief desire was to settle the dispute yard-arm to yard-arm. Gradually

the American ship ranged alongside the "Shannon," at a distance of

half pistol-shot; and, as her foremast came in a line with the

"Shannon's" mizzen-mast, the latter opened fire with her cabin-guns.

For a moment the "Chesapeake" was silent, waiting for her guns to

bear; then, with sulphuric flashes and a thunderous roar, she let fly

her whole broadside. Then followed a duel with great guns. The two

ships, lying side by side, dealt and received staggering blows. The

spectators in small boats, who kept a safe distance, and the crowds of

eager watchers on the far-off heights of Salem, saw through their

spy-glasses the flash of the first broadsides, and the flying

splinters that followed the course of the deadly shot. Then a heavy

cloud of yellow smoke settled over the warring leviathans, and all

further incidents of the battle were shut out from view. Only the

top-masts of the ships, with the half-furled sails and the opposing

ensigns flying, could be seen above the smoke.

Under this vaporous pall, the fighting was sharp and desperate. The

first broadside of the "Shannon" so swept the decks of the American

frigate, that, of one hundred and fifty men quartered on the upper

deck, not fifty were upon their legs when the terrible rush of the

shot was over. The sailors in the tops of the British frigate, looking

down upon the decks of their enemy, could see nothing but a cloud of

hammocks, splinters, and wreckage of all kinds, driven fiercely across

the deck. Both men at the wheel fell dead, but their places were soon

filled; while fresh gunners rushed down to work the guns that had been

silenced by the enemy's fearful broadside. In a moment the

"Chesapeake" responded with spirit, and for some time broadsides were

exchanged with inconceivable rapidity. The men encouraged each other

with cheers and friendly cries. They had named the guns of the

frigate, and with each telling shot they cheered the iron-throated

monster which had hurled the bolt. "Wilful Murder," "Spitfire,"

"Revenge," "Bull Dog," "Mad Anthony," "Defiance," "Raging Eagle," and

"Viper" were some of the titles born by the great guns; and well the

weapons bore out the names thus bestowed upon them. The gunnery of the

Americans was good, their shot doing much damage to the enemy's

rigging. But the effect of the "Shannon's" broadsides was such that no

men, however brave, could stand before them. They swept the decks,

mowing down brave fellows by the score. Officers fell on every side.

At a critical moment the two ships fouled, exposing the "Chesapeake"

to a raking broadside, which beat in her stern-ports, and drove the

gunners from the after-port. At this moment, Lawrence was wounded in

the leg, but remained at his post and ordered that the boarders be

called up. Unhappily a negro bugler had been detailed for the duty

usually performed by drummers; and, at this important moment, he could

not be found. Midshipmen and lieutenants ran about the ship, striving

to call up the boarders by word of mouth. In the confusion, the bugler

was found skulking under the stem of the launch, and so paralyzed by

fear that he could only give a feeble blast upon his instrument. In

the din and confusion of battle, the oral orders of the officers only

perplexed the men; and the moment for boarding was lost. At that very

moment, the turning-point of the conflict, Capt. Lawrence was struck

by a musket-ball, and fell mortally wounded to the deck. His officers

rushed to his side, and, raising him gently, were carrying him below,

when in a firm voice he cried,--

"Tell the men to fire faster, and not give up the ship. Fight her till

she sinks."

With these words on his lips, he was carried to the wardroom.

At this moment, the upper deck was left without an officer above the

rank of midshipman. The men, seeing their captain carried below, fell

into a panic, which was increased by the explosion of an arm-chest,

into which a hand-grenade, hurled by a sailor lying out on the

yard-arm of the "Shannon," had fallen. Seeing that the fire of the

Americans had slackened, Capt. Broke left his quarter-deck, and,

running hastily forward, gained a position on the bow of his ship from

which he could look down upon the decks of the "Chesapeake." His

practised eye quickly perceived the confusion on the deck of the

American frigate; and he instantly ordered that the ships be lashed

together, and the boarders called up. An old quartermaster, a veteran

in the British navy, set about lashing the ships together, and

accomplished his task, although his right arm was actually hacked off

by the cutlass of an American sailor. The boarders were slow in coming

up, and but twenty men followed Broke as he climbed to the deck of

the "Chesapeake." Broke led his men straight for the quarter-deck of

the frigate. The Americans offered but little resistance. Not an

officer was in sight to guide the men, and the newly enlisted sailors

and foreigners fled like sheep before the advance of the boarders.

[Illustration: On Board The "Chesapeake."]

The British reached the quarter-deck with hardly the loss of a man.

Here stood Mr. Livermore, the chaplain of the "Chesapeake," who had

cruised long with Lawrence, and bitterly mourned the captain's fate.

Determined to avenge the fallen captain, he fired a pistol at Broke's

head, but missed him. Broke sprang forward, and dealt a mighty stroke

of his keen cutlass at the chaplain's head, who saved himself by

taking the blow on his arm. While the boarders were thus traversing

the upper deck, the sailors in the tops of the "Chesapeake" were

keeping up a well-directed fire, before which many of the Englishmen

fell. But this resistance was not of long duration; for one of the

"Shannon's" long nines, loaded with grape, swept clean the

"Chesapeake's" tops. With this, the British were in full control of

the upper deck.

Up to this time, the Americans on the gun-deck had known nothing of

the events occurring on the deck above them. When the news of the

British assault spread, Lieut. Budd called upon the men to follow him,

and drive the boarders back to their own ship. A number of the marines

(who behaved splendidly throughout the fight) and some twenty veteran

sailors were all that responded to the call. Broke had in the mean

time summoned the marines of the "Shannon" to his aid; and the

British, led by their dashing commander, were pouring in a dense

column down the companion-ways to the gun-deck. Budd and his handful

of followers attacked them fiercely; and, by the very desperation of

the onset, the British were forced back a few paces. Broke threw

himself upon the Americans. With his cutlass he cut down the first man

who attacked him, and bore down upon the others, dealing deadly blows

right and left. His followers came close behind him. The Americans

fell on every side, and began to retreat before the overwhelming force

of their foes. Up from the wardroom came Lieut. Ludlow, already

suffering from two dangerous wounds. He placed himself beside the

younger officer, and the two strove in every way to encourage their

men. But Ludlow soon fell, with a gaping wound across his forehead.

Budd was cut down, and fell through the hatchway to the deck beneath.

The sailors, seeing both officers fall, gave way in confusion; and the

ship was in the hands of the British. A few marines kept up a fire

through the hatchway, but soon were silenced.

An English officer, Lieut. Watts, ran to the halliards to haul down

the American flag. But it would seem that the good genius which had

watched over that starry banner throughout the war was loath to see it

disgraced; for the officer had hardly finished his work, when a

grape-shot from his own ship struck him, and he fell dead.

The noise of the battle had by this time died away, and the fresh

breezes soon carried off the smoke that enveloped the combatants. It

was an awful scene thus exposed to view. On the "Chesapeake" were

sixty-one killed, and eighty-five wounded men. On the "Shannon" were

thirty-three dead, and fifty wounded. On a cot in the wardroom lay

Capt. Lawrence, his mortal wound having mercifully rendered him

unconscious, so that he knew nothing of the loss of his ship. Broke

had been made delirious by the fevered throbbing of the wound he had

so long neglected. Everywhere were evidences of carnage and

desolation.

Little time was lost in getting the ships in order after the

surrender. The noise of the hammer and saw was heard in every quarter.

The wounded were taken to the sick-bay, and the bodies of the dead

were committed to the ocean. Floods of water and the heavy holystones

took from the decks the stains of blood. The galley cooks marched up

and down the decks, sprinkling hot vinegar with a lavish hand. The

British prize-crew took possession of the captured ship, and in a few

hours the captor and captive were well on their way toward Halifax.

They reached port on the 7th of June; and the sight of the "Shannon,"

followed by the "Chesapeake" with the British ensign flying proudly

over the stars and stripes, stirred the little city to the utmost

enthusiasm. As the two ships pursued their stately course up the

harbor, the British men-of-war on all sides manned their yards, and

fired salutes in honor of the victory. The thunders of the cannon

brought the town's-people to the water-side, and their cheers rang out

lustily to welcome their conquering countrymen to port.

Capt. Lawrence had died the day before; and his body, wrapped in an

American flag, lay on the quarter-deck of his frigate. Three days

later, his body, with that of his gallant lieutenant Ludlow, was laid

to rest with imposing naval honors, in the churchyard of Halifax. But

his country, honoring him even in the day of his defeat, was not

content that his body should lie in the soil of an enemy's country.

Two months after the battle, an American vessel, the "Henry" of Salem,

entered the harbor of Halifax, under cover of a flag of truce, and

took on board the bodies of Lawrence and Ludlow. They were conveyed

first to Salem and later to New York, where they now lie under a

massive monument of sandstone, in a corner of Trinity churchyard. A

few feet away, the ceaseless tide of human life rolls on its course up

and down Broadway; few of the busy men and women pausing to remember

that in the ancient churchyard lies the body of the man whose dying

words, "Don't give up the ship," were for years the watchword and

motto of the United States navy.

CHAPTER X.

CRUISE OF THE "ESSEX." -- A RICH PRIZE. -- THE MYSTERIOUS

LETTER. -- CAPE HORN ROUNDED. -- CAPTURE OF A PERUVIAN

PRIVATEER. -- AMONG THE BRITISH WHALERS. -- PORTER IN

COMMAND OF A SQUADRON. -- A BOY COMMANDER. -- THE SQUADRON

LAYS UP AT NOOKAHEEVAH.

While the events related in the two preceding chapters were occurring

along the American coast, a few gallant vessels were upholding the

honor of the stars and stripes in far distant lands. To cruise in

waters frequented by an enemy's merchantmen, and capture, burn, sink,

and destroy, is always a legitimate occupation for the navy of a

belligerent nation. Yet the nation suffering at the hands of the

cruisers invariably raises the cry of "wanton vandalism and cruelty,"

and brands the officers to whom falls so unpleasant a duty with the

name of pirates. Such was the outcry raised against Paul Jones in the

Revolutionary war; so it was the British described the brilliant

service of the little brig "Argus" in 1813; and so the people of the

North regarded the career of the "Alabama" and other Confederate

cruisers in the great war for the Union. But perhaps no ship had

ever a more adventurous career, or wrought more damage to the enemy's

commerce, than the United States frigate "Essex," under the command of

the able officer David Porter.

Of the circumstances which led to the famous cruise of the "Essex,"

some account has already been given. With a full crew, and stores

enough to enable her to keep the sea for some months, the ship set

sail from the Delaware in the autumn of 1812, and headed to the

southward with the intention of joining the "Constitution" and

"Hornet" at some point in the tropics. Her first point of call was at

Porto Praya, a harbor in the Cape Verd Islands. To the captain's

disappointment, he could learn nothing of Bainbridge at this place;

and he soon departed, after scrupulously exchanging salutes with a

rickety little fort, over which floated the flag of Portugal.

Continuing her southward way, the "Essex" crossed the equator, on

which occasion the jolly tars enjoyed the usual ceremonies attendant

upon crossing the line. Father Neptune and his faithful spouse, with

their attendant suite, came aboard and superintended the operation of

shaving and dowsing the green hands, whose voyages had never called

them before into the Southern seas. Capt. Porter looked upon the

frolic indulgently. He was well known as a captain who never

unnecessarily repressed the light-heartedness of his crew. Two hours

daily were set aside during which the crew were free to amuse

themselves in any reasonable way. At four o'clock every afternoon, the

shrill piping of the boatswain's whistle rang through the ship,

followed by the cry, "D'ye hear there, fore and aft? All hands

skylark!" No order ever brought a quicker response, and in a minute

the decks became a perfect pandemonium. The sailors rushed here and

there, clad in all sorts of clothes; boxed, fenced, wrestled; ran

short foot-races; played at leap-frog, and generally comported

themselves like children at play. Fights were of common occurrence;

and the two combatants soon became the centre of an interested ring of

spectators, who cheered on their favorites with loud cries of "Go it,

Bill. Now, Jack, lively with yer left." But a sailor has no better

friend to-day than the man he fought yesterday; and the fights, like

the play, only kept the crew in good spirits and contentment.

The day after crossing the equator, the "Essex" sighted a sail and

gave chase. Towards evening the frigate had gained greatly upon the

stranger, and Porter displayed all the British signals which he had in

his possession. The chase made no response, but set a British ensign.

By nine o'clock, the "Essex" was within musket-shot, and could easily

have blown the fugitive out of water; but this Porter was loath to do,

as he desired to take the brig without doing her any injury. However,

as she showed no signs of surrendering, he ordered the marines to give

her a volley of musketry. One man on the chase was killed, and a

number wounded, upon which her flag was immediately hauled down. She

proved to be the British packet "Nocton" of ten guns. In her hold was

found fifty-five thousand dollars in specie, which was at once taken

on board the "Essex;" and the "Nocton" was sent to the United States

under the charge of a prize-crew. Before she could make a port, she

fell in with a British man-of-war, and was captured after a few hours'

chase.

Two days after parting with the "Nocton," the "Essex" hove in sight of

the Island of Fernando Noronha, off the coast of Brazil. For a time

the frigate abandoned her warlike character, battened down her ports,

housed her guns, hid her large crew between decks, and sailed into the

little harbor looking like a large but peaceable British merchantman.

An officer clad in plain clothes went ashore, and, meeting the

governor, stated that the ship was the "Fanny" of London, bound for

Rio Janeiro. During the conversation, the governor remarked that His

British Majesty's ships, the "Acosta" forty-four, and the "Morgiana"

twenty, had but recently sailed from the port, and had left a letter

for Sir James Yeo, requesting that it be forwarded to England as soon

as possible. With this news, the lieutenant returned to the ship. On

hearing his report, Porter at once surmised that the letter might have

been left for him by Commodore Bainbridge; and he at once sent the

officer back, bearing the message that the "Fanny" was soon going to

London, and her captain would see the letter delivered to Sir James

Yeo, in person. The unsuspecting governor accordingly delivered up the

epistle, and it was soon in Porter's hands. The note read as

follows:--

My Dear Mediterranean Friend,--Probably you may stop here.

Don't attempt to water: it is attended with too many

difficulties. I learned, before I left _England_, that you

were bound to Brazil coast. If so, perhaps we may meet at

St. Salvador or at Rio Janeiro. I should be happy to meet

and converse on our old affairs of captivity. Recollect our

secret in those times.

Your friend of His Majesty's ship "Acosta,"

KERR.

Sir JAMES YEO of His British Majesty's ship "Southampton."

Porter read and pondered over this perplexing letter. He felt sure

that the letter was from Bainbridge; and in the allusion to St.

Salvador and Rio Janeiro, he perceived the commodore's wish for a

rendezvous at one of those places. But what could be the secret of the

times of captivity? Suddenly a thought struck him. Might there not be

something written in sympathetic ink? Hurriedly calling for a candle,

he held the letter above its flame, and saw, under the influence of

the heat, words and sentences appearing where before all was blank

paper.

"I am bound off St. Salvador," it read; "thence off Cape Frio, where I

intend to cruise until the 1st of January. Go off Cape Frio to the

northward of Rio, and keep a lookout for me."

That afternoon the governor of the island, looking out toward the

harbor, was surprised to see the "Fanny" standing out under a full

spread of canvas. Porter had gained all the information that he

wished, and was off in search of his consorts. This search he

continued until the 20th of January, cruising up and down off the

Brazilian coast, and taking one or two small prizes. In this

unprofitable service the ship's stores were being rapidly consumed.

Among other things, the supply of rum began to run short; and in

connection with this occurred a curious incident, that well

illustrates the character of sailors. The daily rations of bread were

reduced one-half, and the rations of salt meat one-third, without a

word of remonstrance from the patient crew. Next the discovery was

made that the rum was giving out, and a proportional reduction in the

rations of grog was duly ordered. The jackies put in a vigorous and

immediate protest. They were prepared, they said, to go without grog,

should the supply of rum be unhappily exhausted; but so long as any of

the precious fluid remained, their rations of grog should not be

curtailed. But to this Porter would not accede, fearing that, should

the men be altogether deprived of their grog, the health of the crew

might suffer. Accordingly, when the crew were piped to "splice the

main brace" the next day, they were told that half rations only would

be issued; and, if the grog was not taken up in fifteen minutes, the

tub would be overturned, and the rum spilled into the sea. So dire a

threat was too much for the rebellious seamen: they sprang into line,

with their tin cups, and drew their curtailed rations without more

ado.

Some days after this occurrence, the "Essex" overhauled a Portuguese

vessel, from the captain of which Porter learned that an American

frigate had shortly before fought and sunk an English frigate off the

coast of Brazil; also, that it was rumored that an American corvette

of twenty-two guns had been brought into Rio, a prize to a British

seventy-four. This intelligence placed Capt. Porter in some

perplexity. He felt convinced that the successful American frigate was

the "Constitution;" a conjecture in which he was correct, for the news

referred to the celebrated action of that ship with the "Java." The

captured American corvette, he concluded, must be the "Hornet;" but

herein the captain was wrong, for the "Hornet" was at that moment

blockading the "Bonne Citoyenne."

Porter now found it necessary to decide upon a course of action. The

news which he had received made it appear most improbable that he

would fall in with either of the United States vessels for which he

was seeking. He was far from home, cruising in seas much frequented by

British men-of-war. There were no naval stations or outposts belonging

to the United States, into which he could put for protection or

repairs; for then, as now, the nation ignored the necessity of such

supply-stations. To return home was peculiarly distasteful to the

captain, who had set sail with the intention of undertaking a long

cruise. In this dilemma, he wasted but little time in thought. By

rounding Cape Horn, he would carry the "Essex" into the Pacific Ocean,

where British merchantmen abounded and men-of-war were few. It was an

adventurous and a perilous expedition to undertake; but Porter, having

decided upon it, wasted no time in getting under way. That very night

he took his ship out of the snug harbor of St. Catherine's, and

started upon his long voyage around the Horn.

A winter voyage around Cape Horn, even in the stoutest of ships, is an

undertaking to be dreaded by the most courageous seamen. The "Essex"

seemed to meet with more than her share of stormy weather. From the

night when she set sail from St. Catherine's, until she dropped anchor

in a harbor of the Island of Mocha, almost every day witnessed a

struggle for supremacy between the raging ocean on the one side, and

skilful seamanship and nautical science on the other. Capt. Porter,

however, proved himself ready for every emergency. No peril of the

deep was unforeseen, no ounce of prevention unprovided. The safety of

his ship, and the health of his men, were ever in his thoughts; and

accordingly, when the "Essex" rounded into the Pacific Ocean, both

men and ship were in condition to give their best service to the

enterprise in which they were embarked.

After rounding Cape Horn, the "Essex" made her way northward along the

desolate coast of Chili, until she reached the Island of Mocha. Here

she anchored for a day, giving the crew a much needed run on shore,

which they enjoyed with all the zest of schoolboys out for a day's

holiday. The island afforded little in the way of fresh stores; but

some pigs and horses were shot, and devoured with gusto by men who for

over two months had not tasted fresh meat. From this point the frigate

made for Valparaiso, and, after reconnoitring the port, put in for

water and stores. The officers were received with much hospitality by

the townspeople, and, after a few days' stay, were tendered a

complimentary ball,--an entertainment into which the young officers

entered with great glee. But, unhappily for their evening's pleasure,

the dancing had hardly begun, when a midshipman appeared at the door

of the hall, and announced that a large frigate was standing into the

harbor. Deserting their fair partners, the people of the "Essex"

hastened to their ship, and were soon in readiness for the action;

while the townspeople thronged the hills overlooking the sea, in the

hopes of seeing a naval duel. But the frigate proved to be a Spaniard;

and, of course, no action occurred.

[Illustration: The Peruvian Privateer.]

The "Essex" remained several days at Valparaiso, and during her stay

two or three American whalers put into the harbor. From the captains

of these craft, Porter learned that the Peruvians were sending out

privateers to prey upon American commerce, and that much damage had

already been done by these marauders, who were no more than pirates,

since no war existed between Peru and the United States. Porter

determined to put an immediate stop to the operations of the Peruvian

cruisers, and had not long to wait for an opportunity. A day or two

after leaving Valparaiso, a sail was sighted in the offing, which was

soon near enough to be made out a vessel-of-war, disguised as a

whaler. Porter hung out the English ensign, and caused an American

whaler, with which he had that morning fallen in, to hoist a British

flag over the stars and stripes. At this sight, the stranger hoisted

the Spanish flag, and threw a shot across the bow of the "Essex."

Porter responded by a few shot that whizzed through the rigging just

above the Spaniard's deck. The latter thereupon sent a boat to the

"Essex;" and the officer who came aboard, thinking that he was on a

British man-of-war, boasted of his ship's exploits among the American

whalers. His vessel was the Peruvian privateer "Nereyda" of fifteen

guns, and she had captured two American whalers, whose crews were even

then in the hold of the privateer. He admitted that Peru had no

quarrel with the United States, and no reason for preying upon her

commerce. The confession, so unsuspectingly made, gave Porter ample

grounds for the capture of the offending vessel. Curtly informing his

astounded visitor that he was on a United States man-of-war, Porter

ordered the gunners to fire two shots close to the privateer. This was

done, and the Peruvian quickly hauled down his colors. The American

officers, on boarding the prize, found twenty-three American sailors,

who had been robbed of all that they possessed, stripped of half their

clothing, and thrown into the hold. These unfortunate men were released

and sent to the "Essex;" after which all the guns and ammunition of

the privateer were thrown overboard, and the vessel ordered to return

to Callao.

After this act of summary justice, the "Essex" continued in her

northward course. She touched at Callao; but, much to the

disappointment of all on board, there were no British vessels among

the shipping at that port. Nor could the lookouts, for some days,

discern from the masthead any craft other than the double-hulled rafts

of logs, called catamarans, in which the natives along the Peruvian

coast make long voyages. Weary of such continued ill-luck, Porter

determined to make for the Galapagos Islands, where it was the custom

of the British whaling-ships to rendezvous. But it seemed that

ill-fortune was following close upon the "Essex;" for she sailed the

waters about the Galapagos, and sent out boats to search small bays

and lagoons, without finding a sign of a ship. Two weeks passed in

this unproductive occupation, and Porter had determined to abandon the

islands, when he was roused from his berth on the morning of April 29,

1813, by the welcome cry of "Sail, ho!"

All hands were soon on deck, and saw a large ship in the offing. All

sail was clapped on the frigate; and she set out in hot pursuit,

flying the British ensign as a ruse to disarm suspicion. As the chase

wore on, two more sail were sighted; and Porter knew that he had

fallen in with the long-sought whalers. He had no doubt of his ability

to capture all three; for in those southern seas a dead calm falls

over the ocean every noon, and in a calm the boats of the "Essex"

could easily take possession of the whalers. By eight o'clock in the

morning, the vessel first sighted was overhauled, and hove to in

obedience to a signal from the frigate. She proved to be the

"Montezuma," Capt. Baxter, with a cargo of fourteen hundred barrels of

sperm-oil. Baxter visited Capt. Porter in his cabin, and sat there

unsuspectingly, giving the supposed British captain information for

his aid in capturing American ships. The worthy whaler little knew, as

he chatted away, that his crew was being transferred to the frigate,

and a prize-crew sent to take charge of the "Montezuma."

By noon the expected calm fell over the water; and the boats were

ordered away to take possession of the two whalers, that lay

motionless some eight miles from the "Essex." The distance was soon

passed, and the two ships were ordered to surrender, which they

quickly did, much astonished to find a United States man-of-war in

that region. A breeze shortly after springing up, all the prizes bore

down upon the frigate; and the gallant lads of the "Essex" had the

pleasure of seeing themselves surrounded with captured property to the

value of nearly half a million dollars. One of the vessels, the

"Georgiana," was a good sailer, strongly built, and well fitted for a

cruiser. Accordingly she was armed with sixteen guns and a number of

swivels, and placed under the command of Lieut. Downes. With this

addition to his force, and with the other two prizes following in his

wake, Porter returned to the Galapagos Islands. The first sight of the

far-off peaks of the desert islands rising above the water was hailed

with cheers by the sailors, who saw in the Galapagos not a group of

desolate and rocky islands, but a place where turtle was plenty, and

shore liberty almost unlimited. Porter remained some days at the

islands, urging the crew of the "Essex," as well as the prisoners, to

spend much time ashore. Signs of the scurvy were evident among the

men, and the captain well knew that in no way could the dread disease

be kept away better than by constant exercise on the sands of the

seashore. The sailors entered heartily into their captain's plans, and

spent hours racing on the beach, swimming in the surf, and wandering

over the uninhabited islands.

After a few days of this sort of life, the squadron put to sea again.

The "Georgianna" now separated from the fleet, and started on an

independent cruise, with orders for a rendezvous at certain specific

times. The "Essex" continued to hover about the Galapagos, in the

hopes of getting a few more whalers. She had not long to wait; for the

whale ship "Atlantic" soon fell in her way, and was promptly snapped

up. The captain of this ship was a Nantucket man, who had deserted the

flag of his country, to cruise under what he thought to be the more

powerful flag of Great Britain. Great was his disgust to find that by

his treachery he had lost all that he desired to protect. While in

chase of the "Atlantic," a second sail had been sighted; and to this

the "Essex" now gave chase. On being overhauled, the stranger at first

made some show of fighting; but a shot or two from the guns of the

frigate convinced him of the folly of this course, and he surrendered

at discretion. The vessel proved to be the whale ship letter-of-marque

"Greenwich;" a stout ship, of excellent sailing qualities. She carried

ten guns, and was in every way a valuable prize.

Porter had now been in the Pacific Ocean about three months. On the

24th of February, the "Essex," solitary defender of the flag of the

United States in the Pacific, had turned her prow northward from Cape

Horn, and embarked on her adventurous career in the most mighty of

oceans. Now in May, Porter, as he trod the deck of his good ship,

found himself master of a goodly squadron instead of one stanch

frigate. The "Essex," of course, led the list, followed by the

"Georgianna," sixteen guns, forty-two men; "Atlantic," six guns,

twelve men; "Greenwich," ten guns, fourteen men; "Montezuma," two

guns, ten men; "Policy," ten men. Of these the "Georgianna" had

already received her armament and authority as a war-vessel; and the

"Atlantic" showed such seaworthy qualities that Porter determined to

utilize her in the same way. Accordingly he set sail for Tumbez, where

he hoped to get rid of some of his prisoners, perhaps sell one or two

of his prizes, and make the necessary changes in the "Atlantic." While

on the way to Tumbez, a Spanish brig was overhauled. Her captain

vastly edified Capt. Porter by informing him that the "Nereyda," a

Peruvian privateer, had recently attacked a huge American frigate, and

inflicted great damage upon the Yankee. But the frigate proving too

powerful, the privateer had been forced to fly, and hastened her

flight by throwing overboard all her guns and ammunition.

On the 19th of June, the "Essex" with her satellites cast anchor in

the harbor of Tumbez. The first view of the town satisfied Porter that

his hopes of selling his prizes there were without avail. A more

squalid, dilapidated little seaside village, it would be hard to find.

Hardly had the ships cast anchor, when the governor came off in a boat

to pay a formal visit. Though clothed in rags, he had all the dignity

of a Spanish hidalgo, and strutted about the quarter-deck with most

laughable self-importance. Notwithstanding his high official station,

this worthy permitted himself to be propitiated with a present of one

hundred dollars; and he left the ship, promising all sorts of aid to

the Americans. Nothing came of it all, however; and Porter failed to

dispose of any of his prizes. While the "Essex" with her train of

captives lay in the harbor at Tumbez, the "Georgianna" came into port,

and was greeted with three cheers by the men of the frigate. Lieut.

Downes reported that he had captured three British ships, carrying in

all twenty-seven guns and seventy-five men. One of the prizes had been

released on parole, and the other two were then with the "Georgianna."

This addition to the number of vessels in the train of the "Essex" was

somewhat of an annoyance to Capt. Porter, who saw clearly that so

great a number of prizes would seriously interfere with his future

movements against the enemy. He accordingly remained at Tumbez only

long enough to convert the "Atlantic" into an armed cruiser under the

name of the "Essex Junior," and then set sail, in the hopes of finding

some port wherein he could sell his embarrassing prizes. His

prisoners, save about seventy-five who enrolled themselves under the

American flag, were paroled, and left at Tumbez; and again the little

squadron put to sea. The "Essex Junior" was ordered to take the

"Hector," "Catherine," "Policy," and "Montezuma" to Valparaiso, and

there dispose of them, after which she was to meet the "Essex" at the

Marquesas Islands. On her way to the rendezvous, the "Essex" stopped

again at the Galapagos Islands, where she was lucky enough to find the

British whaler "Seringapatam," known as the finest ship of the British

whaling fleet. By her capture, the American whalers were rid of a

dangerous enemy; for, though totally without authority from the

British Crown, the captain of the "Seringapatam" had been waging a

predatory warfare against such luckless Americans as fell in his path.

Porter now armed this new prize with twenty-two guns, and considered

her a valuable addition to his offensive force. She took the place of

the "Georgianna," which vessel Porter sent back to the United States

loaded with oil.

Among the embarrassments which the care of so many prizes brought upon

the leader of the expedition was the difficulty of finding commanding

officers for all the vessels. This difficulty was enhanced while the

flotilla lay off the Galapagos Islands; for two officers, falling into

a dispute, settled their quarrel, after the manner of the day, by a

duel. In the contest one, a lieutenant, aged only twenty-one years,

was killed, and now lies buried in the sands of the desolate and

lonely island. After this occurrence, the need for commanding officers

became so imperative that even the purser and chaplain of the "Essex"

were pressed into the service. Midshipmen twelve or fourteen years old

found themselves in command of ships. David Farragut was one of the

boys thus suddenly promoted, and in his journal has left a description

of his experience as a boy commander.

[Illustration: The Duel At The Galapagos Islands.]

"I was sent as prize-master to the 'Barclay,'" he writes. "This was an

important event in my life; and, when it was decided that I was to

take the ship to Valparaiso, I felt no little pride at finding myself

in command at twelve years of age. This vessel had been recaptured

from a Spanish _guarda costa_. The captain and his mate were on board;

and I was to control the men sent from our frigate, while the captain

was to navigate the vessel. Capt. Porter, having failed to dispose of

the prizes as it was understood he intended, gave orders for the

'Essex Junior' and all the prizes to start for Valparaiso. This

arrangement caused great dissatisfaction on the part of the captain of

the 'Barclay,' a violent-tempered old fellow; and, when the day

arrived for our separation from the squadron, he was furious, and very

plainly intimated to me that I would 'find myself off New Zealand in

the morning,' to which I most decidedly demurred. We were lying still,

while the other ships were fast disappearing from view; the

'Commodore' going north, and the 'Essex Junior' with her convoy

steering to the south for Valparaiso.

"I considered that my day of trial had arrived (for I was a little

afraid of the old fellow, as every one else was). But the time had

come for me at least to play the man: so I mustered up courage, and

informed the captain that I desired the topsail filled away. He

replied that he would shoot any man who dared to touch a rope without

his orders; he 'would go his own course, and had no idea of trusting

himself with a d--d nutshell;' and then he went below for his pistols.

I called my right-hand man of the crew, and told him my situation; I

also informed him that I wanted the main topsail filled. He answered

with a clear 'Ay, ay, sir!' in a manner which was not to be

misunderstood, and my confidence was perfectly restored. From that

moment I became master of the vessel, and immediately gave all

necessary orders for making sail, notifying the captain not to come on

deck with his pistols unless he wished to go overboard; for I would

really have had very little trouble in having such an order obeyed."

On the 30th of September, the squadron fell in with the "Essex

Junior," which had come from Valparaiso. Lieut. Downes reported that

he had disposed of the prizes satisfactorily, and also brought news

that the British frigate "Phoebe," and the sloops-of-war "Raccoon" and

"Cherub," had been ordered to cruise the Pacific in search of the

audacious "Essex." More than this, he secured statistics regarding the

fleet of British whalers in the Pacific, that proved that Porter had

completely destroyed the industry, having left but one whaler

uncaptured. There was then no immediate work for Porter to do; and he

determined to proceed with his squadron to the Marquesas Islands, and

there lay up, to make needed repairs and alterations.

The Marquesas are a desolate group of rocky islands lying in the

Pacific Ocean, on the western outskirts of Oceanica. In formation they

are volcanic, and rise in rugged mountain-peaks from the bosom of the

great ocean. Sea-fowl of all sorts abound; but none of the lower

mammals are to be found on the island, save swine which were

introduced by Europeans. The people at the time of Porter's visit were

simple savages, who had seldom seen the face of a white man; for at

that early day voyagers were few in the far-off Pacific.

The island first visited by the "Essex" was known to the natives as

Rooahooga. Here the frigate stopped for a few hours. During her stay,

the water alongside was fairly alive with canoes and swimming natives.

They were not allowed to come on board, but were immensely pleased by

some fish-hooks and bits of iron let down to them from the decks of

the frigate. Not to be outdone in generosity, the islanders threw up

to the sailors cocoanuts, fruits, and fish. A boat-crew of jackies

that went ashore was surrounded by a smiling, chattering throng of

men, women, and children, who cried out incessantly, "_Taya, taya_"

(friend, friend), and strove to bargain with them for fruits. They

were a handsome, intelligent-looking people; tall, slender, and well

formed, with handsome faces, and complexion little darker than that of

a brunette. The men carried white fans, and wore bracelets of human

hair, with necklaces of whales' teeth and shells about their

necks,--their sole articles of clothing. Both men and women were

tattooed; though the women seemed to content themselves with bands

about the neck and arms, while the men were elaborately decorated from

head to foot. Though some carried clubs and lances, they showed no

signs of hostility, but bore themselves with that simple air of

hospitality and unconscious innocence common to all savage peoples of

tropical regions, uncorrupted by association with civilized white men.

Porter remained but a short time at this island, as its shallow bays

afforded no safe anchorage for the vessels. But, charmed as he was

with the friendly simplicity of the natives, he determined to remain

some time in the vicinity, provided safe anchorage could be found.

This essential was soon discovered at Nookaheevah, where the ships

cast anchor in a fine harbor, which Porter straightway dubbed

Massachusetts Bay. Hardly had the ship anchored, when a canoe

containing three white men came alongside, and was ordered away by the

captain, who thought them deserters from some vessel. The canoe then

returned to the shore, and the three whites were joined by a vast

assemblage of armed natives. Porter now began to fear lest he had

offended the natives, and proceeded at once to the beach, with four

boats well armed and manned. But, by the time the boats' prows grated

upon the white sand, every native had disappeared; and the sole figure

visible was that of a young man, who advanced, and, giving a formal

naval salute, announced himself as Midshipman John M. Maury, U.S.N.

Porter was greatly surprised to find a midshipman in so strange a

place; but the latter explained it by stating that he was on furlough,

and had been left there by a merchant-vessel, which was to call for

him. She had never returned, however, and he now hailed the "Essex" as

an opportunity for escape. A second white man, who then put in an

appearance, naked and tattooed like an Indian, proved to be an

Englishman who had been on the island for years, and who, by his

knowledge of the language and character of the natives, proved of

great assistance to the Americans, during the long stay upon which

Capt. Porter had determined.

CHAPTER XI.

WAR WITH THE SAVAGES. -- THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST THE TYPEES. --

DEPARTURE FROM NOOKAHEEVAH. -- THE "ESSEX" ANCHORS AT

VALPARAISO -- ARRIVAL OF THE "PHOEBE" AND "CHERUB." --

THEY CAPTURE THE "ESSEX." -- PORTER'S ENCOUNTER WITH THE

"SATURN." -- THE MUTINY AT NOOKAHEEVAH.

It was now the last of October, 1813. Capt. Porter saw that the work

he desired done upon the ships under his charge would occupy about six

weeks, and he at once set about forming such relations of peace and

amity with the natives as should enable him to procure the necessary

supplies and prosecute his work unmolested. Much to his dismay, he had

hardly begun his diplomatic palaver with the chiefs, when he learned

that to keep one tribe friendly he must fight its battles against all

other tribes on the island. The natives of Nookaheevah were then

divided into a large number of tribal organizations. With three of

these the Americans were brought into contact,--the Happahs, the

Taeehs, and the Typees. The Taeehs lived in the fertile valley about

the bay in which the American squadron was anchored. With these people

Porter treated first, and made his appearance in their village in

great state, being accompanied by the band, the marines, and several

boats' crews of jackies. He was hospitably received by the natives,

who crowded about to listen to the band, and wonder at the military

precision of the marines, whom they regarded as supernatural beings.

Gattanewa, the chief, expressed his abounding love for the captain,

and exchanged names with him, after the custom of the people; but

ended by saying that the lawless Happahs were at war with the Taeehs,

and the Americans, to gain the friendship of the latter tribe, must

make common cause with them against their enemies. To this Porter

demurred, but the wily chief thereupon brought forward a most

conclusive argument. He said that the Happahs had cursed his mother's

bones; and that, as he and Porter had exchanged names, that estimable

woman was the captain's mother also, and the insult to her memory

should be avenged. It is probable that even this argument might have

proved unavailing, had not the Happahs the next night descended upon

the valley, and, having burned two hundred bread-fruit trees,

departed, leaving word that the Americans were cowards, and dared not

follow them into their mountain fastnesses. Porter saw that his food

supplies were in danger from these vandals, and his knowledge of

savage character convinced him that he could have no peace with any of

the natives until the insolence of this tribe was punished.

Accordingly he notified the Taeehs, that, if they would carry a gun to

the top of one of the mountain peaks, he would send a party against

the Happahs. The Taeehs eagerly agreed; and, after seeing the gun

fired once or twice (a sight that set them fondling and kissing it, to

show their reverence for so powerful a weapon), they set off up the

steep mountain sides, tugging the gun after them. Lieut. Downes led

the American forces. They had hardly reached the mountain tops, when

the fighting began. The Happahs were armed with spears, and with

slings, from which they threw heavy stones with terrific velocity.

They seemed to know no fear, and stood gallantly before the advancing

Americans, fairly darkening the air with clouds of stones and spears.

The Americans, though few in number,--forty, opposed to nearly four

thousand savages,--pressed forward, suffering but little from the

weapons of their foes. From the deck of his frigate in the bay, Porter

could see the steady advances of his forces, as they drove the Happahs

from peak to peak. Before the Americans a huge native strode along,

waving wildly the American flag. The howitzer came in the rear, and

was every now and then discharged, to drive the foe from some

formidable stronghold. So ignorant of fire-arms were the enemy, that

they had no idea of their power, often fighting until the muzzle of a

musket was laid to their temples before the discharge. But before

nightfall this warlike spirit was broken, and the victors returned to

their ships, their native allies carrying five dead bodies slung on

poles. Two only of the Americans were wounded. The next day Happah

ambassadors came to sue for peace; and soon every tribe on the island

joined the alliance, save the Typees, and a distant tribe that proudly

bore the unpronounceable name of Hatecaaheottwohos. For two or three

weeks peace reigned undisturbed. Work was pushed on the vessels. The

rats with which the "Essex" was infested were smoked out, an operation

that necessitated the division of the crew between the shore and the

other vessels. Porter himself, with his officers, took up his quarters

in a tent pitched on the shore. Under some circumstances, such a

change would have been rather pleasant than otherwise; but the rainy

season had now come on, and the tent was little protection against the

storms. Noticing this, the natives volunteered to put up such

buildings as the captain desired, and proceeded to do so in a most

expeditious manner. At early dawn four thousand men set about the

work, and by night had completed a walled village, containing a

dwelling-house for the captain, another for his officers, a cooper's

shop, hospital, bake-house, guard-house, and a shed for the sentinel

to walk under. For their services the men received old nails, bits of

iron hoop, and other metal scraps, with which they were highly

delighted. The Americans were then living on the terms of the most

perfect friendship with the natives. Many of the jackies had been

taken into the families of the islanders, and all had formed most

tender attachment for the beautiful island women; who, in their turn,

were devoted to the "Malleekees," who were such mighty men of war, and

brought them such pretty presents of beads and whales' teeth. The

Americans entered into the celebrations and festivities of the

islanders, watched their dances, joined their fishing expeditions, and

soon were on the friendliest footing with their dusky hosts.

[Illustration: Firing The Howitzer.]

But so pleasant and peaceful an existence was not destined to continue

long. The Typees, who inhabited the interior of the island, were

beginning to stir up strife against the Americans; and Porter saw that

their insolence must be crushed, or the whole native population would

unite in war against him. But to begin a war with the Typees was far

from Porter's wish. The way to their country lay over rugged

precipices and through almost impenetrable jungles. The light-footed

natives could easily enough scale the peaks, or thread the forests;

but to Porter's sailors it would be an exhausting undertaking. No

artillery could be taken into the field, and the immense number of

natives that might be arrayed against the sailors made the success of

the expedition very uncertain. Porter, therefore, determined to try to

adjust the difficulty amicably, and with this purpose sent an

ambassador to the Typees, proposing a peaceful alliance. The reply of

the natives is an amusing example of the ignorant vainglory of savage

tribes, unacquainted with the power of civilized peoples. The Typees

saw no reason to desire the friendship of the Americans. They had

always got along very well without it. They had no intention of

sending hogs or fruit to sell to the Americans. If the Americans

wanted supplies, let them come and take them. The Americans were

cowards, white lizards, and mere dirt. The sailors were weaklings, who

could not climb the Nookaheevan hills without aid from the natives.

This, and much more of the same sort, was the answer of the Typees to

Porter's friendly overtures.

This left no course open to the Americans save to chastise the

insolent barbarians. The departure of the expedition was, however,

delayed until a fort could be built for the protection of the American

village. This work, a sand-bag battery, calculated to mount sixteen

guns, was completed on the 14th of November, and preparations for the

expedition were then begun. And, indeed, it was time that the

Americans showed that they were not to be insulted with impunity.

Already the Taeehs and Happahs were beginning to wonder at the delay,

and rumors spread about the village that the whites were really the

cowards for which the Typees took them. One man, a chief among the

Happahs, was rash enough to call Porter a coward to his face; whereat

the choleric captain seized a gun, and, rushing for the offender, soon

brought him to his knees, the muzzle of the weapon against his head,

begging for mercy. That man was ever after Porter's most able ally

among the natives.

The preparations for war with the Typees were completed, and the

expedition was about to set out, when a new difficulty arose, this

time among the white men. First, a plot was discovered among the

British prisoners for the recapture of the "Essex Junior." Their plan

was to get the crew drunk, by means of drugged rum, and then rise,

seize the vessel, and make off while the American forces were absent

on the Typee expedition. This plot, being discovered, was easily

defeated; and the leaders were put in irons. Then Porter discovered

that disaffection had spread among his crew, which, for a time,

threatened serious consequences. But this danger was averted by the

captain's manly actions and words, which brought the jackies to his

side as one man.

On the 28th of November the long-deferred expedition against the

Typees left the snug quarters on the shore of Massachusetts Bay. The

expedition went by sea, skirting the shore of the island, until a

suitable landing-place near the territory of the hostile tribe was

reached. The "Essex Junior" led the way, followed by five boats full

of men, and ten war-canoes filled with natives, who kept up an

unearthly din with discordant conches. When the forces landed, the

friendly natives were seen to number at least five thousand men; while

of the Americans, thirty-five, under the command of Capt. Porter, were

considered enough for the work in hand. From the time the fighting

began, the friendly natives kept carefully in the rear, and seemed to

be only waiting to aid the victors, whether they should be Americans

or Typees.

Capt. Porter and his followers, upon landing, sat down upon the beach

for breakfast; but their repast was rudely disturbed by a shower of

stones from an ambuscade of Typees in the edge of the wood. Stopping

but a moment to finish their food, the jackies picked up their

cutlasses and muskets, and started for the enemy. They were soon in

the shady recesses of the tropical forest, but not a Typee was to be

seen. That the enemy was there, however, was amply attested by the

hail of stones that fell among the invaders, and the snapping of

slings that could be heard on all sides. This was a kind of fighting

to which the sailors were not accustomed; and for a moment they

wavered, but were cheered on by their brave leader, and, pushing

through the woods, came to a clearing on the banks of a narrow river.

But here a sad disaster befell them in the loss of Lieut. Downes,

whose ankle was broken by a stone. He was sent back to the ship, with

an escort of five men; and the party, thus reduced to twenty-nine,

forded the river, and scaled its high bank, cheering lustily, under a

heavy fire from the Typees, who made a dogged stand on the farther

shore. By this time, the last of their savage allies had disappeared.

The advance of the Americans was now checked by a jungle of such rank

underbrush that the cutlasses of the men made no impression upon it;

and they were forced to crawl forward on their hands and knees, under

a constant fire from the enemy. From this maze, they burst out upon a

clearing, and, looking about them, saw no sign of their savage foes,

who had suddenly vanished. The solution of this mystery was soon

discovered. After marching a few rods totally unmolested, a sudden

turn in the path brought the Americans in sight of a formidable stone

fortress, perched on a hill commanding the road, and flanked on either

side by dense jungles. The wall of the fortress was of stone, seven

feet high; and from it, and from the thickets on either side, came

such demoniac yells, and such showers of stones, as convinced the

Americans that they were in front of the Typee stronghold. For a time

the invaders seemed in danger of annihilation. They were totally

unprotected, and flanked by concealed foes, whose missiles were

plunging down upon them with deadly effect. Some few secured places

behind trees, and began a musketry fire; but the alarming cry soon

arose that the ammunition was exhausted. Five men were immediately

despatched to the beach for more cartridges, while the few remaining

determined to hold their position at any cost. But to this

determination they were unable to adhere. Had the Typees charged, the

whole American force would have been swept away like driftwood before

a springtime flood. But the savages neglected their opportunity; and

the Americans first gained the protection of the bushes, then fell

back across the river, and so to the beach.

Here a council of war was held. They had been beaten back by savages;

enormously outnumbered, to be sure, but still opposed by undisciplined

warriors armed with rude weapons. The stain of that defeat must be

washed out by a victory. Upon one point, all were agreed. The Happahs

had played them false by leading them over the most dangerous roads,

and into ambuscades of the enemy. To such treacherous guides, they

would not again trust themselves. Before he again led his men to

battle, Porter wished to try diplomacy. Although he knew that he had

been beaten in the engagement, it would never do to confess defeat

before so many savages (for the Taeehs and Happahs were now swarming

about him, discussing the fight). Accordingly a messenger was sent to

tell the Typees that a handful of white men had driven them into their

fort, killing and wounding many. Now a large re-enforcement of white

men was on the beach, ready to drive them from their valley, but that

if they would sue for peace they might yet save their lives and their

villages. At this the Typees laughed. "Tell Opotee," said they, "that

we have plenty of men to spare; while his men are few. We have killed

his chief warrior, and wounded many of his people. We are not afraid

of his _bouhies_ [muskets]: they often miss fire, and, when they

wound, don't hurt much. If the Malleekees can drive us from our

valley, why don't they come and do it?--not stay on the beach and

talk."

When Porter received this letter, he knew that he must again take the

field against the Typees, or his half-hearted allies would abandon him

and join his foes, giving him endless trouble, and putting a stop to

the refitting of the ships in Massachusetts Bay. He now understood the

power of his foes, and accordingly chose two hundred men to go with

him on the second expedition. He also determined to leave behind the

friendly savages, whose friendship was a very doubtful quality. The

forces left the beach that very night, and began their weary march up

the mountain-side. It was bright moonlight; so that the narrow

mountain paths, the fearful precipices, the tangled jungles, and the

swamps and rivers were visible to the marching column. By midnight the

Americans found themselves perched on the summit of a rocky peak

overlooking the Typee valley, from which arose sounds of drum-beating,

singing, and loud shouts of revelry. The guides who had led the

American column said that the savages were rejoicing over their

triumph, and were calling upon their gods to send rain and spoil the

"Malleekees' _bouhies_." Porter knew the time was ripe for a surprise,

and the men were eager to be led against the enemy; but the guides

protested that no mortal men could descend the path leading to the

Typee village, at night, so precipitous was the descent. The Americans

were therefore forced to wait patiently until morning. Throwing

themselves on the ground, the weary sailors were soon asleep, but were

waked up in an hour by a heavy burst of rain. They saw the rain

falling in sheets, and the sky banked with black clouds that gave

little hope of a stoppage. From the valley below rose the triumphant

yells of the Typees, who were convinced that their gods had sent the

shower to spoil the white men's weapons. And, indeed, the floods

poured down as though sent for that very service; so that at daybreak

the Americans found that more than half their powder was spoiled. To

make matters worse, the precipitous path leading down into the valley

was so slippery that it would have been madness to attempt the

descent. Accordingly Porter determined to retreat to the Happah

village, and there wait for better weather. Before falling back,

however, he ordered a volley fired, to show the savages that the

fire-arms were not yet useless. The noise of the volley was the first

intimation to the Typees that the Americans were so near them, and

their village was at once thrown into the direst confusion. Cries of

surprise mingled with the beating of drums, the blowing of horns, the

shrieks of women and children, and the squealing of pigs being driven

to places of safety. In the midst of the tumult the Americans retired

to the Happah village, where they spent the remainder of that day and

the following night.

The next morning dawned bright and cool after the rain; and the

Americans sallied forth, determined to end this annoying affray in

short order. They soon reached their former station on the cliffs,

and, looking down upon the Typee territory, saw a beautiful valley,

cut up by stone walls into highly cultivated farms, and dotted with

picturesque villages. But though their hearts may have been softened

by the sight of so lovely a spot, so soon to be laid desolate, they

were soon nerved to their work by a party of Typees, who were posted

on the farther bank of a river that skirted the base of the cliff, and

were calling out to the Americans, calling them cowards, and daring

them to come down and fight. Porter gave the command; and the jackies

were soon clambering down the cliffs, in the face of a rapid fire from

their enemies. The bank of the river once gained, the Americans halted

to rest for a few minutes, and then, fording the stream, pushed

forward straight for the nearest village. The Typees hung upon the

flank of the advancing column; now and then making fierce charges but

always beaten back with severe losses. The sailors suffered but

little, and were soon in possession of the village, behind the walls

of which the main body halted, while scouting parties were sent out to

reconnoitre. After a short halt at this point, the invaders pushed

forward to the next village, and so on up the valley, burning each

village as soon as it was captured. Undismayed by their continued

reverses, the Typees fought doggedly, scornfully refusing to listen to

the peaceful overtures made by the American commander. After marching

three or four miles, and fighting for every foot of the way, the

Americans found themselves before an extensive village, which, from

its size, and the strength of its fortifications, was evidently the

Typee capital. Here the savages made a last determined stand, but to

no avail. The Americans poured over the wall, and were soon in

possession of the town. The beauty of the village, the regularity of

its streets, and the air of comfort and civilization everywhere

apparent, made it hard for Porter to give the fateful order that

should commit all to the flames. But his duty was clear, and the order

was given. Leaving the blazing capital behind them, the sailors

retraced their steps to the ships, having completed the devastation of

the valley that a day before was so peaceful, fertile, and lovely. The

spirit of the Typees was thoroughly broken by this crushing blow; and

for the next few days the ships were besieged by ambassadors from all

the island tribes, begging for peace.

Feeling assured that he should have no further trouble with the

natives, Porter now exerted all his energies to complete the repairs

on the ships, that he might again take the sea. So rapidly did the

work progress, that by the 9th of December the "Essex" and "Essex

Junior" were refitted, and stocked with fresh provisions of hogs,

cocoanuts, and bananas; the "New Zealander," loaded with oil from the

other prizes, was ordered to proceed to New York; while the

"Greenwich," "Seringapatam," and "Hammond" were to remain at the

islands until the "Essex" should return for them. These arrangements

being made, the war-ships made ready to depart.

But now arose a difficulty, ludicrous in its cause, but which

threatened to be serious in its effects. The ships had been lying in

harbor for about two months; and during that time the sailors, with

unlimited shore liberty, had made such ties as bound them closely to

the native people. The young girls of the islands, with their comely

faces and fair complexions, had played sad havoc with the hearts of

the gallant tars of the "Essex;" and deep was the grumbling among the

sailors when they heard that the time had come for them to bid

farewell to their sweethearts. No openly mutinous demonstration was

made; but so old a commander could not overlook the fact that some

disaffection existed among his crew, and a little investigation

disclosed the trouble. There could be no half-way measures adopted in

the case, and Porter at once gave orders that all further intercourse

with the shore should cease. That very night three sailors slipped

into the sea, and swam ashore to meet their sweethearts; but the wily

captain had stationed a patrol upon the beach, and the three luckless

Leanders were sent back to the ship in irons. All the next day the

native girls lined the shore of the bay, and with pleading gestures

besought the captain to let the sailors come ashore, but to no avail.

Some fair maidens even swam off to the ship, but were gruffly ordered

away by the officers. All this was very tantalizing to the men, who

hung over the bulwarks, looking at the fair objects of their

adoration. But one man only showed signs of rebellion against the

captain's authority; and Porter, calling him out before the crew,

rebuked him, and sent him ashore in a native canoe: while the rest of

the jackies sprang into the rigging, set the canvas, and the ship soon

left the island, with its sorrowing nymphs, far in her wake.

The two vessels turned their heads toward Valparaiso, and made the

port after an uneventful voyage of fifty-six days. The frigate entered

the harbor at once, and cast anchor; while the "Essex Junior" was

ordered to cruise about outside, keeping a close watch for the enemy's

ships. The friendship of the people of the town seemed as great as

during the first visit of the frigate to the port; and a series of

entertainments was begun, that culminated in a grand ball upon the

"Essex" on the night of the 7th of February, 1814. For that one night

the officers of the "Essex Junior" were absolved from their weary duty

of patrolling the sea at the mouth of the harbor. The vessel was

anchored at a point that commanded a view of the ocean; and her

officers, arrayed in the splendor of full dress, betook themselves on

board of the frigate. At midnight, after an evening of dancing and

gayety, Lieut. Downes left the "Essex," and returned to his vessel,

which immediately weighed anchor and put to sea. The festivities on

the frigate continued a little time longer; and then, the last ladies

having been handed down the gangway, and pulled ashore, the work of

clearing away the decorations began. While the ship's decks were still

strewn with flags and flowers, while the awnings still stretched from

stem to stern, and the hundreds of gay lanterns still hung in the

rigging, the "Essex Junior" was seen coming into the harbor with a

signal flying. The signal quartermaster rushed for his book, and soon

announced that the flags read, "Two enemy's ships in sight." At this

moment more than half the crew of the "Essex" were on shore; but a

signal set at the ship's side recalled the men, and in an hour and a

half the ship was ready for action; while the "Essex Junior" cast

anchor in a supporting position.

The two strange vessels were the "Cherub" and the "Phoebe," British

men-of-war. They rounded into the harbor about eight A.M., and bore

down towards the American ships. The "Phoebe," the larger of the two

Englishmen, drew close to the "Essex;" and her commander, Capt.

Hillyar, sprang upon the taffrail, and asked after Capt. Porter's

health. Porter responded courteously; and, noticing that the "Phoebe"

was coming closer than the customs of war-vessels in a neutral port

permitted, warned the Englishman to keep his distance, or trouble

would result. Hillyar protested that he meant no harm, but

nevertheless continued his advance until the two ships were almost

fouled. Porter called the boarders to the bow; and they crowded

forward, armed to the teeth, and stripped for the fight. The "Phoebe"

was in such a position that she lay entirely at the mercy of the

"Essex," and could not bring a gun to bear in her own defence.

Hillyar, from his position on the taffrail, could see the American

boarders ready to spring at the word of command, and the muzzles of

the cannon ready to blow the ship out of water. There is little doubt

that he was astonished to find the "Essex" so well prepared for the

fray, for he had been told that more than half her crew had gone

ashore. Relying upon this information, he had probably planned to

capture the "Essex" at her moorings, regardless of the neutrality of

the port. But he had now brought himself into a dangerous position,

and Porter would have been justified in opening fire at once. But the

apologies and protestations of the British captain disarmed him, and

he unwisely let the "Phoebe" proceed unmolested.

In his journal, Farragut thus describes this incident: "We were all at

quarters, and cleared for action, waiting with breathless anxiety for

the command from Capt. Porter to board, when the English captain

appeared, standing on the after-gun, in a pea-jacket, and in plain

hearing said,--

"'Capt. Hillyar's compliments to Capt. Porter, and hopes he is well.'

"Porter replied, 'Very well, I thank you. But I hope you will not come

too near, for fear some accident might take place which would be

disagreeable to you.' And, with a wave of his trumpet, the

kedge-anchors went up to our yard-arms, ready to grapple the enemy.

"Capt. Hillyar braced back his yards, and remarked to Porter, that, if

he did fall aboard him, he begged to assure the captain that it would

be entirely accidental.

"'Well,' said Porter, 'you have no business where you are. If you

touch a rope-yarn of this ship, I shall board instantly.'"

Notwithstanding Porter's forbearance, the incident came near leading

to a battle, through the action of one of the crew, who had come off

from shore with his brain rather hazy from heavy drinking. This man

was standing by a gun, with a lighted brand in his hand, ready to fire

the piece, when he thought he saw an Englishman grinning at him

through one of the open ports of the "Phoebe." Highly enraged, he

shouted out, "My fine fellow, I'll soon stop your making faces!" and

reached out to fire the gun; when a heavy blow from an officer, who

saw the action, stretched him on the deck. Had that gun been fired,

nothing could have saved the "Phoebe."

The two hostile ships cast anchor within long gunshot of the

Americans, and seemed prepared for a long season in port. For the next

few weeks the British and American officers and seamen met frequently

on shore; and a kind of friendship sprang up between them, although

they were merely waiting for a favorable moment to begin a deadly

strife. Some incidents, however, took place which rather disturbed the

amicable relations of the two parties. At the masthead of the "Essex"

floated a flag bearing the motto, "Free Trade and Sailors' Rights."

This flag gave great offence to the British, who soon displayed a flag

with the inscription, "God and Country, British Sailors' Best Rights.

Traitors offend both." To this Americans responded with, "God, our

Country and Liberty. Tyrants offend them." Here the debate closed, and

seemed to arouse no unfriendly feeling; for Porter and Hillyar talked

it over amicably on shore. In the course of this conversation, Porter

challenged the "Phoebe" to meet the "Essex" alone; but Hillyar

declined the proposition. Shortly after this, the crews of the hostile

ships began the practice of singing songs _at_ each other; the

Americans beginning with "Yankee Doodle," while the British retorted

with "God save the King." Then the poets of the forecastle set to

work, and ground out verses that would prove particularly obnoxious to

the enemy. One of the American songs recited at full length the

capture of the "Guerriere." The character of the poetry may be judged

by the first verse.

"Ye tars of our country, who seek on the main

The cause for the wrongs your country sustain,

Rejoice and be merry, for bragging John Bull

Has got a sound drubbing from brave Capt. Hull."

The British responded with triumphant verses upon the capture of the

"Chesapeake," news of which had just reached Valparaiso. Their poetry

was quite as bad.

"Brave Broke he waved his sword,

And he cried, 'Now, lads, aboard;

And we'll stop their singing,

Yankee Doodle Dandy, O!'"

Porter now wished to get rid of some of the prizes with which he was

encumbered. He could not burn them in the harbor, and the British

ships kept too close a watch upon him to permit his ships to leave the

harbor for an hour: so he was forced to wait many days for an

opportunity. On the 14th of February the opportunity came; and the

"Hector" was towed out to sea, and set a-fire. Two weeks later, the

"Phoebe" came alone to the mouth of the harbor, and, after showing her

motto-flag, hove to, and fired a gun to windward. This Porter

understood to be a challenge, and he at once put out in the "Essex."

But the "Phoebe" had no intention of entering a fair and equal fight;

for she quickly joined her consort, and the two then chased the

"Essex" back to port. Much talk and a vast deal of correspondence grew

out of this affair, which certainly did not redound to the credit of

the British.

On the 28th of March the wind blew with such force that the larboard

cable of the "Essex" parted; and the ship, drifting before the wind,

dragged her starboard cable out to sea. Knowing that the British ships

were in waiting outside, Porter lost no time in getting on sail and

trying to beat back into the harbor. But, just as the ship was

rounding the point, there came up a heavy squall, which carried away

the main topmast, throwing several topmen into the sea. In her

disabled state the frigate could not regain the harbor; but she ran

into a little cove, and anchored within half pistol-shot of the shore.

Here she was in neutral waters; and, had Capt. Hillyar been a man of

his word, the "Essex" would have been safe: for that officer, on being

asked by Porter whether he would respect the neutrality of the port,

had replied with much feeling, "You have paid so much respect to the

neutrality of the port, that I feel bound in honor to respect it." But

he very quickly forgot this respect, when he saw his enemy lying

crippled and in his power, although in neutral waters.

Hardly had the "Essex" cast anchor, when the two British ships drew

near, their actions plainly showing that they intended to attack the

crippled frigate. The "Essex" was prepared for action, the guns beat

to quarters; and the men went to their places coolly and bravely,

though each felt at his heart that he was going into a hopeless fight.

The midshipmen had hardly finished calling over the quarter-lists, to

see that every man was at his station, when the roar of the cannon

from the British ships announced the opening of the action. The

"Phoebe" had taken up a position under the stern of the American

frigate, and pounded away with her long eighteens; while the "Essex"

could hardly get a gun to bear in return. The "Cherub" tried her

fortune on the bow, but was soon driven from that position, and joined

her consort. The two kept up a destructive fire, until Porter got

three long guns out of the cabin-windows, and drove the enemy away.

After repairing damages, the British took up a position just out of

range of the "Essex's" carronades, and began a rapid and effective

fire from their long eighteens.

Such an action as this was very trying to the crew of the "Essex." The

carronades against which Porter had protested when his ship was armed

were utterly useless against an enemy who used such cautious tactics.

On the deck of the frigate men were falling on every side. One shot

entered a port, and killed four men who stood at a gun, taking off the

heads of the last two. The crash and roar of the flying shots were

incessant. As the guns became crippled for lack of men, the junior

officers took a hand in all positions. Farragut writes, "I performed

the duty of captain's aid, quarter-gunner, powder-boy, and, in fact,

did every thing that was required of me.... When my services were not

required for other purposes, I generally assisted in working a gun;

would run and bring powder from the boys, and send them back for more,

until the captain wanted me to carry a message; and this continued to

occupy me during the action." Once during the action a midshipman came

running up to Porter, and reported that a gunner had deserted his

post. Porter's reply was to turn to Farragut (the lad was only twelve

years old), and say, "Do your duty, sir." The boy seized a pistol, and

ran away to find the coward, and shoot him in his tracks. But the

gunner had slipped overboard, and made his way to the shore, and so

escaped.

After the "Essex" had for some time suffered from the long-range fire

of the enemy, Capt. Porter determined to make sail, and try to close

with his foes. The rigging had been so badly shot away that the flying

jib was the only sail that could be properly set. With this, and with

the other sails hanging loose from the yards, the "Essex" ran down

upon the British, and made such lively play with her carronades, that

the "Cherub" was forced to haul off for repairs, and the tide of war

seemed to be setting in favor of the Americans. But, though the

gallant blue-jackets fought with desperation, their chances for

success were small. The decks were strewn with dead, the cock-pit was

full, and the enemy's shot were constantly adding to the number of

dead and dying. Young Farragut, who had been sent below after some

gun-primers, was coming up the ladder, when a man standing at the

opening of the hatchway was struck full in the face by a cannon-ball,

and fell back, carrying the lad with him. The mutilated body fell full

upon the boy, who lay for a time unconscious; then, jumping to his

feet, ran, covered with blood, to the quarter-deck. Capt. Porter saw

him, and asked if he was wounded. "I believe not, sir," answered the

midshipman. "Then," said the captain, "where are the primers?"

Farragut remembered his errand, and dashed below to execute it. When

he emerged the second time, he saw the captain (his adopted father)

fall, and running up asked if he was wounded. "I believe not, my son,"

was the response; "but I felt a blow on the top of my head." He had

probably been knocked down by the wind of a passing shot.

But the end of the action was now near. Dreadful havoc had been made

in the ranks of both officers and men. The cock-pit would hold no more

wounded; and the shots were beginning to penetrate its walls, killing

the sufferers waiting for the surgeon's knife. Lieut. McKnight was the

only commissioned officer on duty. The ship had been several times on

fire, and the magazine was endangered. Finally, the carpenter reported

that her bottom was so cut up that she could float but a little while

longer. On learning this, Porter gave the order for the colors to be

hauled down, which was done. The enemy, however, kept up their deadly

fire for ten minutes after the "Essex" had struck.

David Farragut narrates some interesting incidents of the surrender.

He was sent by the captain to find and destroy the signal book before

the British should come aboard; and, this having been done, he went to

the cock-pit to look after his friends. Here he found Lieut. Cornell

terribly wounded. When Farragut spoke to him, he said, "O Davy, I fear

it's all up with me!" and died soon after. The doctor said, that, had

this officer been operated upon an hour before, his life might have

been saved; but when the surgeons proposed to drop another man, and

attend to him, he replied, "No, no, doctor, none of that. Fair play's

a jewel. One man's life is as dear as another's; I would not cheat any

poor fellow out of his turn." Surely history nowhere records more

noble generosity. Soon after this, when Farragut was standing on the

deck, a little negro boy came running up to inquire about his master,

Lieut. Wilmer, who had been knocked over by a shot. On learning his

master's fate, he leaped over the taffrail into the sea, and was

drowned.

After the "Essex" had been formally surrendered, boats were sent to

convey the prisoners to the British ships. In one of these Farragut

was carried to the "Phoebe," and there fell into a second battle, in

which the victory remained with him. "I was so mortified at our

capture that I could not refrain from tears," he writes. "While in

this uncomfortable state, I was aroused by hearing a young reefer call

out,--

"'A prize! a prize! Ho, boys, a fine grunter, by Jove.'

"I saw at once that he had under his arm a pet pig belonging to our

ship, called 'Murphy.' I claimed the animal as my own.

"'Ah,' said he, 'but you are a prisoner, and your pig also!'

"'We always respect private property,' I replied; and, as I had seized

hold of 'Murphy,' I determined not to let go unless 'compelled by

superior force.'

"This was fun for the oldsters, who immediately sung out,--

"'Go it, my little Yankee. If you can thrash Shorty, you can have your

pig.'

"'Agreed,' cried I.

"A ring was formed in an open space, and at it we went. I soon found

that my antagonist's pugilistic education did not come up to mine. In

fact, he was no match for me, and was compelled to give up the pig. So

I took Master Murphy under my arm, feeling that I had in some degree

wiped out the disgrace of the defeat."

When the British ships with their prize returned to the quiet waters

of the harbor, and began to take account of damages, it was found that

the "Essex" had indeed fought a losing fight. On the "Phoebe," but

four men were killed, and seven wounded; on the "Cherub," one killed

and three wounded, made up the list of casualties. But on the "Essex"

were fifty-eight killed, and sixty-six wounded; while an immense

number of men were missing, who may have escaped to the shore or may

have sunk beneath the waves. Certain it is some swimmers reached

shore, though sorely wounded. One man had rushed on deck with his

clothing all aflame, and swam ashore, though scarcely a square inch

could be found on his body which was not burned. Another seaman had

sixteen or eighteen scales of iron chipped from the muzzle of his gun

driven into his legs, yet he reached the shore in safety.

After some delay, the "Essex Junior" was disarmed; and the prisoners,

having given their paroles, were placed on board her, with a letter

of safe-conduct from Capt. Hillyar to prevent their capture by any

British man-of-war in whose path they might fall. But this letter

availed them little; for, after an uneventful voyage to the northward,

the "Essex Junior" found herself brought to by a shot from the British

frigate "Saturn," off Sandy Hook. The boarding-officer took Capt.

Hillyar's letter to the commander of the "Saturn," who remarked that

Hillyar had no authority to make any such agreement, and ordered the

"Essex Junior" to remain all night under the lee of the British ship.

Capt. Porter was highly indignant, and handed his sword to the British

officer, saying that he considered himself a prisoner. But the

Englishman declined the sword, and was about to return to his ship,

when Porter said, "Tell the captain that I am his prisoner, and do not

consider myself any longer bound by my contract with Capt. Hillyar,

which he has violated; and I shall act accordingly." By this Porter

meant that he now considered himself absolved from his parole, and

free to escape honorably if an opportunity should offer.

Accordingly at seven o'clock the following morning, a boat was

stealthily lowered from the "Essex Junior;" and Porter, descending

into it, started for the shore, leaving a message, that, since British

officers showed so little regard for each other's honor, he had no

desire to trust himself in their hands. The boat had gone some

distance before she was sighted by the lookout on the "Saturn," for

the hull of the "Essex Junior" hid her from sight. As soon as the

flight was noticed, the frigate made sail in chase, and seemed likely

to overhaul the audacious fugitives, when a thick fog set in, under

cover of which Porter reached Babylon, L.I., nearly sixty miles

distant. In the mean time, the "Essex Junior," finding herself hidden

from the frigate by the fog-bank, set sail, and made for the mouth of

the harbor. She was running some nine knots an hour when the fog

showed signs of lifting; and she came up into the wind, that the

suspicion of the British might not be aroused. As it happened, the

"Saturn" was close alongside when the fog lifted, and her boat soon

came to the American ship. An officer, evidently very irate, bounded

upon the deck, and said brusquely,--

"You must have been drifting very fast. We have been making nine knots

an hour, and yet here you are alongside."

"So it appears," responded the American lieutenant coolly.

"We saw a boat leave you, some time ago," continued the Englishman. "I

suppose Capt. Porter went in it?"

"Yes. You are quite right."

"And probably more of you will run away, unless I cut away your boats

from the davits."

"Perhaps that would be a good plan for you to adopt."

"And I would do it very quickly, if the question rested with me."

"You infernal puppy," shouted the American officer, now thoroughly

aroused, "if you have any duty to do, do it; but, if you insult me

further, I'll throw you overboard!"

With a few inarticulate sounds, the Englishman stepped into his boat,

and was pulled back to the "Saturn," whence soon returned a second

boat, bearing an apology for the boarding-officer's rudeness. The

boarders then searched all parts of the ship, mustered her crew on the

plea that it contained British deserters, and finally released her,

after having inflicted every possible humiliation upon her officers.

The "Essex Junior" then proceeded to New York, where she was soon

joined by Capt. Porter. The whole country united in doing honor to the

officers, overlooking the defeat which closed their cruise, and

regarding only the persistent bravery with which they had upheld the

cause of the United States in the far-off waters of the Pacific.

Before closing the account of Porter's famous cruise, the story of the

ill-fortune which befell Lieut. Gamble should be related. This

officer, it will be remembered, was left at Nookaheevah with the

prizes "Greenwich," "Seringapatam," and "Hammond." Hardly had the

frigate disappeared below the horizon, when the natives began to grow

unruly; and Gamble was forced to lead several armed expeditions

against them. Then the sailors under his charge began to show signs of

mutiny. He found himself almost without means of enforcing his

authority, and the disaffection spread daily. The natives, incited by

the half-savage Englishman who had been found upon the island, began

to make depredations upon the live-stock; while the women would swim

out to the ships by night, and purloin bread, aided by their lovers

among the crews. To the lieutenant's remonstrances, the natives

replied that "Opotee" was not coming back, and they would do as they

chose; while the sailors heard his orders with ill-concealed contempt,

and made but a pretext of obeying them. In the middle of April three

sailors stole a boat from the "Greenwich," and, stocking it well with

ammunition and provisions, deserted, and were never again seen. One

month later, mutiny broke out in its worst form. Lieut. Gamble and his

two midshipmen, being upon the "Seringapatam," were knocked down by

the sailors, gagged, bound, and thrust into the hold. The mutineers

then went ashore, spiked the guns in the fort, and then, hoisting the

British colors over the captured ship, set sail. Lieut. Gamble was

badly wounded in the foot by a pistol-shot fired by one of his guards.

Notwithstanding his wound, he, with the two lieutenants and two loyal

seamen, was turned adrift in an open boat. After long and painful

exertions, they reached the shore, and returned to the bay, where the

"Greenwich" still lay at anchor. The mutineers, thirteen of whom were

Englishmen who had enlisted in the American service, steered boldly

out to sea, and were nevermore heard of. The half-savage Englishman,

Wilson, was supposed to be at the bottom of this uprising, and some

days later a boat's crew from the "Greenwich" went ashore to capture

him. Soon after, Gamble, anxiously watching the shore, saw a struggle

upon the beach, the natives rushing down on all sides, the boat

overturned in the surf, and two white men swimming towards the ship,

making signals of distress. Mr. Clapp, with two men, sprang into a

boat, and put off to the aid of the swimmers, leaving Gamble alone on

the ship. Two large canoes loaded with savages then left the beach,

and swiftly bore down towards the "Essex;" but Gamble, lamed though he

was, seized a lighted brand, and hobbled along the deck of the ship,

firing her guns with such effect that the savages were driven back,

the beach cleared, and Mr. Clapp enabled to save the two struggling

men. When the boat returned to the ship, it was learned that

Midshipman Feltus and five men had been basely murdered by the

savages. There were now left but seven Americans; and of these but two

were well, and fit for duty. Setting the "Greenwich" on fire, this

little band boarded the "Hammond," and made their way to sea. But

between the Sandwich Islands and Honolulu they fell in with the

"Cherub," by whom they were captured, and kept prisoners for nine

months, when, peace being declared, they were released.

So ended the last incident of the gallant cruise of the "Essex."

History has few more adventurous tales to relate.