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                  TWELVE

              NAVAL CAPTAINS

     _Being a Record of Certain Americans
         who made themselves Immortal_

                     BY

             MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL

                  AUTHOR OF

 "THE SPRIGHTLY ROMANCE OF MARSAC," "THE HISTORY
   OF THE LADY BETTY STAIR," "CHILDREN OF
         DESTINY," "THROCKMORTON,"
           "LITTLE JARVIS," ETC.

              _WITH PORTRAITS_

                 NEW YORK
          CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
                   1906




            _Copyright, 1897_,
        By Charles Scribner's Sons.




CONTENTS
                        Page

PAUL JONES                 1

RICHARD DALE              28

THOMAS TRUXTUN            42

WILLIAM BAINBRIDGE        53

EDWARD PREBLE             83

STEPHEN DECATUR          102

RICHARD SOMERS           130

ISAAC HULL               145

CHARLES STEWART          167

OLIVER HAZARD PERRY      182

THOMAS MACDONOUGH        192

JAMES LAWRENCE           208




LIST OF PORTRAITS

Paul Jones                 _Frontispiece_

Richard Dale        _Facing page_      28

Thomas Truxtun            "            42

William Bainbridge        "            53

Edward Preble             "            83

Stephen Decatur           "           102

Richard Somers            "           130

Isaac Hull                "           145

Charles Stewart           "           167

Oliver Hazard Perry       "           182

Thomas Macdonough         "           192

James Lawrence            "           208




PAUL JONES


American history presents no more picturesque figure than Paul Jones,
and the mere recital of his life and its incidents is a thrilling
romance. A gardener's boy, he shipped before the mast at twelve
years of age, and afterward rose to be the ranking officer in the
American navy. His exploits by land and sea in various parts of the
world; his intimacy with some of the greatest men of the age, and his
friendships with reigning sovereigns of Europe; his character, of deep
sentiment, united with extraordinary genius and extreme daring,--place
him among those historical personages who are always of enchanting
interest to succeeding ages. Paul Jones himself foresaw and gloried
in this posthumous fame, for, with all his great qualities, he had
the natural vanity which so often accompanies the self-made man. He
lacked the perfect self-poise of Washington, who, having done immortal
things, blushed to have them spoken of, and did not deign to appeal
to posterity. Paul Jones was continually appealing to posterity. But
his vanity was that of an honest man, and he was often stung to
assertiveness by the malignities of his enemies. That these malignities
were false, and that he was a man of lofty ideals and admirable
character, is shown by the friends he made and kept. Dr. Franklin,
Thomas Jefferson, Robert Morris, and Lafayette lived upon terms of the
greatest intimacy with him; Washington esteemed him,--and the goodwill
of such men places any man in the category of the upright.

Nothing in the family and circumstances of Paul Jones indicated the
distinction of his later life. His father, John Paul, was a gardener,
at Arbigland, in Kirkcudbrightshire, Scotland, where Paul Jones was
born in 1747. He was named John Paul, for his father; but upon his
taking up his residence in Virginia, in his twenty-seventh year, he
added Jones to his name,--for some reason which is not now and never
has been understood,--and as Paul Jones he is known to history. The
Pauls were very humble people, and Paul Jones's childhood was like the
childhood of other poor men's sons. Boats were his favorite and only
playthings, and he showed from the beginning that he had the spirit of
command. He organized his playfellows into companies of make-believe
sailors, which he drilled sternly. The tide rushes into the Solway
Firth from the German ocean so tremendously that it often seems like
a tidal wave, and the boy Paul Jones had sometimes to run for his
life when he was wading out commanding his miniature ships and crews.
Close by his father's cottage is the sheltered bay of the Carsethorn,
where, in the old days, ships for Dumfries loaded and unloaded. Deep
water is so close to the shore that as the ships worked in and out
their yardarms seemed to be actually passing among the trees that cling
stubbornly to the rocky shore. It was the delight of the boy Paul
Jones to perch himself on the highest point of the promontory, and to
screech out his orders to the incoming and outgoing vessels; and the
shipmasters soon found that this bold boy was as good as a pilot any
day, and if they followed his directions they would always have water
enough under the keel.

The only school which Paul Jones ever attended was the parish school
at Kirkbean, and that only until he was twelve years old. But it was
characteristic of him, as man and boy, to learn with the greatest
eagerness; and the result is shown in his letters and language, which
are far superior to the average in those days. The habit of application
never left him, and he was a hard student all his life.

There were many mouths to feed in the little cottage at Arbigland,
and in Paul Jones's thirteenth year he was bound apprentice to a
ship-master. His first voyage was to Fredericksburg in Virginia, where
he had a brother, William Paul, living,--a respected citizen. His time
ashore was spent with this brother, and so well did he conduct himself
that when William Paul died some years later he left his estate to
this favorite younger brother. There were, however, many years of toil
before Paul Jones, and hardships and buffetings, and even injustices
that sank deep into his sensitive soul. It is said that he was at one
time on a slave-ship, the slave-trade being then legalized throughout
the world; but, hating the life, he quitted his ship, and the traffic
too. When he was about twenty years old, he found himself without
employment in Jamaica. He embarked as a passenger on the John,--a fine
brigantine, owned by a shipping firm in his native shire. On the voyage
home both the captain and the first mate died of yellow fever. The
young passenger--John Paul, as he was then called--took command of the
brigantine, and brought her safely to her port. The owners rewarded him
by making him captain and supercargo of the John. This shows that Paul
Jones was not only a capable seaman, worthy of command at twenty years
of age, but of integrity and steady habits as well.

In his twenty-fourth year occurred an event which gave him great
anguish, and was probably the reason of his leaving his native land.
While in command of a vessel in Tobago, he had his carpenter, Maxwell,
flogged for some offence. This was the common mode of punishment in
those days. Maxwell complained to the Vice-Admiralty Court, and the
affair was investigated. The Court examined Maxwell, and dismissed his
charges against Paul Jones, as frivolous. It is noted, though, that
Paul Jones expressed sorrow for having had the man flogged. Maxwell
shipped on another vessel, but died a week or two afterward. This
put a much more serious aspect on the matter. There was some talk of
a prosecution for murder; but it was shown that Maxwell's death had
nothing to do with the flogging, and it was dropped. Nevertheless,
the effect upon a nature, at once arrogant and sensitive, like Paul
Jones's, was exquisitely painful. It is likely that this case was the
origin of the one weak point in Paul Jones's tremendous naval genius:
he was never a good disciplinarian, and he seems always to have
hesitated too long before administering punishments, and of course
severer punishments were needed thereby.

Upon his return to Scotland, he was coldly received by his friends and
neighbors. To Paul Jones's mind this coolness assumed the form of a
persecution. He left his native country with resentment in his heart
against it, although he kept up affectionate relations with his family.
Many years after, when he was one of the celebrities of his age, he
speaks in a letter of his grief at learning of his mother's death,
especially as he had found that several sums of money which he had
sent her had never reached her.

He came to Virginia in 1773, and took possession of the property left
him by his brother, which with his own savings gave him a competence.
Little is known of the particulars of his life from 1773 to 1775;
but late researches show that his friendship with Thomas Jefferson,
and with other persons of prominence in Virginia and North Carolina,
then began. Although his origin was humble, his manners, tastes, and
feelings led him naturally into the most distinguished society, and at
a very early period in his career he is found associated with persons
of note.

On the first outbreak of hostilities with the mother country Paul
Jones offered his services to the Continental Congress, and his name
headed the list of thirteen first lieutenants in the navy appointed
in December, 1775. Perhaps no man had stronger natural and personal
inclinations toward the revolutionary cause than Paul Jones. In his
native country he was poor, obscure, and perpetually barred out by his
low estate from those high places to which his vast ambition aspired.
In America, under a republican form of government, he was as good as
any man, provided only he were worthy; and the fixed rank of a naval
officer would give him standing in Europe among those very persons who
would otherwise have regarded him with contempt.

His commission was obtained through Mr. Joseph Hewes, a member of
Congress from North Carolina, and the celebrated Robert Morris, who was
then at the head of the Marine Committee of Congress. The influence of
Thomas Jefferson was also in his favor.

At this time his true career may be said to have begun. He was then
twenty-eight years old, of "a dashing and officer-like appearance,"
his complexion dark and weather-beaten, and his black eyes stern and
melancholy in expression. He had a slight hesitation in his speech
which disappeared under the influence of excitement. His manner with
sailors was said to be peculiarly winning, and he was, no doubt, highly
successful in dealing with those characters which can be gained by
kindness and indulgence; but with that part of mankind to whom severity
is a necessity, he does not seem to have been so well adapted, and the
evidences of a firm and consistent discipline are wanting. When he
came to command a ship of his own,--which he did very shortly,--he was
extremely polite to the midshipmen, frequently asking them to dine with
him in the cabin, but likely to blaze away at them if they were not
carefully and properly dressed for the occasion. One of his officers,
presuming upon Paul Jones's indulgence, ventured to be insolent, and
got himself kicked down the hatchway for it. It is said that when a
midshipman on the topgallant yard was inattentive to his duty as a
lookout, Paul Jones himself would gently let go the halyards, and the
unlucky midshipman would come down the yard on the run.

Paul Jones was extremely temperate in his habits, and was naturally
fond of order and decorum. He had fixed religious principles, and, like
Washington, he considered a chaplain a useful and even a necessary
officer. A letter of his is extant in which he says he would like a
chaplain on board who should be accommodated in the cabin, and always
have a seat at the cabin table, "the government thereof should be
entirely under his direction." He was a tireless student by night, his
days at sea being occupied, when cruising, by exercising his officers
and men in their duty.

His first orders, as an American naval officer, were as flag lieutenant
on the Alfred, of twenty-four guns, Commodore Hopkins's flagship.
On this ship Paul Jones claims to have hoisted with his own hands
the original flag of the Revolution--the pine-tree and rattlesnake
flag--the first time it was ever displayed. This may well be true, as
such an act is thoroughly in keeping with the romantic sentiment of
Paul Jones's character; and he says, "I think I feel the more for its
honour" on account of that circumstance.

Congress had assembled in the Delaware River a fleet of five small
vessels, and it was with ardent hopes that Paul Jones joined this
little squadron. In a very short while, though, he discovered that
Commodore Hopkins was very much disinclined to "go in harm's way," to
use one of Paul Jones's favorite expressions, and his wrath and disgust
flamed out without any concealment. The object of the cruise was to
capture a lot of stores, left unprotected by the British at the island
of New Providence. By Commodore Hopkins's blundering the governor of
the island had time to save most of the stores. The Commodore finding
himself among the keys and islands of the Bahamas, seems to have been
afraid to go away and afraid to stay where he was. Paul Jones, however,
taking a pilot up to the foretopmast head with him, piloted the Alfred
to a safe anchorage. To crown all, the five vessels ran across a little
British frigate, the Glasgow, off Newport, and after a smart cannonade
the Glasgow succeeded in slipping through Commodore Hopkins's fingers
and getting back to Newport.

Paul Jones's rage at this was furious, and it became impossible for
him to serve in the same ship with Commodore Hopkins, who was shortly
afterward censured by Congress, and within the year dismissed from
the navy. In the summer of 1776 Paul Jones was given the command of a
little sloop, the Providence, mounting only twelve four-pounders, but
a fairly smart and weatherly vessel. He improved her sailing qualities
so that she could log it faster than a great many better ships. With
this little sloop he was employed in conveying military stores from
New England to Washington's army on Long Island; and as the coast and
the sounds swarmed with the cruisers of Lord Howe's fleet, this was a
difficult and daring undertaking. But in difficulty and daring Paul
Jones always shone, and he succeeded so as to win the admiration and
personal regard of Washington, as well as the approval of Congress. In
the autumn he made a more extended cruise, during which he captured
several valuable prizes, and showed his courage and seamanship by
manoeuvring boldly before the Solebay frigate and then running away
from her. The Solebay thought she had bagged the Providence, when
the little sloop, suddenly weathering her, ran directly under her
broadside, where the guns could not be brought to bear, and went off
before the wind while the heavy frigate was coming about. On another
occasion he was chased by the Milford frigate. Finding the Providence
was fast enough to play with the Milford, Paul Jones kept just out of
reach of the heavy cannonade of the Milford; and every time the frigate
roared out her heavy guns, a marine, whom Paul Jones had stationed aft
on the Providence, banged away with his musket in reply. This amused
and delighted the men, and when Paul Jones was ready he ran away from
the frigate, leaving her still thundering away in his wake. These
little events had a good effect on his officers and men, showing them
that they had a man of dash and spirit for their captain. When his
cruise was up, he received full recognition of his services by being
appointed to command a splendid frigate then building in Holland for
the American government. Meanwhile he was ordered to take command of
the Ranger, a sloop-of-war, mounting eighteen light guns, then fitting
for sea at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. On the very day he was appointed
to her, June 14, 1777, Congress adopted the stars and stripes as the
national ensign, and Paul Jones always claimed that he was the first
man to hoist the new flag over a ship of war when he raised it on the
Ranger in Portsmouth harbor.

The Ranger was weakly armed and poorly fitted. Her cabin furnishings
were meagre enough, but there were two bookcases full of books provided
by the captain. The Ranger sailed from Portsmouth in November, 1777,
and after an uneventful voyage, arrived safely at Nantes in France
in December. Leaving his ship in charge of the first lieutenant,
Simpson, Paul Jones started for Paris to confer with the three
American Commissioners, Benjamin Franklin, Silas Deane, and Arthur
Lee. He bore a letter to them from the Marine Committee describing
him as "an active and brave commander in our service." On reaching
Paris, a sharp disappointment awaited him concerning the Holland
frigate. Great Britain, which was not then at war with either France
or Holland, although on the verge of it, had made complaints about
the frigate, and it had been passed over to the French government
to prevent its confiscation. Paul Jones had a partial compensation,
however, in winning the affectionate regard of Benjamin Franklin, and
the friendship that ever afterward subsisted between the impetuous
and sentimental Paul Jones and the calm and philosophic Franklin was
extremely beautiful.

Despairing of getting any better ship than the Ranger, Paul Jones set
himself to work to improve her sailing qualities; it is a striking fact
that he improved every ship he commanded, before he was through with
her.

Being ready to take the sea, he determined to secure a salute to his
flag from the splendid French fleet commanded by M. de La Motte Piquet.
He took the Ranger to Quiberon Bay, and at once sent a letter to the
French admiral, announcing his arrival, and another to the American
agent at L'Orient. Paul Jones's dealings with this agent are laughable,
as many of his transactions were. He began, as usual, with the most
formal politeness; but as soon as there was any hesitation shown in
complying with his requests, which it cannot be denied were perfectly
sensible, he would blaze out, and carry his point by the bayonet, as
it were. The agent did not understand the importance of the salute,
and although he dined on board the admiral's ship the day the request
was made, he failed to mention it to the admiral. This infuriated
Paul Jones, who wrote him a letter in which he said, "I can show a
commission as respectable as any the French admiral can produce," and
finally declared that unless the salute were allowed, he would leave
without entering the upper bay at all.

His determined attitude had its effect. The French admiral agreed
to salute the Ranger, and to make sure that it was done in broad
daylight, so there could be no misunderstanding about it, Paul Jones
kept his ship in the lower bay until the next day. The French admiral
paid the American commander the compliment of having the guns manned
when the Ranger sailed through the double line of the French fleet,
and when the French guns roared out in honor of the American flag,
it meant that France was from that day openly, as she had been for
some time secretly, committed to an alliance with the struggling
colonies. Seeing that nothing was to be hoped for in the way of a
better ship, Paul Jones, like all truly great men, determined to do
the best he could with the means at hand. So, on an April evening in
1777, he picked up his anchor and steered the little Ranger straight
for the narrow seas of Great Britain, the Mistress of the Seas, and
the greatest naval power on earth. The boldness of this can scarcely
be overestimated. The French admirals, with fifty-five ships of the
line, hung on to their anchors, not caring to risk an encounter with
the fleets of England, manned by her mighty captains and heroic crews;
but Paul Jones, alone, in a weak vessel, lightly armed, took all the
chances of destruction, and bearded the lion in his den. He counted on
the slowness of communication in those days, and all of those other
circumstances in which fortune favors the brave,--and the result
justified him.

He cruised about for several days, burning and destroying many merchant
ships. He landed at St. Mary's Isle, in order to capture the Earl of
Selkirk, but the bird had flown. His men became mutinous, because,
contrary to the custom of the time, they were not allowed to loot the
place. Paul Jones was forced to allow them to carry off some silver
plate, which he afterward redeemed out of his own pocket, and returned
to Lady Selkirk. He also landed at Whitehaven, and fired the shipping
in the port, although he did not succeed in burning the vessels. But
the desire of his heart was to find a ship of war, not too strong for
him, with which he might fight it out, yardarm to yardarm. This he
found in the Drake, a sloop-of-war, carrying twenty guns, and lying
off Carrickfergus. Like the Ranger, she was a weak ship; but she
carried brave men and a fighting captain, and when, on the afternoon
of the 24th of April, the Ranger appeared off Carrickfergus, the
Drake promptly came out to meet her. The tide was adverse, and the
Drake worked out slowly, but her adversary gallantly waited for her in
mid-channel, with the American ensign at her mizzen peak, and a jack at
the fore. The Drake's hail, "What ship is that?" was answered by the
master, under Paul Jones's direction: "This is the American Continental
ship Ranger. We wait for you and beg you will come on. The sun is but
little more than an hour high, and it is time to begin."

The Drake promptly accepted this cool invitation, and the action began
with the greatest spirit. In an hour and four minutes the Drake struck,
after a brave defence. She had lost her captain and first lieutenant,
and thirty-eight men killed and wounded, and had made, as Paul Jones
said, "a good and gallant defence." The Ranger lost two men killed and
six wounded. On the 8th of May he arrived off Brest in the Ranger, with
the American ensign hoisted above the union jack on the Drake. The
French pilots vied with each other as to which should have the honor of
piloting the two vessels through the narrow channel known as Le Goulet,
and there was no question of a salute then,--every French ship in sight
saluted the plucky little American.

This daring expedition gave Paul Jones a great reputation in France.
The French government, by this time openly at war with England,
asked that Paul Jones remain in Europe to command a naval force to
be furnished by France; and he was justified in expecting a splendid
command. But the maladministration of affairs in Paris left him a
whole year, idle and fretting and wretched, as such bold spirits are,
under hope deferred, and at last he was forced to put up with an old
Indiaman, the Duc de Duras, larger, but not stronger than the Ranger.
He changed the name of this old ship to the Bon Homme Richard, out
of compliment to Dr. Franklin, whose "Poor Richard's Almanac" had
just then appeared. She was the flagship of a motley squadron of two
frigates besides the Bon Homme Richard; the Alliance, an American
frigate commanded by a French captain, Landais, who was suspected to
be crazy, and acted like a madman; the Pallas, commanded by another
French captain, Cottineau, a brave and skilful seaman; and a cutter and
a brig, neither of which was of consequence in the cruise.

A number of American prisoners having been exchanged and sent to
France, Paul Jones was enabled before he sailed to get about thirty
Americans for the Bon Homme Richard. Every officer on the quarterdeck
was a native American except Paul Jones himself and one midshipman; and
the first lieutenant was Richard Dale, one of the most gallant seamen
the American navy ever produced. He had lately escaped from Mill Prison
in England. Paul Jones justly appreciated his young lieutenant, then
only twenty-three years old, and the utmost confidence and attachment
subsisted between them.

The crew was made up of men of all nationalities, including a number
of Malays, and many of the fok'sle people did not understand the word
of command. With this singular squadron and unpromising ship and crew
Paul Jones set sail on the 15th of August, under orders to report at
the Texel early in October. Great things were expected of him, but
agonizing disappointment seemed to be in store for him. Landais, the
captain of the Alliance, was mutinous, and the whole squadron seemed
incapable of either acting together or acting separately. Twice Paul
Jones sailed up the Firth of Forth as far as Leith, the port of
Edinburgh, and the Edinburghers made preparations to withstand this
bold invader. Among the children who lay awake at night waiting for the
booming of Paul Jones's guns, was a lad of ten years of age,--Walter
Scott, who, when he was the great Sir Walter, often spoke of it. But
both times the wind blew Paul Jones out to sea again, so that nothing
was done in the way of a descent on Edinburgh. Many merchant ships
were taken, and the coasts of the three kingdoms were alarmed, but
so far no enemy in the shape of a warship had appeared. The time for
the cruise to be up was fast approaching, and it seemed likely to end
in a manner crushing to the hopes of Paul Jones, when, at noon on the
23d of September, 1779, the Bon Homme Richard being off Flamborough
Head, a single ship was seen rounding the headland. It was the first
of forty ships comprising the Baltic fleet of merchantmen, which Paul
Jones had expected and longed to intercept. A large black frigate and a
smaller vessel were convoying them; and as soon as the two warships had
placed themselves between the fleet and the Bon Homme Richard, all the
fighting ships backed their topsails and prepared for action.

At the instant of seeing the two British ships, Paul Jones showed
in his air and words the delight his warrior's soul felt at the
approaching conflict. His officers and crew displayed the utmost
willingness to engage, while on board the Serapis her company asked
nothing but to be laid alongside the saucy American.

The Serapis was a splendid new frigate,--"the finest ship of her class
I ever saw," Paul Jones afterward wrote Dr. Franklin,--and carried
fifty guns. It is estimated that her force, as compared to the poor
old Bon Homme Richard, was as two to one. She was commanded by Captain
Pearson, a brave and capable officer. At one o'clock the drummers beat
to quarters on both ships, but it was really seven o'clock before they
got near enough to begin the real business of fighting. Much of this
time the British and Americans were cheering and jeering at each other.
The Serapis people pretended they thought the Bon Homme Richard was
a merchant ship, which indeed she had been before she came into Paul
Jones's hands, and derisively asked the Americans what she was laden
with; to which the Americans promptly shouted back, "Round, grape, and
double-headed shot!"

At last, about seven o'clock in the evening, the cannonade began. At
the second broadside two of the battery of eighteen-pounders on the
"Bon Homme" burst, the rest cracked and could not be fired. These had
been the main dependence for fighting the ship. Most of the small
guns were dismounted, and in a little while Paul Jones had only three
nine-pounders to play against the heavy broadside of the Serapis. In
addition to this, the shot from the Serapis had made several enormous
holes in the crazy old hull of the Bon Homme Richard, and she was
leaking like a sieve, while she was afire in a dozen places at once.
The crews of the exploded guns had no guns to fight, but they had to
combat both fire and water, either of which seemed at any moment likely
to destroy the leaking and burning ship. They worked like heroes, led
by the gallant Dale, and encouraged by their intrepid commander, whose
only comment on the desperate state of the ship was, "Never mind, my
lads, we shall have a better ship to go home in."

Below, more than a hundred prisoners were ready to spring up, and
were only subdued by Dale's determined attitude, who forced them to
work at the pumps for their lives. The Serapis pounded her adversary
mercilessly, and literally tore the Bon Homme Richard to pieces between
decks. Most captains in this awful situation would have hauled down the
flag. Not so Paul Jones. Knowing that his only chance lay in grappling
with his enemy and having it out at close quarters, he managed to get
alongside the Serapis, and with his own hands made fast his bowsprit
to the Serapis' mizzen-mast, calling out cheerfully to his men, "Now,
my brave lads, we have her!" Stacy, his sailing-master, while helping
him, bungled with the hawser, and an oath burst from him. "Don't swear,
Mr. Stacy," quietly said Paul Jones, "in another moment we may be in
eternity; but let us do our duty."

The Alliance lay off out of gunshot and quite inactive most of the
time, but at this point she approached and sailed around the two
fighting ships, firing broadsides into her consort, which did dreadful
damage. After this, her captain, the crack-brained and treacherous
Landais, made off to windward and was seen no more.

The combat deepened, and apparently the Bon Homme Richard was destined
to go down fighting. At one moment the two ships got into a position
in which neither could fire an effective shot. As they lay, head and
stern, fast locked in a deadly embrace, and enveloped in smoke and
darkness as they repeatedly caught fire from each other, a terrible
stillness fell awhile, until from the bloody decks of the Serapis a
voice called out,--

"Have you struck?"

To this Paul Jones gave back the immortal answer, which will ever mark
him among the bravest of the brave,--

"We have not yet begun to fight!"

Soon the conflict was renewed. The Serapis' heavy guns poured into and
through the Bon Homme Richard's hull, but the topmen on the American
ship kept up such a hurricane of destruction on the Serapis' spar deck,
that Captain Pearson ordered every man below, while himself bravely
remaining. A topman on the Bon Homme Richard, taking a bucket of hand
grenades, lay out on the main yard, which was directly over the main
hatch of the Serapis, and, coolly fastening his bucket to the sheet
block, began to throw his grenades down the hatchway. Almost the first
one rolled down the hatch to the gun-deck, where it ignited a row of
cartridges left exposed by the carelessness of the powder boys. In an
instant came an explosion which seemed to shake the heavens and the
ocean.

This was the turning-point. The men in the Bon Homme Richard's tops
climbed into those of the Serapis, the yards of the two ships being
interlocked, and swept her decks with fire and shot. Dazed by the
explosion, and helpless against the American sharpshooters, the
courageous men on the Serapis saw themselves conquered, and Captain
Pearson himself lowered the flag which had been nailed to the mast.
Lieutenant Dale, swinging himself on board the Serapis' deck, received
the captain's surrender; and thus ended one of the greatest single
ship fights on record. The slaughter on both ships was fearful, and
the Serapis' mainmast went by the board just as she was given up. But
the poor Bon Homme Richard was past help, and next morning she was
abandoned. At ten o'clock she was seen to be sinking. She gave a lurch
forward and went down, the last seen of her being an American flag left
flying by Paul Jones's orders at her mizzen peak, as she settled into
her ocean grave.

The Pallas, under Captain Cottineau, had captured the Countess of
Scarborough, which made a brave defence, and, in company with the
Serapis, sailed for the port of the Texel, which they reached in
safety. England scarcely felt the loss of one frigate and a sloop from
her tremendous fleets, but the wound to the pride of a great and noble
nation was severe. She caused the Dutch government to insist that
Paul Jones should immediately leave the Texel. This he refused to do,
as it was a neutral port, and he had a right to remain a reasonable
time. The Dutch government then threatened to drive him out, and had
thirteen double-decked frigates to enforce this threat, while twelve
English ships cruised outside waiting for him. But Paul Jones kept his
flag flying in the face of these twenty-five hostile ships, and firmly
refused to leave until he was ready. Through some complication with the
French government, he had the alternative forced upon him of hoisting a
French flag on the Serapis, or taking the inferior Alliance under the
American flag. Bitter as it was to give up the splendid Serapis, he
nobly preferred the weaker ship, under the American flag, and in the
Alliance, in the midst of a roaring gale on a black December night, he
escaped from the Texel, "with my best American ensign flying," as he
wrote Dr. Franklin.

The British government offered ten thousand guineas for him, dead or
alive, and forty-two British ships of the line and frigates scoured
the seas for him. Yet he escaped from them all, passed within sight of
the fleets at Spithead, ran through the English Channel, and reached
France in safety. He went to Paris, where he was praised, admired,
petted by the court, and especially honored by royalty. The King,
Louis XVI., gave him a magnificent sword, while the Queen, the lovely
and unfortunate Marie Antoinette, invited him in her box at the opera,
and treated him with charming affability. The first time he went to the
theatre in Paris, he found a laurel wreath suspended over his seat.
He rose quietly and moved away,--an act of modesty which was much
applauded by all.

Captain Pearson, on his return to England, received honors that caused
many persons to smile, although he had undoubtedly defended his ship
very determinedly. He was made a knight. When Paul Jones heard of this,
he remarked: "Well, he has deserved it; and if I have the good fortune
to fall in with him again, I will make him a lord."

Compliments were plenty for Paul Jones, too; but no ship was
forthcoming for him worthy of his fame, and at last, in 1780, he was
forced to return to America in the Ariel, a lightly armed vessel,
carrying stores for Washington's army.

His services were fully appreciated in the United States. General
Washington wrote him a letter of congratulation; Congress passed a
resolution of thanks in his honor, and gave him a gold medal; and the
French king made him a Knight of the Order of Military Merit. The
poverty of his country prevented him from getting a ship immediately,
and the virtual end of the war in 1781 gave him no further opportunity
of naval distinction.

He was employed in serving the naval interests of the country on this
side of the ocean until 1787, when he went to Europe on a mission for
the government. While there, he had brilliant offers made him to enter
the service of the Empress Catherine of Russia, and to take charge of
naval operations against the Turks. The nature of Paul Jones was such
that any enterprise of adventurous daring was irresistibly attractive
to him. At that time his firm friend Thomas Jefferson was minister to
France, and he advised Paul Jones to accept the offer. This he did,
relying, as he said, on Mr. Jefferson to justify him in so doing, and
retaining his American citizenship. He had an adventurous journey to
Russia, stopping for a while on public business at Copenhagen, where he
was much caressed by the King, Queen, and Court. He resumed his route
by sea, and at one time in a small boat in the Baltic Sea he forced the
sailors to proceed at the point of his pistol, when their hearts failed
them and they wished to turn back.

His connection with the Russian navy proved deeply unfortunate. He had
to deal with persons of small sense of honor, who cared little for
the principles of generous and civilized warfare. He was maligned and
abused, and although he succeeded in clearing himself, he left Russia
with disappointment and disgust. His health had begun to fail, and the
last two years of his life, from 1790 to 1792, were spent in Paris,
where he was often ill, and more often in great distress of mind over
the terrible scenes then occurring in France. He did not forget that
the King and Queen had been his friends, and showed them attentions
when it was extremely dangerous to do so. Lafayette, who had long been
his devoted friend, soothed his last days; and Gouverneur Morris, then
minister to France, paid him many kind attentions. He made his will,
naming Robert Morris as his executor, and then faced death with the
same cool courage as upon the bloody and burning deck of the Bon Homme
Richard.

In the evening of the 18th of July, 1792, after calmly making his
preparation, the end came. The National Assembly of France paid honor
to his remains, and in the United States the news of his death was
received with profound sorrow. Some years after, the Congress sent the
St. Lawrence frigate to Europe, to bring back the body of Paul Jones
to the United States; but it was found that, according to the French
custom, it had been destroyed by quicklime long before.

Few men have been more warmly attacked and defended than Paul Jones;
but in the light of history and of research it is altogether certain
that he was a man of extraordinary genius and courage, of noble
aspirations, and sincerely devoted to his adopted country; and at all
times and places he made good his proud declaration: "I have ever
looked out for the honor of the American flag."

The eulogy passed upon him by Benjamin Franklin was brief, but it
embodied many volumes of praise. It was this: "For Captain Paul Jones
ever loved close fighting."




RICHARD DALE


If an example were needed of the superiority of character and courage
over intellect, no more fitting person could be named than Commodore
Richard Dale,--"that truth-telling and truth-loving officer," as
Fenimore Cooper calls him. Nothing is more beautiful than the reverence
which Cooper, a man of real genius, had for Richard Dale, whose
talents, though good, were not brilliant; and in this Cooper shows
to lesser minds that intellect should ever pay tribute to character.
Dale had nothing more than good, sound sense, but by the courage and
constancy of his nature, by his justice, gentleness, and probity,
he attained a standing of which a great intellect might have been
proud. He was Paul Jones's first lieutenant during two years of daring
adventure, and, like Cooper, Paul Jones, the man of genius, loved and
admired Dale, the man of excellence. The affection between the two
was deep, and in Dale's old age he spoke of his old commander, then
no more, affectionately as "Paul,"--a strong testimony in the great
captain's favor.

[Illustration: Ri^d Dale ]

Dale was born near Norfolk, in Virginia, in 1756. His parents were
respectable persons, but not very well off, and Dale appears to
have had but few advantages of education in his boyhood. He was, by
nature, a daring and reckless speller, and the ingenuity and simplicity
with which he could twist the letters of the alphabet into forms
never before seen, was truly comical. In a letter to Paul Jones,
describing some work he was doing on the bowsprit, he says, "the
boulsprit was something Dificoult in Giting out." But no doubt the
bowsprit was smartly handled, and got out all right. And when "tow
french voluntairs" deserted, Dale says he "made haist" to send the
"golly-boat" after them, and certainly got them, if it were possible
to do so. But in spite of his spelling, he was educated in all the
courtesies of life, his manners were polished, his person was handsome,
and he was a daring and capable seaman. Paul Jones said he always found
Dale ready and willing to execute the most hazardous duty; and this
willingness to do his duty was the distinguishing characteristic of his
whole life.

When he was twelve years of age, he entered the merchant service and
made a voyage with an uncle of his, a sea-captain. Then began his
career of hard knocks; and few men who sail blue water ever had more.
He began by falling down the hold of his ship, and breaking most of his
bones except those of his back and neck; then followed experiences of
being knocked overboard and battling in the sea an hour before being
picked up; of being struck by lightning and remaining unconscious for
hours. From the time he joined the navy of the colonies, he never was
in action without being either wounded or captured and sometimes both.
Three times was he badly wounded, five times was he taken prisoner; yet
he managed to be in active service during a great part of the war, and
at last died peacefully in his bed, at a good old age.

Almost as soon as war was declared, Dale, then a fine young fellow of
nineteen, enlisted in the feeble naval forces of the colonies; and
the very first time he smelled powder, in 1776, he was captured by
the British and taken to Norfolk. There he was put on board a prison
ship, where he found among the officers an old friend of his, a young
Virginian, Bridges Gutteridge. Gutteridge was a royalist, and, being
a plausible fellow, he used his friendship with Dale to persuade him
that he was wrong in being in rebellion. Dale, who was young and
inexperienced, was beguiled by his friend into turning royalist too,
and actually enlisted upon a small British vessel. The first action in
which he was engaged--a fight with American pilot boats--Dale met his
usual fate, and was severely wounded. He was carried back to Norfolk,
and in the long days of illness and convalescence he began to see his
conduct in its true light, and bitterly repented of having fought
against his country. He went to work upon his friend Gutteridge, and
succeeded in converting him, after once having been converted by him,
into a patriot. Dale then quietly bided his time to get back into the
American navy, and, as he said, "I made up my mind if I got into the
way of bullets it should never again be the bullets of my own country."

It is indicative of the simple honesty of the man, that he never
attempted to belittle or disguise this early lapse of his, and always
expressed the deepest sorrow for it, alleging what a nature less fine
would never have admitted, "I knew no better at the time."

As soon as he was recovered, he managed to get aboard a merchant ship;
to go to sea was the first step toward returning to the continental
navy, which was the desire of his heart. He was captured as usual. But
this time it was just the very sort of a capture that Dale desired,
his ship being taken by the Lexington, a smart little cruiser under
the command of Captain Barry, a brave officer, with whom Dale's life
was afterward much connected. Dale lost not a moment in enlisting as
midshipman on the Lexington, and the first time she backed her topsails
at a British vessel she was captured, and Dale was a prisoner for the
third time.

An officer and a prize crew were thrown on the Lexington, and her
captor, the Pearl, frigate, directed the prize to follow her. In the
night the Americans rose on their captors, and retook the brig,
carrying her into Baltimore. Soon after that, Dale was exchanged, and
in January, 1777, he found himself again on the Lexington, as master's
mate. In March, the brig sailed for France, under Captain Henry
Johnson, and cruised boldly in European waters.

One night, in September, 1777, Captain Johnson found himself close
under the quarter of a well-armed British cutter. The two gallant
little vessels opened fire with great spirit, and the Americans were
getting decidedly the better of it, when their shot gave out. Dale
and the other officers collected every scrap of iron about the ship
that could be found or wrenched from its place to fire in the place of
shot, but the unequal fight could not last long; the brig was given up
after several of her officers and men had been killed, and Dale was a
prisoner for the fourth time before he was twenty-one years old.

In most of these revolutionary encounters the ships engaged were of
trifling force, but the attack and defence were gallant and spirited in
the highest degree, by both the Americans and the British, and no ship
was given away on either side.

The Lexington's officers and men were carried to England and thrown
into Mill Prison, where they underwent the agonies of famine and
privation. Dale always spoke of those dreadful days with horror, and
told of being driven by hunger to kill a stray dog, which he, with the
other prisoners, cooked and ate.

The story of their sufferings got abroad and excited the indignation
of many persons in England, who were jealous of the honor of their
country. They raised sixteen thousand pounds for American prisoners
in England, and relieved all their material wants. But the Americans
longed for liberty, and Dale and a few others determined to have it.
They found a place under the prison walls through which a hole could be
dug, and they began the almost impossible task of scooping out enough
earth that they might crawl through to the other side. They could work
only while exercising in the prison yard, and had to put the dirt
in their pockets as they scooped it up. Nevertheless, after working
for weeks at it, on a dark night in February, 1778, Captain Johnson,
Dale, and several of the Lexington's crew crawled through, and found
themselves free at last of the prison walls.

It is strange that men who could accomplish this should have been so
unwise as to stay together, but for a week the whole party wandered
about the country at night, half starved and half clothed, in the worst
of wintry weather. At last they concluded to separate, and Dale and a
young midshipman cast their lots together. Their character was soon
suspected by people they asked for food and shelter, and pursuers
were put upon them. They doubled on their tracks and got to London.
They were still hunted for, and the house in which they were concealed
was raided. Dale and his friend escaped into a shed close by, and lay
concealed under straw for hours, until the pursuing party had left.
They then slipped down to the docks, and were entered as hands on a
vessel for Scotland. But Dale's usual ill-fortune followed him. The
British navy, wanting able seamen, sent a press gang to the Scotch
vessel, and Dale and his friend, unluckily attracting notice by their
stalwart appearance, were impressed. In a little while they were found
out to be American officers, and were sent back to Mill Prison. Forty
days in the black hole of the prison followed. When this was over, Dale
earned another forty days in it by singing rebel songs. He continued
to sing his songs, though, while in the black hole. After a whole
year in prison he made his escape under circumstances which he never
revealed to the day of his death, except that he had on a complete suit
of British uniform. How he got it remains a mystery, and from that day
until his death, forty-seven years afterward, Dale kept the dangerous
secret of the person who risked so much for him. It is supposed that he
was provided liberally with money, and even with a passport, for he got
out of England quickly and went to France. Here, at L'Orient, he found
Paul Jones, then fitting out the Bon Homme Richard, in which both the
commander and Dale were to win immortality.

Dale was then an active, handsome young fellow of twenty-three, and
had seen more hard service than many officers of the highest rank. At
the first glance Paul Jones saw his steadiness, coolness, and splendid
qualities as a sea officer, and soon made him first lieutenant on
the Bon Homme Richard. A deep attachment sprang up between these two
kindred souls, and it is enough for Dale's reputation to know that he
was a man after Paul Jones's own heart.

In the summer of 1779 the Bon Homme Richard, old, crazy, and weakly
armed, but carrying as much valor as any ship afloat, started upon her
daring cruise in the narrow seas of Great Britain. Every day showed
Paul Jones more and more the admirable character of his young first
lieutenant, and in all the hazardous enterprises of that bold cruise
Dale was the man who was always Paul Jones's right arm of strength. On
the 23d of September, 1779, was fought the celebrated battle between
the Bon Homme Richard and the Serapis. Dale was not only the first, but
the only sea lieutenant on board, and proved himself altogether worthy
to serve under the great captain who took the Serapis. He commanded the
main deck, and, although his wretched and defective guns soon became
disabled, his activity did not cease for a moment.

At the most critical stages of the battle, when the leaking, burning,
and helpless Bon Homme Richard seemed in extremity, the master-at-arms
let loose more than a hundred prisoners, who came crowding up into the
magazine passage. Dale, running below, with his pistol cocked, faced
the mob, and, under Paul Jones's orders, set them to work at the pumps.
He then returned to the deck, and so carried away was he with the ardor
of battle that when, with his invariable fortune, a shot struck him in
the leg, he was quite unconscious of it. As soon as Captain Pearson
hauled down his flag, Dale claimed his right to go aboard the Serapis
and receive her surrender. The mainyard of the Serapis hung cock-a-bill
over the Bon Homme Richard's poop. A line hung from the torn rigging,
and Dale, seizing it, swung himself over, and landed alone on the
Serapis' deck. The Serapis' officers and people did not all know
the colors had been struck, and there was some fighting on the deck
afterward. The Serapis' first lieutenant ran up just as Captain Pearson
surrendered, and cried out, "Has she struck?" meaning the Bon Homme
Richard. Captain Pearson remained silent, and Dale replied, "No, sir,
the Serapis has struck."

The lieutenant, ignoring Dale, repeated his question to the captain,
who shook his head. The lieutenant after a moment asked that he might
go below and stop the firing that had not altogether ceased; but Dale,
who was not taking any chances of losing the ship, politely refused,
and at once passed the captain and his first lieutenant aboard the Bon
Homme Richard.

As soon as the Americans had possession of the Serapis, Dale sat down
on the binnacle, overcome with exhaustion, after nearly ten hours of
manoeuvring and fighting, two hours of the time the ships having been
lashed together. He gave an order, and, rising to see it executed,
measured his length on the deck. Then for the first time he knew that
he was wounded. He managed to keep the deck, however, and his wound
proved to be trifling.

In all the accounts of the compliments showered upon Paul Jones and his
officers at the Texel and afterward at Paris, Dale seems to have kept
modestly in the background. His worth, however, was not overlooked,
and his testimony that Captain Landais of the Alliance had acted
treacherously toward the Bon Homme Richard during the fight with the
Serapis was of weight in securing Landais' dishonorable discharge from
the continental navy.

While Paul Jones was enjoying the charms and splendors of Paris, Dale,
who had little taste for such things, was "keeping ship" so well that
the captain's absence was not felt. Like Paul Jones, he ardently longed
to put to sea in a fine ship; but both were doomed to disappointment
when the Ariel was the best to be had. In her he sailed, with Paul
Jones, for America, in 1781. Off the French coast they met with a storm
so terrific that Dale always declared he considered they were in more
danger than at any time during the fight with the Serapis. In speaking
of Paul Jones's coolness in such desperate straits, when every moment
they seemed about to go to the bottom, Dale said: "Never saw I such
coolness in such dreadful circumstances as I saw in Paul Jones then."
To the amazement of all, they escaped with their lives, although the
Ariel was so crippled that they had to return to port, and it was many
weeks before they could sail again.

On reaching America, Paul Jones desired Dale to accompany him to
Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where the government directed him to
superintend the building of a fine frigate then on the stocks. But
Dale preferred active service, and joined the Trumbull frigate, going
through with his usual experience, a hot fight with a British ship and
a severe wound. This time he varied the performance by being captured
for the fifth time. He was soon exchanged, however, and the war ended
shortly after.

The navy of the United States ceased practically to exist at the close
of the Revolution, and Dale went into the China trade. He made a modest
fortune, came ashore, and married a beautiful girl, the ward of his old
commander Captain Barry. In 1794 the navy was reorganized, and Dale was
the first captain who got afloat under the United States flag. He made
several cruises, and in 1801 was made commodore of a fine squadron sent
to the Mediterranean. His flagship was the President, and it was a sad
coincidence that upon this very ship, in the war of 1812, his son, a
gallant young midshipman, received his death wound.

The fine appearance of the American ships and the smartness of their
officers and crews were generally admired, and Dale himself made
friends and admirers by his manly and modest bearing. He spelled no
better than ever, but his seamanship was beyond reproach. Once, on
coming out of Port Mahon, the President struck upon a rock, and was in
imminent danger of pounding herself to death. Commodore Dale was below
when she struck. He instantly came on deck, assumed command, and by his
coolness, nerve, and judgment, saved the ship. He had her temporarily
repaired, under his own directions, at Port Mahon, but went to Toulon
to have her put in dry dock. When the water was pumped out, and her
hull exposed, the French naval officers were lost in admiration at the
ingenious way in which, with crude appliances and materials, Dale had
contrived to repair the damage.

The great Nelson, while observing the manoeuvring of this fine
squadron under Commodore Dale, remarked: "Those American ships can, if
they wish, make trouble for the British navy."

Dale returned home, expecting to spend the rest of his active life in
the navy. But in those days it seems to have been a common practice to
treat the most distinguished and deserving officers without the least
consideration of their rights or feelings. This happened to Commodore
Dale. An affront being offered him by the head of the navy, he promptly
resigned. He had two gallant sons who remained in the navy, however;
and one of these, his namesake, lost his life while gallantly fighting
in the war of 1812. Dale retired to Philadelphia, and spent the rest
of his days in honorable retirement. His old friend Captain Barry had
come into possession of the splendid gold sword given Paul Jones by the
King of France, and which Paul Jones's relatives had given to Robert
Morris, and from him Captain Barry got it. On Captain Barry's death he
left this sword, most worthily and appropriately, to Dale, the great
captain's first lieutenant.

Dale never lost his interest in sailors and all who live by the sea.
He was a deeply religious man, and organized a mariners' church, which
he urged all sailors to attend. Every Sunday afternoon for thirty
years he went to this humble little chapel, and, besides joining in
the service, would go about among the sailors who were present, gently
inquiring into their wants, and never failing to do a kindness for
them when possible. It is said that no man was ever heard to speak a
word against him. He died peacefully, after a short illness, in 1826.
The United States named for him a fine sloop of war, which, like Dale
himself, saw much service and had many vicissitudes. She is still in
existence, and when, a few years ago, her timbers were examined, they
were found as sound and whole, in spite of all her years of service, as
they ought to be in a ship named for a man like Richard Dale. In her
main gangway a memorial plate is placed, recalling Commodore Dale's
services in the fight between the Bon Homme Richard and the Serapis,
and quoting the never-to-be-forgotten words of Paul Jones, when he was
asked, in his almost helpless ship, if he had struck,--"I have not yet
begun to fight."




THOMAS TRUXTUN


In the old days the American sailors were great singers, and naval
songs, rude in construction but vivid with patriotic fire, were
immensely popular. When they were trolled forth on the fok'sle, nearly
every sailor could join in, and the effect was as inspiring as Dibdin's
songs were to the British navy about the same time. Among the first and
favorite of these songs was "Truxtun's Victory," beginning,--

    "Come, all ye Yankee sailors, with swords and pikes advance;
    'T is time to try your courage and humble haughty France."

There was a good deal of poetic license regarding facts as well as
forms, and the poet, in describing Truxtun's victory on L'Insurgente, a
crack French frigate, represents

    "The blood did from their scuppers run;
     Their captain cried, 'I am undone!'"

Instead of crying that he was undone, the French captain made a gallant
defence; and if his metal had been heavier, it might have been
"Barreault's Victory," instead of "Truxtun's Victory."

[Illustration: Medal awarded to Thomas Truxtun]

Thomas Truxtun was born in New York in 1755, but, losing his father
early, was taken to Jamaica by a relative and brought up. He had but
little chance of a school education, and went to sea early. He was
but twenty years old when the Revolution broke out, and was then in
command of a merchant vessel. Unfortunately it cannot be recounted
that Truxtun entered the American navy then. Instead he chose serving
in a privateer. But it must be remembered that the whole naval force
of the colonies was very feeble, and so slight was the expectation
that it could prevail against the mighty fleets of England that
only a few small ships were officered, and there was no more room
for would-be officers. Truxtun, however, did excellent service in
privateers,--usually not very honorable ships in themselves, as they
prey only on the commerce of an enemy; yet in the Revolution many
privateers boldly engaged with armed ships. Naturally the naval men
held privateers in contempt, and a letter of the great Paul Jones
is extant which shows that he and young Captain Truxtun had a sharp
quarrel over the rights of privateers. Congress had passed an act
forbidding a privateer to hoist a pennant in the presence of a naval
ship, without first getting the consent of the naval ship's commander.
Truxtun, an impetuous young man of twenty-five, in command of the ship
Independence from Philadelphia, arrived at L'Orient in France in 1780.
At the same time the Ariel, under command of Paul Jones, was lying
in the port. What followed Paul Jones himself describes in a letter
addressed to "Mr. Thomas Truxtun, master of the ship Independence."

 "You passed, some time ago, with the merchant ship called the
 Independence belonging to Philadelphia, close under the stern of
 the continental ship Ariel, under my command in the Road of Groix;
 and you then showed no mark of respect to the Continental flag of
 commission, but went on with a long Pendant flying, and without
 lowering any sail or colour, or crew showing any mark of politeness.
 In the port of L'Orient you were not satisfied with a long Pendant,
 but you hoisted a kind of Broad one; and until yesterday you have worn
 it at your moorings in presence of the Continental ship Ariel. This
 was flying in the Face of a positive resolution of Congress. When
 your vessel was yesterday under sail, she was steered in my presence
 very near the Ariel in passing down to Port Louis. I then sent a Boat
 with an officer to request yourself or your representative to take
 down the Pendant. The officer returned and reported to me that my
 boat's crew had been menaced by your people, and that your mate said
 he had Orders to treat me with Contempt, and disobey any order or
 request to haul down the Pendant. When I found this, I sent Lieut.
 Dale back with two Boats armed, and with another polite message, and
 such orders as I will answer for having given. The Pendant was then
 hauled Down as he approached. I cannot answer your letter of this
 date more particularly, as there are in it several words that I do
 not understand and cannot find in the dictionary. I shall receive no
 more letters from you on the subject. It is not me you have offended.
 You have offended the United States of America. I am, sir, your most
 humble servant,

      "J. Paul Jones."

By this letter it will be seen that Captain Truxtun, like Richard Dale,
was better at fighting than writing; and it will also be noted that
when Paul Jones's blood was up, he sent Dale to call Captain Truxtun to
account, and as soon as Dale took the matter in hand, "the Pendant was
then hauled down."

Truxtun had an adventurous time of it during the Revolution, and made
a name for himself as a man of enterprise and a fine seaman. His after
achievements make it a source of keen regret that such a man should
have been engaged in such a calling as privateering, when, like Paul
Jones and Richard Dale, he might have assisted his country much better
on a regular ship of war.

He remained in the merchant service after the war was over; but when
the United States began to create a navy in 1784, Truxtun was given a
captain's commission. Trouble had been brewing with France for some
time, and in 1797 the government determined to build several frigates
in case of war, and this year saw the launching of the two noble ships,
the Constitution and the Constellation, which were both destined to win
immortal fame. Truxtun was appointed to command the Constellation, and
also to superintend the building. She was laid down at Baltimore in the
summer of 1797, and few ships ever took the water more quickly than the
glorious Constellation. She had a very remarkable launch on the 7th
of September, 1797. Nearly all her guns and stores were on board, and
seven days after she kissed the water she was ready to sail. She had
been coppered in ten hours. The Constellation was a beautiful frigate,
very fast and weatherly, and carrying thirty-eight guns. She was finely
officered and manned, and Captain Truxtun sailed on his first cruise
with every advantage in his favor,--a ship that could both fight and
run, and a company worthy of the ship. He cruised for some time without
meeting with any extraordinary adventures; but the next year four other
smaller vessels were put under his command, and the squadron went to
the West Indies. This was directly in harm's way, as the West India
islands were full of French ships of war, and France and the United
States were on the eve of a quasi-war, so that Captain Truxtun sailed
with the hope of getting a whack at a Frenchman, and this came about
in February, 1799. As the old song has it,

    "'T was in the month of February, off Montserrat we lay,
     When there we spied the Insurgente--"

This was considered to be the fastest frigate in the world, and was
commanded by a crack French captain, Barreault. She carried forty
twelve-pounders in her batteries, and the Constellation carried
thirty-eight twenty-four pounders, making the Constellation much the
stronger ship; yet Captain Truxtun showed, in the fight which followed,
that he could have whipped a heavier ship than L'Insurgente, which made
a very smart fight too. Captain Barreault knew that the Constellation
was the heavier, but he did not on that account refuse the battle, but
showed a manly willingness to fight.

The Constellation sighted L'Insurgente in the forenoon of February 9,
1799, and immediately made for her. As soon as she got near enough,
the French ship hoisted American colors, in order to draw her on and
give the French ship time to find out something about the stranger.
Captain Truxtun then showed the private signal, which Captain Barreault
was unable to answer. L'Insurgente then threw off every disguise, and,
setting the French ensign, ran off and fired a gun to windward, which
meant, in sailor language, that he was ready for a yardarm to yardarm
fight. Captain Truxtun set an American ensign at every masthead and
came on, the Frenchman waiting on an easy bowline, for his enemy. The
Americans, both officers and men, showed the most cheerful ardor to
engage, and the two ships went at it with equal spirit. When within
hailing distance the Frenchman hailed; but disregarding this, Captain
Truxtun came on until he was abeam of his adversary. Then he let fly
his broadside, and the Frenchman answered him promptly. Captain Truxtun
discovered that he had no fool to play with in Captain Barreault, and
for an hour the Frenchman gave the Constellation all she could do. But
by that time the superior metal of the Constellation began to tell.
The Frenchman aimed at the spars and rigging, and the foretopmast
of the Constellation was badly wounded. The officer in the foretop
was Midshipman David Porter, afterward the celebrated captain, and,
seeing that the foretopmast was likely to fall, with all the men in
the hamper, he hailed the deck to report the damage. So furious was
the cannonade, though, that his voice could not be heard. He therefore
gave orders on his own account to cut away the stoppers and lower the
topsail yard, and by his promptness the spar as well as the men in
the top were saved. The Americans aimed at the hull, and in an hour
L'Insurgente was riddled like a sieve. The Constellation then shot
ahead, and, luffing across the Frenchman's bows, was ready with every
gun to rake him, when Captain Barreault, seeing his hopeless condition,
struck his colors.

The captured frigate was sent into St. Kitts with only two midshipmen,
Porter and Rodgers, and eleven men, to keep one hundred and seventy
three Frenchmen below the hatches. This they did, besides managing the
ship in a hard gale, and took her in triumph to St. Kitts within four
days.

The next year Captain Truxtun had a chance to show what he could do
against a stronger ship than his own, and on the 1st of February,
1800, being off Guadeloupe, he sighted La Vengeance, one of the great
French frigates, mounting fifty-two guns. The Constellation immediately
set her ensign and gave chase, but La Vengeance, having on board a
large number of officers of rank and soldiers which she was carrying
to France, would rather not have fought, and so took to her heels.
The chase continued from the morning of the 1st of February until
late in the afternoon of the 2d, and it was eight o'clock at night
before they finally came to close quarters. When La Vengeance found
the Constellation was bent on a fight, she entered into it with all
the bravery of the French character. The officers and soldiers she was
carrying as passengers went to quarters with the regular crew, and
she came on in grand style, giving her first broadside as soon as
the Constellation was within range. Captain Truxtun, without firing a
gun, drew within pistol shot of his enemy, both crews cheering as the
two gallant enemies neared each other. When within pistol shot, the
Constellation barked out every gun in broadside, and the fight began in
good earnest. Both ships were running free, and during the whole fight,
which lasted five hours, the cannonade continued. The crowded condition
of the Frenchman's decks made the slaughter dreadful, but she did not
take her punishment without giving it back with spirit. The moon had
risen in tropic splendor, and a good breeze was blowing, so that both
ships could manoeuvre, and the bright light enabled them to see what
they were doing. Toward midnight, though, it was plain that the French
ship was getting the worst of it. However, she showed no signs of
surrender, and her guns that could still be worked pounded the mainmast
of the Constellation until it was soon seen that it must fall. At this
point occurred what is probably the noblest act of young courage in
all naval history. The officer of the maintop was a little midshipman,
James Jarvis, who was only thirteen years old. When it was seen that
nothing could save the mainmast, the topmen leaped and clambered down,
and an old sailor begged the little midshipman to save himself. To
this young Jarvis answered calmly, "As an officer I cannot leave my
station, and if the mast goes, I must go with it." In a few moments the
great mast fell with a fearful crash, and this dauntless boy came down
with it. He was the only officer on the Constellation killed.

This accident rendered the Constellation helpless for a time, and
La Vengeance, having still spars enough left to get away, made off,
without firing another gun, and was soon lost in the darkness that
followed the setting of the moon. Her loss of men was frightful, while
that of the Constellation was comparatively small.

When Captain Truxtun reached home after this brilliant engagement, he
was received with acclamations, Congress gave him a gold medal and its
thanks, and passed a solemn resolution in honor of young Jarvis, "who
gloriously preferred certain death to the abandonment of his post."
This is, perhaps, an unprecedented honor for a boy of thirteen, but it
cannot be denied that the little midshipman, who deliberately gave his
life rather than desert his post, well earned it.

The London merchants of Lloyd's coffee-house sent Captain Truxtun a
splendid service of plate worth six hundred guineas, and some years
afterward the United States named a smart sloop of war after him, the
Truxtun. Captain Truxtun served but a short while in the navy after
this. In 1802 he was ordered, as Commodore, to command a squadron,
and, finding he was to have no captain on his flag-ship, declined the
honor. His letter was misunderstood by the authorities of the Navy
Department to mean a resignation from the navy, and was, as such,
accepted. Commodore Truxtun, too proud to withdraw it, chose rather
to withdraw from the navy,--a course which must ever be regretted. He
chose Philadelphia as his home, and became a prominent and important
citizen. He was for some time Sheriff of the city. In 1823 his death
occurred, and he left behind him an honorable name as a man, and a
brilliant reputation as a seaman.




WILLIAM BAINBRIDGE


Commodore Bainbridge was born at Princeton, New Jersey, in 1774. His
family were of good standing, and willing as well as able to give the
boy a liberal education; but an inborn love of adventure possessed him,
and he begged to be allowed to go to sea. At that time, 1789-90, the
navy of the Revolution had ceased to exist, while the navy of a later
date was not created, and the only way to gratify the boy was to send
him to sea in a merchant vessel. He first shipped in his sixteenth
year, and his good habits and natural genius for the sea gave him the
place of first officer of a ship when he was eighteen. During a voyage
to Holland a mutiny occurred on board his vessel, which was quelled
chiefly by the vigor and determination of young Bainbridge. The owners
rewarded his services by giving him the command of the ship when he
was barely nineteen. At this time he was a singularly handsome young
man. He was six feet high, his figure elegant, and his countenance as
frank and open as it was comely. His manners were cordial, and his
disposition impetuous; but although he sometimes fell into hasty and
passionate language, no man was more ready to make amends. Like Paul
Jones, he stammered slightly, but, also like him, he spoke smoothly
enough when there was occasion for it, and no one ever heard him halt
in his speech when an order aboard ship was to be given.

[Illustration: William Bainbridge]

Bainbridge remained in command of merchant ships until the
reorganization of the navy in 1798. During those years a singular and
unsatisfactory state of affairs existed for American ships on the
ocean. Without a single ship of war to protect them, they were liable
to be overhauled by British warships, which claimed the right to
search, by French warships, which practically fought and captured them,
while a large trade with the North of Europe and the East was harassed
by the corsairs of the Barbary coast. With regard to these last, a
truly disgraceful condition prevailed. The Dey of Algiers actually
demanded and received tribute from the United States government for not
molesting its trading-vessels! It is true that other nations of Europe
submitted to the same sort of blackmail; but their reasons, although
not sufficient, were better than those of the Americans. New in the art
of forming a great republic, and unduly fearful of the dangers of a
fixed naval force as well as of a standing army, the government of the
United States tried to do without a navy; but it paid for its mistake
many times over, both in national honor and in money. The European
nations also paid money to the Barbary pirates, and allowed their ships
to be used in various ways, at the request of these haughty despots;
but it was with a desire to secure their political alliances in the
universal wars that scourged Europe at that day, and not from inability
to protect their own carrying ships.

It may be imagined how galling this was to American captains, and that
they resisted whenever there was a chance of success. Young Bainbridge
was the last man to submit to coercion when he could help himself, and
on two occasions, while in command of merchant vessels, showed the
spirit that was in him. Once, when commanding the Hope, a little vessel
carrying only eleven men before the mast and four nine-pounders, he
fell in with a British privateer, carrying thirty men and eight guns. A
sharp action ensued; for privateers are not wont to heed any vessel's
rights when the privateer is the stronger party, and Paul Jones's
characterization of them as "licensed robbers" is not far wrong. The
Hope, however, made a good defence, and forced the privateer to call
for quarter. Under the existing law, Bainbridge could not claim her
as lawful prize, but was forced to let her go, shouting out to her
commander as they parted, "Tell your employers if they have occasion
for the Hope, they must send some other man than you to get her!"

Another time, the Indefatigable, frigate, under Sir Edward Pellew,
afterward Lord Exmouth and the conqueror of Algiers, sent a squad of
seamen on board the Hope, and took out of her a man alleged to be a
British subject. Bainbridge could not resist, but he sent word to Sir
Edward that the first British vessel of a force the Hope could cope
with, a man should be taken out of her, as sure as he was alive and
commanded the Hope. This he did within a week, and carried the man back
to the United States with him.

Things reached such a pass in 1798 that the necessity for a navy became
pressing, and steps were promptly taken to organize and equip a naval
force. Bainbridge, then twenty-four years old, was among the first to
apply for a commission, and he was given that of lieutenant commandant.
He soon got the command of a little cruiser of fourteen guns, captured
from the French, and renamed the Retaliation. The ship was ordered to
the West Indies, to cruise in company with the Montezuma, sloop of
war, and the Norfolk, brig. On a November day in 1798, while cruising
off Guadeloupe, Bainbridge found himself too near two French frigates,
Le Volontier, forty-four guns, and L'Insurgente, forty guns.[1]
L'Insurgente was a tremendously fast frigate, and soon overhauled
Bainbridge and compelled him to strike his colors. He was at once
taken on board Le Volontier, while L'Insurgente proceeded in chase of
the Montezuma and the Norfolk. Captain St. Laurent, of Le Volontier,
seeing L'Insurgente about to engage two adversaries, and knowing her
captain, Barreault, to be a man brave to rashness, was disturbed at
the prospect. He asked Bainbridge, who was on the quarterdeck, what
the force of the American ships was. Bainbridge promptly replied that
the Montezuma carried twenty-eight long guns, and the Norfolk twenty.
This was about double their real force. Captain St. Laurent at once
signalled L'Insurgente to return. Her captain, Barreault, was deeply
chagrined, and when he went on board Le Volontier, told Captain St.
Laurent that the American vessels were of trifling force, and he could
easily have taken them both. Then Bainbridge's clever _ruse_ was
discovered; but the French officers, realizing that he had done his
duty in trying to save his country's ships, showed no ill-will toward
him.

The Retaliation was the first and only ship of war captured by the
French during the years that war existed between the United States and
France, although it never was declared. But Bainbridge's reputation did
not suffer by this, as his whole conduct was that of a man of spirit
and capacity. He rose to the rank of captain just as he reached his
twenty-sixth birthday; and in 1800 he was appointed to the command
of the George Washington, of twenty-eight guns. His first duty was to
carry tribute to the Dey of Algiers. No more hateful service could
have been devised for him, and great blame rests upon the men in the
government who subjected the United States to such humiliation.

In September, 1800, Bainbridge reached Algiers, and anchored within
the mole. Scarcely had he landed the tribute, consisting of about
half a million in money,--enough to have built a ship that could have
knocked the Dey's forts about his ears,--when he was asked to carry
the Dey's ambassador to Constantinople, along with a present to the
Sultan, of slaves, wild beasts, and a large sum of money. Bainbridge
was furious at the demand; but the Dey insolently told him that he
must go, or the ship, which was completely in the Dey's power, would
be taken, her officers and crew sold into slavery, and war made on
American trade. Bainbridge was reminded that British, French, and
Spanish ships had performed the same duty; but no doubt Bainbridge
realized that in all those cases it was done from political motives,
while in his case it was done simply because he could not help himself.
With a very bad grace, he agreed, and the presents and passengers were
put in the ship and he sailed for Constantinople in October. It was
a cruise the officers of the George Washington never liked to speak
of; but there is no doubt that, although it was a time of the utmost
vexation and mortification, innumerable amusing incidents occurred.
The Mohammedans had great difficulty in keeping their faces toward
Mecca during the frequent evolutions of the ship, and a man had to be
stationed at the compass to let them know when it was time for them to
"go about." This was a standing cause of laughter and gibes from the
sailors, which naturally gave great offence to the Mohammedans; and
these disagreements, together with a ship full of wild beasts, made it
a cruise never to be forgotten.

Bainbridge was very doubtful whether his vessel would be allowed to
pass the Dardanelles, as the American flag had never been seen in those
seas before; so he concluded to get through by his wits. He approached
with a strong wind, and clewed up his light sails as if about to
anchor, saluting meanwhile. The salute was returned, and under cover
of the smoke sail was quickly made and the ship slipped past, out of
range of shot from the castles. When she reached Constantinople, a boat
was sent ashore to report her arrival. The Turkish officials sent back
word that they knew no such nation as the United States. They were
soon convinced that there was such a nation, and were well received.
The Sultan's brother-in-law, Capudan Pasha, became much attached to
Bainbridge, and mentioned that the Dey of Algiers was not in favour
with the Sublime Porte. Bainbridge, knowing he would return to Algiers,
got a letter from Capudan Pasha, in which the Dey was commanded to
treat the American commander with the highest respect. Bainbridge
returned to Algiers in January, and was immediately met with another
demand,--that he take the Algerine ambassador back to Constantinople.
This he firmly refused, at an interview in which the Dey stormed,
raged, and threatened. In the midst of this, Bainbridge calmly produced
Capudan Pasha's letter. The Dey paused, grew pale, and trembled, and
then burst into profuse offers of assistance, which Bainbridge coolly
declined, and left the palace.

The next day, in obedience to orders from Constantinople, the Dey
declared war against France, and notified all of the French in
Algiers--fifty-six men, women, and children--that unless they left
within forty-eight hours, they would be sold into slavery. France was
then at war with the United States, but this did not prevent Bainbridge
from offering these unfortunates an asylum on the George Washington at
great inconvenience to himself, and carrying them all to Spain. For
this humane act he received the personal thanks of Napoleon Bonaparte,
then First Consul.

Bainbridge returned to the United States with the George Washington,
and soon after got the Essex, a thirty-two-gun frigate attached to
the squadron which was sent to the Mediterranean in 1801, under the
command of Commodore Richard Dale. Among the lieutenants of the Essex
was Stephen Decatur, afterward the celebrated Commodore.

The ship arrived at Barcelona in August, and took a berth in the
harbor, close to the Spanish guardship. The neatness of the Essex and
the seamanlike appearance and conduct of her officers and men were so
much remarked upon that it gave great offence to the officers of the
guardship. The stay of the American frigate at Barcelona was a long
scene of turmoil, owing to collisions between her junior officers and
the Spanish midshipmen. In one of these Decatur figured prominently.
Bainbridge acted with spirit and also with judgment, but was glad to
get away from such uncomfortable quarters.

By that time Congress was beginning to wake up to the necessity for
a more vigorous policy with regard to the Barbary powers, and the
squadron was directed to protect American shipping by force. The
corsairs interpreted this to mean war, and their aggressions reached
such a pitch, after the return of Dale's squadron in 1802, that in 1803
Commodore Preble was sent out with the Constitution, the Philadelphia,
and five smaller vessels, to reduce these piratical powers. Bainbridge
was promoted from the command of the Essex to the Philadelphia, a fine
thirty-eight-gun frigate, carrying a few more than three hundred men.

Her first lieutenant was David Porter, who, as a young midshipman, had
distinguished himself in the Constellation under Captain Truxtun, and
who was destined to a highly honorable and active career during the
whole time of his service in the navy.

The Philadelphia arrived at Gibraltar in August, 1803, and the next day
began to cruise up and down the straits in search of corsairs. In a
day or two she fell in with a Moorish vessel, the Meshboha, in company
with an American brig which had been captured, and her company taken
aboard the Meshboha. The Philadelphia stood by, and forced the Moorish
captain, Lubarez, to send all his prisoners to the Philadelphia, and to
come aboard himself. Bainbridge invited him into the cabin, and feeling
sure that he had orders to capture American ships, directed him to
produce these orders. Lubarez stoutly denied he had any such orders.

"Very well," coolly responded Bainbridge, taking out his watch. "I am
now going on deck for half an hour. When I return, if you cannot show
your orders, I will immediately hang you at the yardarm for a pirate."

At the end of half an hour Bainbridge returned. Lubarez then sullenly
admitted he had orders, but they were inside his waistcoat.

"Take off your waistcoat," said Bainbridge.

Lubarez began slowly to remove his waistcoat; but another appeared
under it. He finally peeled off five waistcoats, and underneath the
last one were the orders. Bainbridge immediately took possession of the
Meshboha and her prize, and carried them both into Gibraltar.

In a few days Commodore Preble reached Gibraltar, and Bainbridge was
sent to Tripoli, with orders to intercept and capture every Tripolitan
vessel possible. He arrived before Tripoli, in the autumn of 1803,
and immediately began a vigorous blockade. On the 31st of October he
gave chase to a xebec trying to get into the harbor. He was rapidly
overhauling her, when, at the mouth of the harbor, the water suddenly
shoaled, and the Philadelphia ran upon a tremendous reef, known to the
Tripolitans, but not down on any chart.

At once every effort was made to get the ship off, but she held fast,
and soon heeled over so far to starboard that her guns on that side
became useless. The Tripolitans at once saw her desperate plight, and
gunboats came out in swarms to attack her. The Americans fought the
gunboats off as best they could, meanwhile working with amazing energy
to save the ship. All the water in her was pumped out, the anchors were
cut from the bows, most of her guns thrown overboard, and at last the
foremast was cut away. Still the ship stuck fast. Bainbridge, who had
shown great coolness and determination in the dreadful circumstances in
which he found himself, presently saw that he must give up the ship.
He called a council of his officers, and they agreed that all had been
done that men could do. The carpenters were ordered to scuttle the
ship; and just as the autumn night was closing in, the Philadelphia's
colors were hauled down, and the Tripolitans swarmed over the decks, in
the ports, and everywhere a foot could be set. Then looting began; the
officers being robbed of everything, even their swords and epaulets.
Bainbridge gave up his watch and money in dignified silence; but when
his wife's picture was about to be torn from around his neck, he swore
no man should have it, and fought the Tripolitan off who would have
taken it.

The officers and men were then carried into the town, where the
officers were received by the Bashaw in great state, surrounded by
his ministers. It is said that Bainbridge never looked handsomer or
more imposing than when he appeared at the head of his officers before
the barbaric prince. The Bashaw treated them with Eastern courtesy,
gave them a handsome supper, for they were half dead with hunger and
fatigue, and then sent them to a temporary prison. They were in charge
of Sidi Mohammed D'Ghies, one of the great officers of state, who
proved to be a man of good heart, and whose ideas of military honor
were Western rather than Eastern.

Then began a captivity which lasted for nineteen months. The men were
reduced to a position of slavery, and made to work for their Tripolitan
masters. The officers were closely confined, and after several attempts
at escape had been made by the younger ones, they were removed to the
dungeons of the Bashaw's castle.

The situation of Bainbridge was sad in the extreme. He felt himself
to be foredoomed to misfortune. He had lost his first ship, the
Retaliation, in the French war. His cruise in the George Washington
had been painful and humiliating in many respects; and now he had lost
one of the two frigates that the country depended upon to punish the
corsairs. A very affecting letter of his to his wife exists, in which
he seems plunged into despair; and in it he says he sometimes thinks
"it would have been a merciful dispensation of Providence if my head
had been shot off while our vessel lay rolling upon the rocks." But
from this sharp affliction his gallant spirit rallied after a time. His
officers and men felt undiminished confidence in and affection for him,
and did all in their power to comfort him.

The very day after their capture they sent him a letter saying, "We,
late officers of the United States frigate Philadelphia, wishing
to express our full approbation of your conduct concerning the
unfortunate event of yesterday, do conceive that the charts and
soundings justified as near an approach to the shore as we made, and
that after she struck every expedient was used to get her off and to
defend her which courage and abilities could dictate.

"We wish to add that in this instance as in every other, since we have
had the honor of being under your command, the officers and seamen
have always appreciated your distinguished conduct. Believe us, sir,
that our misfortunes and sorrows are entirely absorbed in our sympathy
for you. We are, sir, with sentiments of the highest and most sincere
respect, your friends and fellow sufferers."

Here follow the signatures of every officer under Bainbridge.

He soon received letters from Commodore Preble; and the brotherly
kindness expressed in them reflects the greatest honor upon a superior
officer who could feel so generously in an affair which crippled and
embarrassed him so cruelly as the loss of the Philadelphia. Preble
wrote: "May God bless and preserve you! Recollect that destiny, not
want of courage, has deprived you of liberty, _but not of honor_." And
he adds, "The first consul of France, the celebrated Bonaparte, has
interested himself deeply in your situation."

To the chagrin of the Americans, they found that the Philadelphia had
not been thoroughly scuttled, and she was hauled off the rocks by the
Tripolitans, the holes in her bottom stopped, her foremast refitted,
her guns and anchors fished up, and she was towed within the harbor.
From the one window of their underground prison, the unfortunate
officers of the Philadelphia could see the ship riding at anchor, and
disgraced by the pirate flag of Tripoli.

The captives were allowed to communicate at intervals with Commodore
Preble, who gave them assurance that they were not forgotten, and that
the Bashaw would have to surrender them and pay dearly for having
imprisoned them. Besides these official communications, means were
found by which letters written in lemon juice were exchanged, and in
one of these Bainbridge suggested the possibility of destroying the
Philadelphia at her moorings,--which was afterward carried out with
splendid dash by Decatur.

In spite of those alleviations, there were long months of weariness and
dreariness in a peculiarly trying captivity. The time was not wholly
wasted. The midshipmen, whose untamed spirits frequently got them
into difficulties, were set to work by the older officers, and all,
men as well as officers, bore their imprisonment with fortitude. The
seamen were made to labor on the fortifications; and as they were often
unruly, the slave-drivers had no hesitation in ordering them to be
bastinadoed on every occasion. The man who administered the punishment
was not so hard-hearted as his masters, and although he regularly laid
on the required number of blows upon the soles of the sailors' feet, he
winked at the fact that they had wrapped folds of matting around their
feet, and the blows hurt not at all. The sailors were clever enough to
shriek and scream during this mock bastinadoing, and the slave-drivers
were completely deceived by Jack's ruse.

At last, on the night of the 15th of February, 1804, the captives were
awakened by the firing of heavy guns. By the light of a brilliant moon
and the blazing hull and spars of the Philadelphia out in the harbor,
they saw the destruction of the ship by Decatur[2] and his gallant
band. While they watched her burn to the water's edge, her shotted guns
burst with heat and flame, her magazine blew up, and when the sun rose
next morning, not a vestige remained of the lovely frigate. She had
been destroyed by the Americans under Decatur, without the loss of a
single man.

This gave heart to the prisoners, and they felt their deliverance was
at hand; but it was not until the spring had passed and the summer
dragged along into August that one day they were roused by a heavy
cannonade. They were then confined underground in the Bashaw's castle,
and there was only one window by which they could see the offing. They
eagerly clambered up, and the thrill of joy they felt may be imagined
when they saw a smart flotilla of small vessels, led with the greatest
dash and impetuosity by Decatur and Somers, burning, sinking, or
driving back the Tripolitan gunboats. And farther out in the offing,
they saw the glorious Constitution coming into action in grand style,
choosing her range with majestic deliberation, and then her batteries
roaring out destruction to her enemies, while the Tripolitan shot fell
short, or dropped harmlessly against her stout sides.

For six weeks the attack was kept up furiously, and in that time five
tremendous assaults were made by Commodore Preble's squadron. In one of
these destructive cannonades a round shot from the Constitution tore in
at the one window from which a part of the harbor could be seen, and,
narrowly missing Bainbridge, knocked him down and almost covered him
with the mass of stone and mortar it dislodged. But Bainbridge was not
the man to mind a trifle like this, and every time the Constitution
came within range, she was welcome to the tired eyes, and the thunder
of her well-served batteries was music to the ears of the imprisoned
Americans. They hoped from day to day for release, and although the
season for active operations closed before the Bashaw had actually
been reduced to submission, yet it was plain that the town could not
withstand another such cannonade.

When the Constitution was forced to depart, she left behind her a
menacing promise to the Bashaw that she would come back the next
season, and finish the work; and the last of May, 1805, saw her again
off the town. This time the Bashaw was anxious to make peace. Sidi
Mohammed D'Ghies urged him to send Bainbridge aboard the Constitution
on his parole, to see what the Americans demanded. The Bashaw asked
if Sidi really thought that Bainbridge would return if once his foot
touched the Constitution's deck.

"Certainly," replied Sidi; "the American captain will keep his word,
and I will leave my eldest son as a hostage that he will return."

The Bashaw, only half believing, allowed Bainbridge to go, and on
the 1st of June, 1805, nineteen months exactly after his capture,
Bainbridge again trod the deck of an American man-of-war. Commodore
Rodgers, commanding the Constitution, and all the officers of the
squadron received him affectionately. They had brought out a treaty
of peace for the Bashaw to sign, and the first stipulation was that
every American prisoner should be given up immediately and without
conditions. This, Bainbridge said, he did not believe the Bashaw would
ever agree to, as it was a fixed principle with the Barbary powers
never to give up a prisoner without ransom. Bainbridge returned to
the shore at nightfall, and, with Sidi, went to the castle, where
the Bashaw expressed great surprise at seeing him again. The Bashaw,
however, was far less inclined to keep up the fight than Bainbridge
imagined. After a day or two of hesitation, a council of war was held
at which Bainbridge was invited to be present,--an honor never before
bestowed upon a prisoner of the Barbary States. When Bainbridge entered
the council chamber at the castle, he found the Bashaw surrounded
by all of his great officers of state, with the treaty brought by
Commodore Rodgers spread out before them. To sign it meant peace, and
the immediate release of every American prisoner; to refuse it meant
that the Constitution and her consorts lying out within gunshot of the
town, would be thundering at their forts and ships within an hour.
The question of peace or war was debated with grave eloquence. The
council was evenly divided. At last the decision had to be made. The
Bashaw, after a solemn pause, took his signet ring from his bosom, and,
affixing it to the treaty, said with dignity,--

"It is peace."

Bainbridge is said to have thought, after the event happened, that the
Bashaw had no real intention of withstanding another bombardment, and
his hesitation and final yielding to the advocates of peace was a
preconcerted arrangement.

As soon as the treaty was signed, the forts and castle saluted the
American flag, and the squadron returned the salute. Next day the
American prisoners were released. A Neapolitan who had been held in
slavery for years by the Tripolitans had been very kind to the sailors
and marines, and they asked Bainbridge if he would authorize the purser
to advance them seven hundred dollars out of their pay to buy the
Neapolitan's freedom. This was done, and the man was restored to his
country by these grateful men.

The squadron sailed for Syracuse, where a court of inquiry into the
loss of the Philadelphia was held, and Bainbridge was honorably
acquitted. On his return to the United States he was received with
much kindness by his companions in arms, by the government, and the
people, all of whom regarded him as a brave and capable officer who had
lost his ship by one of those fateful accidents against which neither
courage nor capacity can prevail.

It seems singular that on the heels of the splendid successes of the
navy before Tripoli and with the rest of the Barbary powers, the
government and the people showed very little understanding of the
value of the naval service. As soon as hostilities were over with
the corsairs, a reduction of the navy took place, although at that
very time aggressions of Great Britain upon American merchant ships
were continuing at a rate which was bound to provoke war in the end.
Bainbridge, like many others, found himself without a ship, and on
half-pay; and he asked and obtained leave, during the intervals when he
was without a naval command, to make voyages in the merchant service.
He was absent on one of these voyages for profit in the autumn of 1811,
when at St. Petersburg he heard of the probability of a declaration
of war with Great Britain. He started instantly on his return to the
United States, and reached Washington in February, 1812. He found there
one of Commodore Preble's captains, Charles Stewart,[3] and to his
rage and mortification was told that the government thought it vain
and foolhardy to give battle on the sea to the mightiest naval power
on earth, which had then vanquished the navies of Europe and kept them
skulking in their own harbors. Such over-prudence ill suited the ardent
and determined natures of Bainbridge and Stewart. They heard that
the government had concluded to lay up such ships as it had, and to
prosecute the fight entirely on land. They went together to President
Madison, and besought him to change this cowardly and unwise policy,
and succeeded in persuading him to do it. For this one act the country
is forever indebted to Bainbridge and Stewart. While nothing could
eventually stop the progress of the United States toward being a great
and powerful nation, yet, had it not been for the victories gained at
sea during the War of 1812-15, the dignity and prestige of the United
States would have suffered an eclipse for fifty years. The success of
the Americans in the ship duels on the ocean during the war of 1812
did more to make the United States respected abroad than any event of
our history after the Revolution. The great question of the right of
search in neutral vessels was settled by the achievements of a few
smart vessels with great and daring captains, belonging to a young
and hitherto feeble power in America,--a right which had been vainly
contested by all the powers of Europe. The British navy had been for
more than a hundred years practically invincible, and there can be no
doubt that many of its earlier losses in 1812-15 came from absolute
rashness, fostered by a long and glorious career of conquest. What was
of more value to the United States than the respect of continental
Europe was the respect earned from the English themselves. The United
States of 1812 was chiefly populated by those only a few generations
from an English ancestry, and the people of the two countries were
alike in their willingness to make a square, stand-up fight, and then
to shake hands afterward. From the hour that the first British frigate
struck to an American ship, the British navy highly esteemed the
American navy, and the British government realized that at last there
was a sea power equal in skill, daring, and resource to Great Britain.
The ships lost by the British were scarcely missed from their huge
fleets; but Great Britain, like America, promptly recognized the new
and tremendous force which the taking of those few ships implied. It
was one of the most fortunate hours that ever dawned for the United
States when the advice of Bainbridge and Stewart was taken, and within
six months they were amply justified.

Bainbridge by his rank was entitled to a choice of the few frigates the
country then owned, and he would undoubtedly have chosen the glorious
"Old Ironsides" upon which to hoist his flag. But Hull[4] had got
her already, and, apprehending that orders might come detaching him,
he put to sea in a hurry, and before he returned, had captured the
Guerrière frigate. Bainbridge got the Constellation, the fine frigate
in which Commodore Truxtun had fought two French frigates. He was not
able, however, to get to sea in her; and when Hull returned from his
victorious cruise, in August, 1812, he gave up the Constitution to
Bainbridge, who hoisted a broad pennant on her. The Essex, thirty-two
guns, commanded by Captain Porter, who afterward made his celebrated
cruise in her to the Pacific, and the Hornet, of eighteen guns, under
the gallant Lawrence,[5] with the Constitution, were ordered to join
Bainbridge. Porter was Bainbridge's old lieutenant in the Philadelphia,
and had shared his captivity at Tripoli. Events, however, so fell
out that the Essex did not join the other two ships, and Bainbridge
sailed in October, 1812, for the South Atlantic accompanied only by
the Hornet. The Constitution was in need of repairs, and not sailing
in her usual great form, but could still sail fairly well on a wind.
She had some of the officers and all of the crew in her that had got
her out of the clutches of Admiral Broke's squadron in June, and had
taken the Guerrière in August. Therefore it was with great confidence
that Commodore Bainbridge on the morning of the 29th of December,
1812, made for a British frigate which showed an equal inclination to
close with him. This vessel, the Java, which carried forty-nine guns,
was undoubtedly a lighter ship than the Constitution. Yet the British
were in the habit of engaging such odds successfully with the warships
of other nations, and Captain Lambert of the Java showed a stern
determination to stand by his colors, and was as far from declining the
fight when he saw his adversary's power as when she was still hull down
in the distance.

The Java was fitted out to carry Lieutenant-General Hislop and a
large staff to Bombay, besides a number of naval officers and seamen
for ships on the East India stations. She had about four hundred and
twenty-five men on board.

About two o'clock in the day, after manoeuvring for an hour or two in
order to get together, the first broadsides were exchanged. There was a
light wind blowing, and Bainbridge, wishing to get the advantage of it
as far as possible, did not strip his ship of much of her canvas, but
went into action with most of his light sails set and his royal yards
across. The Java, which was finely officered and extra manned, was very
actively handled; and so many evolutions were made, in order to get a
good position for raking, that the battle ended many miles to leeward
of where it began. The cannonade was brisk from the start, and soon
after the first broadside Commodore Bainbridge was struck on the hip
by a musket ball, and in less than five minutes, while he was standing
near the wheel, a shot shivered it, and a small bolt was driven into
his thigh. Bainbridge did not leave the deck a moment for this, but
remained walking about as if he had not been wounded. The loss of the
Constitution's wheel was very serious, especially with so expert an
antagonist as Captain Lambert to deal with, and Bainbridge endeavored
to close. This was only partially successful, but nevertheless so
effective was the Constitution's fire that it was soon apparent that
she had the Java at her mercy. The gallant frigate, however, did not
strike her colors until every spar was shot out of her, her captain
mortally hurt, her first lieutenant painfully wounded, and she had
lost forty-eight killed and one hundred and two wounded. Then only she
hauled down the union jack which had been flying at the stump of the
mizzen-mast. The Constitution had lost nine men killed and twenty-five
wounded, and came out of the action with all her royal yards across,
and every spar in place.

The Java had been so much cut up that it was impossible to refit her,
and Bainbridge was forced to burn her, after taking out her wheel to
replace the Constitution's. This was a remarkably clumsy wheel, and in
no way matched the handsome fittings of the ship; but it was retained,
from motives of sentiment, ever afterward.

Captain Lambert lived several days after the fight, and was put ashore,
with the rest of the officers of the Java, at San Salvador. Commodore
Bainbridge's wounds were dangerous, as he had remained on deck from
the time he was shot, at half past two in the day, until eleven
o'clock that night. When Captain Lambert was about to be taken ashore,
Bainbridge had himself carried on deck by two of his officers, to where
Captain Lambert lay in his cot. Bainbridge, who was then dangerously
ill and in great pain, returned the dying officer his sword, and
Captain Lambert, still conscious, feebly thanked him. The interview
brought tears to the eyes of all who witnessed it, and the two captains
parted, never to meet again in this world, with feelings of kindness
such as brave enemies should entertain for each other.

Bainbridge treated all of his prisoners with great generosity, and
they showed a very grateful appreciation of it. On the 4th of January,
on being informed by Lieutenant Chads, next in command, of Captain
Lambert's death, Bainbridge wrote a very beautiful letter, in which he
said: "Commodore Bainbridge takes this occasion to observe, in justice
to Lieutenant Chads, who fought the Java after Captain Lambert was
wounded, that he had done everything which a brave and skilful officer
could do, and further resistance would have been a wanton effusion of
human blood."

This was valuable testimony to Lieutenant Chads on his future court
martial. Bainbridge had known what it was to lose his ship, and he
could feel for an officer under a similar misfortune. So thoughtful
was his kindness to his prisoners, that General Hislop in gratitude
gave him a splendid gold-hilted sword, and the two remained friends
and correspondents during the rest of their lives. The conduct of
Bainbridge and his officers was duly reported in England, and the
Prince Regent, afterward George the Fourth, who could say graceful
things, remarked that he would like to shake hands with Bainbridge,
for his magnanimity to the British prisoners. The loss of the Java,
following upon that of the Guerrière and the Macedonian, produced a
shock of pain and grief throughout Great Britain. The venerable Admiral
Jarvis, the day after the news reached London, said he had passed a
sleepless night, not from the destruction of a single British frigate,
but because of the seamanlike manner in which it had been captured,
which gave him as an Englishman much uneasiness and apprehension of the
future naval greatness of the United States. Bainbridge returned to
the United States within five months of leaving home, and was welcomed
as victorious captains always are. He landed at Boston, where he was
given a splendid public dinner; resolutions of thanks from the city
and State governments were passed in his honor, and he and the brave
fellows under him became the heroes of the hour. Amid all this popular
adoration, Bainbridge did not forget the claims of the seamen, and
immediately began efforts to get them prize money. He wrote, with much
justice, that the captain usually got all the honor when a ship was
captured, while the officers and men, who did quite as much toward
success, got nothing, except from the generosity of the government;
and he was deeply gratified when Congress, after awarding him the
customary gold medal, and the officers silver medals, gave the crew a
substantial sum in prize money. He gave up the Constitution to Captain
Stewart, who, like Hull and himself, was destined to do great things in
her.

Bainbridge did not get to sea again during the war, but soon after
the peace he went to the Mediterranean in command of a splendid
squadron destined to punish the Dey of Algiers for certain treacherous
acts toward American vessels. Bainbridge hoisted his flag on the
Independence, seventy-four guns,--the first line-of-battle ship over
which the American flag ever floated. Decatur, who had sailed in
advance of the commander-in-chief, had already brought the Dey to terms
before Bainbridge arrived, but it was thought well to show the squadron
for some time in European waters. It consisted of the largest naval
force that had, up to that time, ever been collected under an American
flag officer. It consisted of one ship of the line, three splendid
frigates, and fourteen smaller vessels, all well officered and manned,
and fine ships of their class. At Gibraltar, where it lay some time,
it was extremely admired, and the American officers received much
attention from the officers of the British fleet and garrison.

In 1820 Bainbridge again took a noble fleet to the Mediterranean. On
reaching Gibraltar, he found a very bad state of affairs between the
officers of the American squadron, which rendezvoused there, and
the British officers of the garrison and fleet. Misunderstandings,
quarrels, and duels were so frequent that the Governor had taken
upon himself to forbid the American officers from visiting the town
or garrison. He expressed to Commodore Bainbridge, however, a desire
for an amicable arrangement. Bainbridge at once required that this
prohibition be removed, and refused to treat until it was withdrawn,
which was done. As the British officers had very great personal regard
for Bainbridge, he was the man for smoothing down differences while
maintaining the dignity of an American officer. From that day, American
officers have been well treated at Gibraltar. This was Bainbridge's
last cruise, and afterward his service was in command of different navy
yards. It is said that in the course of his naval career he moved his
family twenty-six times. His health began to fail after his fifty-fifth
year, but he survived his sixtieth year. He died at Philadelphia in
July, 1833, honored and admired to an extraordinary degree. His last
words were, as he raised himself from his bed of death,--

"Give me my sword! And call all hands to board the enemy!"




EDWARD PREBLE


The story of Commodore Preble is, in itself, not only exciting but
amusing; and the gravest histories of him have not been able to keep
the vagaries of the commodore's celebrated bad temper in abeyance.
Preble was, unquestionably, one of the very greatest sea officers this
country ever produced; and however ridiculous the outbursts of his
fiery temper might make him, they never made him contemptible. "The
old man has the best heart, if he has the worst temper, in the world,"
was always said of him by the junior officers who were the victims of
his wrath. Preble seems to have come naturally by his impetuosity. His
father before him, General Preble, brigadier in the provincial army,
was one of the same sort, and it was commonly said by their neighbors
and friends that "Ned has a good deal of the brigadier in him." The
father and son were deeply attached to each other, although they often
came in conflict. The last time was when Edward was about sixteen years
old, in 1777. Men were so scarce, owing to most of them having enlisted
in the continental army, that the old brigadier set his boys to hoeing
potatoes on his farm near Portland, Maine. Edward had not worked very
long when, throwing away his hoe, he declared he had no taste for such
work, and walked himself off to the seacoast, where he entered the
first vessel that would take him. The brigadier did not seem to regard
this as wholly unjustifiable, and, seeing the boy was bent on the sea,
got him a midshipman's commission in the infant navy of the colonies.
In almost his first engagement Edward was taken prisoner, but was given
his parole at New York. There is in existence a letter written to him
at that time by his father the brigadier, which shows great affection
for the boy, and the strongest possible desire that he should conduct
himself honorably. The old man, then over seventy, reminds his son "not
to stain his honor by attempting to escape." And another recommendation
is followed by the utterance of a great truth which it would be well
if every human being acted upon. It is this: "Be kind and obliging to
all; _for no man ever does a designed injury to another without doing a
greater to himself_."

[Illustration: Edward Preble]

Before this, an event had occurred which Preble occasionally alluded to
in after life, and which, marvellous as it seems, must be accepted as
true, for Preble was too close an observer to have been deceived, and
too sensible a man to have assumed that he saw a thing which he did not
really see.

In the summer of 1779 young Preble was attached to the Protector,
a smart little continental cruiser, under the command of Captain
Williams, a brave and enterprising commander. The Protector was lying
in one of the bays on the Maine coast, near the mouth of the Penobscot,
when on a clear, still day a large serpent was seen lying motionless on
the water close to the vessel. Captain Williams examined it through his
spy-glass, as did every officer on the vessel. Young Preble was ordered
to attack it in a twelve-oared boat, armed with a swivel. The boat was
lowered, the men armed with cutlasses and boarding-pikes, and quickly
pulled toward the serpent. The creature raised its head about ten feet
above the surface, and then began to make off to sea. The boat followed
as rapidly as the men could force it through the water, and the swivel
was fired at the serpent. This had no apparent effect, except to make
the creature get out of the way the faster. Preble, however, had had
a complete view of it for some time, and said, in his opinion, it was
from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet long, and was about
as big around as a barrel. This account must be accepted as exactly
true in every particular, coming from a man like Edward Preble; and
when he says he saw a sea-serpent from one hundred to one hundred and
fifty feet long and as big around as a barrel and got close enough to
fire at it, it must be absolutely true in every particular. It must be
remembered that Preble died long before sea-serpent stories became
common.[6]

Preble saw much service in the Revolution, and was the hero of a very
daring achievement not long after his onslaught on the sea-serpent. He
was then serving as first lieutenant on the Winthrop, a small cruiser.
Captain Little, of the Winthrop, heard there was an armed brig lying
at anchor under the guns of the British breastworks on the Penobscot.
He gave permission to Preble to cut the brig out, if possible. It was
determined to steal in upon her at night, and carry her by boarding. On
a dark night, therefore, Preble, with forty men, ran in unperceived,
and the Winthrop got alongside her enemy. They all wore their white
shirts over their jackets, so that they could tell friends from foes
when once on the British vessel. The officer of the deck of the British
ship mistook the little Winthrop for a tender of their own, and called
out, "Run aboard!" "I am coming aboard," answered Captain Little, as
his vessel shot alongside. Preble, with only fourteen men, leaped on
the brig's deck, when the Winthrop caught a puff of wind and drifted
off. As they passed ahead, Captain Little called out,--

"Shall I send you some more men?"

"No," coolly answered Preble; "I have too many already."

He had then secured the few men on deck, and soon had possession of the
brig. The British batteries on shore opened fire on him, but Preble
managed to take the vessel out without serious damage and without
losing a man.

At the end of the Revolution the navy practically ceased to exist,
and Preble went into the merchant service, as so many of the officers
were forced to do. But in 1798, when the quasi war with France took
place, he re-entered the navy, which had been created anew. He was
commissioned lieutenant in 1798, and was lucky enough the very next
year to get the Essex, frigate of thirty-two guns. In her he started on
what was then the longest cruise ever made by an American man-of-war.
He went to the Indian Seas, to give convoy to a valuable fleet of
merchant vessels engaged in the China and India trade, and which were
liable to be attacked by French cruisers. He had no opportunity to
distinguish himself especially in this duty, although he took care of
the ships and got them all safely to New York. Soon afterward, the
United States and France having come to terms, Preble went ashore and
remained for two years. His health was bad in the beginning, but being
much improved, in 1803 he reported for duty, and was assigned to the
Constitution, forty-four guns, then preparing for a Mediterranean
cruise.

At that time the relations of the United States with the piratical
powers of the Barbary coast were most unsatisfactory. After years
of submission to their exactions,--a submission which seems almost
incredible now,--the United States government determined to do in
the end what it should have done in the beginning. This was to send
a powerful squadron to attack these pirates of the land as well as
the sea, and to force them to respect the persons and liberties of
Americans. Preble was given the command of this squadron, with orders
to punish Algiers, Morocco, Tunis, and especially Tripoli, so that
it would not soon be forgotten. He hoisted the broad pennant of a
commodore on the Constitution, and had under him the Philadelphia,
a heavy frigate of thirty-eight guns, and five small vessels,--the
Enterprise, Argus, Nautilus, Vixen, and Siren. It was a remarkable
squadron in many ways. The Constitution was probably the heaviest
frigate afloat, and able to withstand a cannonade as well as any
line-of-battle ship. In Preble she had a commander worthy of her.

Preble was then about forty years of age, and his temper had not been
sweetened by dyspepsia, of which he had been a victim for a long time.
The Constitution was destined, under his command, to win for herself
the famous name of "Old Ironsides" from the way in which her stout
timbers resisted the tremendous cannonade of the forts and fleets at
Tripoli. It was in this splendid cruise, too, that she gained her
well-maintained reputation for being a lucky ship. In all her great
battles she never lost her commanding officer, nor did any great
slaughter ever take place on her decks, nor was she ever dismasted or
seriously injured by war or weather, nor did she ever take the ground.
Up to this time the Constellation had been the favorite frigate of
the navy, but, beginning with Preble's great cruise, the Constitution
became, once and for all, the darling ship, not only of the navy but of
the nation.

The only other heavy frigate in the squadron was the Philadelphia,
thirty-eight guns, commanded by Captain William Bainbridge. Her tragic
fate and the glorious manner in which it was avenged is one of the
immortal incidents of the American navy.[7]

The five small vessels were commanded by five young men, lieutenants
commandant, according to the rank of the day, of which three--Hull,
Decatur, and Stewart--reached the greatest distinction. Somers, the
fourth, had a short but glorious career. The fifth, Captain Smith, was
a brave and capable officer, but his name has been overshadowed by
the four young captains, who made a truly extraordinary constellation
of genius. Among the midshipmen in the squadron were two, Thomas
MacDonough and James Lawrence, who achieved reputations equal to the
three great captains.

In the summer of 1803 the squadron sailed, as each ship was ready,
for Gibraltar, which was the rendezvous. On the way out, the young
officers on the Constitution had a taste of the commodore's temper,
which was far from pleasing to them; but they also found out that he
had an excellent heart, and even a strict sense of justice, as soon as
his explosions of wrath were over. And before very long they discovered
the qualities of promptness, courage, and capacity which made Commodore
Preble a really great commander. While off Gibraltar, on a dark night,
the Constitution found herself quite close to a large ship. Preble
immediately sent the men to quarters, for fear the stranger might be
an enemy, and hailing began. The stranger seemed more anxious to ask
questions than to answer them. This angered the fiery commodore, and he
directed his first lieutenant to say if the ship did not give her name
he would give her a shot. The stranger called back: "If you give me a
shot, I'll give you a broadside." Preble, at this, seized the trumpet
himself, and, springing into the mizzen rigging, bawled out: "This is
the United States ship Constitution, forty-four guns, Commodore Edward
Preble. I am about to hail you for the last time. If you do not answer,
I will give you a broadside. What ship is that? Blow your matches,
boys!" The answer then came: "This is his Britannic Majesty's ship
Donegal, razee, of eighty guns."

"I don't believe you," answered Preble, "and I shall stick by you till
morning to make sure of your character." In a few minutes a boat came
alongside, with an officer, who explained that the stranger was the
Maidstone, frigate, of thirty-eight guns, and the delay in answering
the hails and the false name given were because the Constitution had
got close so unexpectedly that they wanted time to get the people to
quarters in case she should prove an enemy. This one incident is said
to have worked a complete revolution in the feelings of the officers
and men toward Preble; and although he was as stern and strict as ever,
they could not but admire his firmness and cool courage in an emergency.

Arrived at Gibraltar, Preble met for the first time his five young
captains. Not one was twenty-five years of age, and none was married.
At the first council of war held aboard the Constitution there was
a universal shyness on their part when asked their views by the
commodore. The fame of the "old man's" temper and severity had preceded
him, and his boy captains felt no disposition whatever to either advise
him or to disagree with him. When the council was over, Preble remained
in the cabin, leaning his head on his hand, and quite overcome with
dejection and depression. To Colonel Lear, an American consul, then on
board, Preble bitterly remarked: "I have been indiscreet in accepting
this command. Had I known how I was to be supported, I certainly should
have declined it. Government has sent me here a parcel of schoolboys,
to command all my light craft!"

A year afterward, when the "parcel of schoolboys" had covered
themselves with glory, Colonel Lear asked the commodore if he
remembered this speech.

"Perfectly," answered the commodore. "But they turned out to be good
schoolboys."

After collecting his squadron at Gibraltar, Preble, with three vessels,
stood for Tangier. The Emperor of Morocco pretended to be very friendly
with the Americans, and sent them presents of bullocks, sheep, and
vegetables; but Preble, while treating him with respect, yet kept
his ships cleared for action and the men at quarters day and night,
lest the Moors should show treachery. On going ashore with some of
his officers to pay a visit of ceremony to the Emperor, he gave a
characteristic order to the commanding officer of the ship: "If I do
not return, enter into no treaty or negotiation for me, but open fire
at once." On reaching the palace he was told that the party must leave
their side-arms outside before entering the Emperor's presence. Preble
replied firmly that it was not the custom of the American navy, and
that they should enter as they were,--which they did. The Emperor soon
found what sort of a man he had to deal with, and Preble had no further
trouble with him. A few weeks after the arrival of the squadron, Preble
heard the news of the loss of the Philadelphia. Nothing better shows
the steadfast and generous nature of the man than the manner in which
he accepted this misfortune. No regrets were heard from him; no railing
accusations against Bainbridge; but a prompt and determined grappling
with the terrible complication of having a great part of his force
turned against him; and the most tender consideration for the feelings
as well as the rights of Bainbridge and his men.

Preble was enabled to provide himself with bomb-vessels and gunboats
by the aid of the King of Naples, who, like all the other European
sovereigns, wished to see the nest of pirates exterminated. The first
one of the "schoolboys" to distinguish himself was Decatur,[8] who, in
February, 1804, crept by night into the harbor of Tripoli, and earned
immortality by destroying the Philadelphia as she swung to her anchors,
in the face of one hundred and nineteen great guns and nineteen vessels
which surrounded her. The destruction of the Philadelphia not only
wiped away the stain of losing her, in the first instance, but was
of the greatest advantage to Commodore Preble in the bombardment of
Tripoli, as the frigate would have been a formidable addition to the
defence of the town.

In the summer of 1804, his preparations being made, Commodore Preble
sailed for Tripoli, where he arrived on the 25th of July. He had
one frigate,--the Constitution,--three brigs, three schooners, two
bomb-vessels, and six gunboats. With these he had to reduce an enemy
fighting one hundred and nineteen great guns behind a circle of forts,
with a fleet of a gun-brig, two schooners, two large galleys, and
nineteen gunboats, all of which could be manoeuvred both inside the
rocky harbor and in the offing.

On the morning of the 3d of August the four hundred officers and men of
the Philadelphia, confined in the dungeons of the Bashaw's castle, were
gladdened by the sight of the American flag in the offing, and soon
the music of the American guns showed them that their comrades were
battling for them. On that day began a series of desperate assaults
on the forts and war ships of Tripoli that for splendor and effect
have never been excelled. Preble could fire only thirty heavy guns at
once, while the Tripolitans could train one hundred and nineteen on
the Americans. During all these bombardments, while the gunboats, in
two divisions, were engaging the Tripolitan gunboats, running aboard
of them, with hand-to-hand fighting, sinking and burning them, the
mighty Constitution would come into position with the same steadiness
as if she were working into a friendly roadstead, and, thundering out
her whole broadside at once, would deal destruction on the forts and
vessels. In vain the Tripolitans would concentrate their fire on her.
Throwing her topsail back, she would move slowly when they expected
her to move fast, and would carry sail when they expected her to stand
still, and her fire never slackened for an instant. It was after this
first day's bombardment that the sailors nicknamed her "Old Ironsides."
She and her company seemed to be invulnerable. Escapes from calamity
were many, but accidents were few. One of the closest shaves was when,
in the midst of the hottest part of the action, a round shot entered a
stern port directly in line of Preble, and within a few feet of him. It
struck full on a quarterdeck gun, which it smashed to splinters, that
flew about among a crowd of officers and men, wounding only one, and
that slightly. Had it gone a little farther, it would have cut Preble
in two.

After one of the fiercest of the boat attacks a collision occurred
between Preble and the scarcely less fiery Decatur, which is one of the
most remarkable that ever occurred in a man-of-war. At the close of the
attack Decatur came on board the flagship to report. Preble had been
watching him, and fully expected that all of the Tripolitan gunboats
would be captured. But, after taking three of them, Decatur found it
impossible to do more. As he stepped on the Constitution's deck, still
wearing the round jacket in which he fought, his face grimed with
powder, and stained with blood from a slight wound, he said quietly to
Preble: "Well, Commodore, I have brought you out three of the boats."
Preble, suddenly catching him by the collar with both hands, shook him
violently, and shrieked at him: "Aye, sir, why did you not bring me
more?" The officers were paralyzed with astonishment at the scene, and
Decatur, who was scarcely less fiery than Preble, laid his hand upon
his dirk. Suddenly the commodore turned abruptly on his heel and went
below. Decatur immediately ordered his boat, and declared he would
leave the ship at the instant; but the officers crowded around him and
begged him to wait until the commodore had cooled down. Just then the
orderly appeared, with a request that he should wait on the commodore
in the cabin. Decatur at first declared he would not go, but at last
was reluctantly persuaded not to disobey his superior by refusing to
answer a request, which was really an order. At last he went, sullen
and rebellious. He stayed below a long time, and the officers began to
be afraid that the two had quarrelled worse than ever. After a while
one of them, whose rank entitled him to seek the commodore, went below
and tapped softly at the cabin door. He received no answer, when he
quietly opened the door a little. There sat the young captain and the
commodore close together, and both in tears. From that day there never
were two men who respected each other more than Preble and Decatur.

For more than a month these terrific assaults kept up. The Bashaw, who
had demanded a ransom of a thousand dollars each for the Philadelphia's
men, and tribute besides, fell in his demands; but Preble sent him word
that every American in Tripolitan prisons must and should be released
without the payment of a dollar. The Tripolitans had little rest, and
never knew the day that the invincible frigate might not be pounding
their forts and ships, while the enterprising flotilla of gunboats
would play havoc with their own smaller vessels. The Tripolitans had
been considered as unequalled hand-to-hand fighters; but the work of
the Americans on the night of the destruction of the Philadelphia,
and the irresistible dash with which they grappled with and boarded
the Tripolitan gunboats, disconcerted, while it did not dismay, their
fierce antagonists.

Sometimes the squadron was blown off, and sometimes it had to claw
off the land, but it always returned. The loss of the Americans was
small; that of the Tripolitans great. One of the American gunboats
exploded, and a terrible misfortune happened in the loss of the ketch
Intrepid[9] and her gallant crew. Reinforcements were promised from the
United States, which did not come in time, and Preble met with all the
dangers and delays that follow the making of war four thousand miles
from home; but he was the same indomitable commander, feared alike by
his enemies and his friends. On the 10th of September the President,
forty-four guns, and the Constellation, thirty-eight guns, arrived;
the John Adams had come in some days before. By one of those strange
accidents, so common in the early days of the navy, Commodore Barron
had been sent out in the President to relieve Commodore Preble by the
government at Washington, which, in those days of slow communication,
knew nothing of Preble's actions, except that he was supposed to be
bombarding Tripoli. The season of active operations was over, however,
and nothing could be done until the following summer. Meanwhile the
Bashaw had a very just apprehension of the return of such determined
enemies as the Americans another year, and gave unmistakable signs of a
willingness to treat. To that he had been brought by Commodore Preble
and his gallant officers and crews. Knowing the work to be completed,
Preble willingly handed over his command to Commodore Barron. He had
the pleasure of giving Decatur, then a post captain, the temporary
command of the Constitution. Before leaving the squadron, he received
every testimonial of respect, and even affection, from the very men who
had so bitterly complained of his severe discipline and fiery temper.
It was said at the time, that when the squadron first knew him he had
not a friend in it, and when he left it he had not an enemy. At that
day duelling was common among the privileged classes all over the
western world, especially with army and navy officers; but so well did
Commodore Preble have his young officers in hand that not a single duel
took place in the squadron as long as he commanded it.

The younger officers were supplied with an endless fund of stories
about "the old man's" outbursts, and delighted in telling of one
especial instance which convulsed every officer and man on the
Constitution. A surgeon's mate was needed on the ship, and a little
Sicilian doctor applied for the place and got it. He asked the
commodore if he must wear uniform. To which the commodore replied,
"Certainly." Some days afterward the commodore happened to be in the
cabin, wearing his dressing-gown and shaving. Suddenly a gentleman
in uniform was announced. Now, in those days flag officers wore two
epaulets, the others but one, and the commodore himself was the only
man in the squadron who was entitled to wear two. But the stranger
had on two epaulets; besides, a sword, a cocked hat, and an enormous
amount of gold lace.

The commodore surveyed this apparition silently, puzzled to make out
who this imposing personage was, until, with a smirk, the bedizened
Sicilian announced himself as the new surgeon's mate. Furious at his
presumption in appearing in such a rig, Preble uttered a howl of rage,
which scared the little doctor so that he fled up on deck, closely
followed by the commodore, his face covered with lather, and the open
razor still in his hand. The little doctor ran along the deck, still
pursued by the commodore with the razor, until, reaching the forward
end of the ship, the poor Sicilian sprang overboard and struck out
swimming for the shore, and was never seen on the ship again.

Preble transferred his flag to the John Adams, and visited Gibraltar,
where he was received with distinction by the British officers. He had
many friends among them, especially Sir Alexander Ball, one of Nelson's
captains; and the great Nelson himself knew and admired the services of
the Americans before Tripoli. The Spaniards and Neapolitans, who had
suffered much from the corsairs, rejoiced at the drubbing Preble had
given them, and at the prospect that the Americans imprisoned in the
Bashaw's castle would soon be released. The Pope, Pius the Seventh,
said: "This American commodore has done more to humble the piratical
powers of the Barbary coast than all the Christian powers of Europe put
together."

Preble sailed for home in December, 1804, and reached Washington
the 4th of March, 1805, the day of President Jefferson's first
inauguration. The news of his success and the early release of the
Philadelphia's officers and men had preceded him. Congress passed a
vote of thanks to him and the officers and men under him. President
Jefferson, although of the opposite party in politics from Preble,
offered him the head of the Navy Department, but it was declined.
Preble's health had steadily grown worse, and soon after his return to
the United States it was seen that his days were few. He lingered until
the summer of 1807, when at Portland, Maine, near his birthplace, he
passed away, calmly and resignedly. He left a widow and one child.

Preble was in his forty-seventh year when he died. He was tall and
slight, of gentlemanly appearance and polished manners. He left behind
him a reputation for great abilities, used with an eye single to his
country's good, and a character for probity and courage seldom equalled
and never surpassed.




STEPHEN DECATUR


Among the most brilliant and picturesque figures in American naval
history stands Stephen Decatur. His achievements were of that dashing
and splendid quality which leaves a blaze upon the page of history; and
the greatest of them, the destruction of the Philadelphia frigate in
the harbor of Tripoli, earned from Lord Nelson the praise of being "the
most bold and daring act of the age."

Decatur came justly by his genius for the sea. His father was a captain
in the navy of the United States, and his grandfather had been a French
naval officer. His was no rude struggle with adversity. The child of
gentle people, he entered the navy in 1797, with every advantage of
education and training. He was then eighteen years of age,--old for
a midshipman, when boys entered at thirteen and were often acting
lieutenants at sixteen. Decatur was a handsome man, tall and well made.

[Illustration: Stephen Decatur]

Although of a disposition the most generous, he was always of an
impetuous and even domineering nature. Strict habits of self-control
modified this impetuosity, but to the day of his death he was
subject to gusts of temper whenever he came across any instance of
cruelty or meanness or oppression.

A famous example of this was shown shortly before his untimely death.
He was then at the summit of his fame, one of the ranking officers
of the navy, a navy commissioner, and living in grand style for the
times in the city of Washington. He had a favorite dog, and one day,
when the dog was lying quietly asleep on the doorstep of Decatur's
house, a policeman came along and wantonly shot the poor creature.
Decatur happened to see the whole affair, and, rushing out, he gave the
policeman then and there a terrific walloping. The policeman, smarting
from the injury to his dignity as well as the pounding of his bones,
swore out a warrant, and Decatur was commanded to appear before the
Mayor of Washington. Furious at the turn of affairs, Decatur flatly
refused to obey the constable's summons. In vain the officer pleaded
with him to go quietly. Decatur would not budge a step. At last the
man brought a posse and proceeded to take him by force. Decatur would
not be guilty of the crime of resisting the law, but he proposed to
let them get him before the magistrate the best way they could. He not
only would not walk a step, but lay down on the floor, and, as he was
a large and heavy man, it was a job to lift him up and put him in a
carriage; but at last it was accomplished.

By the time they reached the Mayor's court, Decatur's temper, never
mild, was red hot. He proceeded to harangue and even to browbeat the
Mayor, who was a very insignificant person compared with Commodore
Decatur. At the first blast, though, the Mayor proved that he had a
spirit of his own. "Look here, Commodore," said he, "when you are on
the quarterdeck of your ship you command. I'll have you understand that
this courtroom is my quarterdeck, and I command here, and if I hear
another disrespectful word from you I'll send you to jail for as long
as I please." Decatur, paralyzed with astonishment, looked at the Mayor
for a long time; then, suddenly bursting into a shout of laughter,
apologized for his behavior and submitted to be fined for thrashing the
policeman.

Such was the man through life,--daring, generous, overbearing
sometimes, but always responding to what was just and courageous in
others.

Decatur's first cruise was made in the United States, frigate,
forty-four guns, wearing the broad pennant of Commodore Barry. Charles
Stewart, afterward the celebrated commodore, was one of the junior
lieutenants of the ship, and the heroic and unfortunate Richard Somers
was one of the midshipmen.

Decatur and Somers had been schoolmates in Philadelphia, and the
association formed there was cemented into a devoted friendship in
the steerage of the United States. No two natures were ever more
dissimilar than that of the impetuous Decatur and the gentle and
retiring but indomitable Somers. From the beginning they were actuated
by a noble professional rivalry; yet their close and affectionate
friendship was that of brothers, and their devotion to each other has
become a tradition in the navy.

The United States was a splendid frigate, fast and weatherly, and, from
the regularity with which she made time on her cruises, was known as
"Old Wagoner." Commodore Barry was an old officer who had done good
service in the Revolution, and when he took command of the squadron of
which "Old Wagoner" was the flagship, he sailed at once for the West
Indies, to retaliate on the French ships which had preyed upon American
commerce. It was not the good fortune of the United States to meet
a frigate of equal force, so that her men and their mettle could be
tried, but she did good service in clearing out the French privateers
which infested those seas. Decatur saw much active cruising, and gave
indications of that dashing courage, masterly seamanship, and fertile
resource which he developed the instant he got command of a ship.

He made several cruises, reached his lieutenancy, and was attached to
the Essex when she went under Captain Bainbridge to the Mediterranean,
in 1802. During the troubles the officers of the Essex had, at
Barcelona, with the officers of the Spanish guardship, Decatur was
conspicuous. Having been annoyed and insulted by the Spanish officers,
on his way to and from his ship, he went aboard the Spaniard, and
asked for her commanding officer. He was absent, and Decatur left this
message, which he shouted out in his tremendous voice, on the Spanish
quarterdeck: "Tell him that Lieutenant Decatur of the Essex declares
him to be a scoundrelly coward; and if Lieutenant Decatur meets him
ashore, he will cut his ears off!" A duel in the case was narrowly
averted.

At twenty-four Decatur got his first command, the Argus, one of the
two sixteen-gun brigs which were to assist Commodore Preble in the
reduction of the Barbary powers. This was a heavier vessel than a young
officer of Decatur's rank was entitled to, and he was given the command
of her only to take her out of the Mediterranean, where he was to
exchange with Isaac Hull, then a lieutenant commandant, and take Hull's
vessel, the Enterprise, schooner, of twelve guns. The Enterprise, like
the great frigates Constitution and Constellation, was a favorite of
fortune. She had a glorious record for so small a vessel, and fought
ten spirited actions during her career, winding up with the capture of
the Boxer in the war of 1812-15. She was lucky also in escaping many
times from superior force, and had an uninterrupted course of success.
Her good fortune really consisted in the people who manned her, and
the officers who commanded her,--of whom Decatur was not the least
distinguished. He had the good fortune to have as his first lieutenant
in the little schooner James Lawrence, a man after Decatur's own heart,
who was worthy of his ship and his captain.

Decatur was one of the young commanders who took part in the council
of war called by Commodore Preble at Gibraltar, in the autumn of 1803,
at which the peppery commodore was so disgusted that he called them
"a parcel of schoolboys." But most of them were shortly destined to
immortality.

After collecting his force, Preble sailed for Syracuse, that historic
city, beautiful in its decay. The object of the American commander
was to establish a base of supplies, and to get the co-operation of
the King of the Two Sicilies, who was also at war with the Bashaw of
Tripoli. It was while at Syracuse, in the autumn of 1803, that the plan
to destroy the Philadelphia in the harbor of Tripoli was determined
upon. The credit of the original idea has been separately claimed
for Preble, Bainbridge, and Decatur; and the fact probably is that
it occurred at practically the same time to each one of them. Every
one of Preble's dashing young captains desired the honor of making
the attempt, and the fact that Decatur obtained the distinction is
presumptive proof that he had a share in the first inception of the
plan. Stewart's claim to a part in the undertaking was so strong that
to him fell the honor of supporting, in the Siren, Decatur's proposed
attack.

In order to look over the ground, Preble in the Constitution,
accompanied by Decatur in the Enterprise, sailed for Tripoli, in
December, 1803. Decatur, with his characteristic boldness, offered to
make the attempt with the Enterprise; but Commodore Preble prudently
concluded to use a ketch, the Meshouda, which Decatur had lately
captured and which was of a build and rig common in Mediterranean
waters.

As Decatur meant to get inside the harbor of Tripoli by stratagem, it
was important to have a vessel that would not attract attention. The
ketch was fittingly renamed the Intrepid, and preparations were begun
for the desperate adventure with her.

Decatur was extremely anxious, as was Stewart, to cut the Philadelphia
out; but Commodore Preble, as bold as they were, but older and more
prudent, saw the insurmountable difficulties in the way of bringing so
large a ship as the Philadelphia out of a dangerous and unknown harbor
such as Tripoli. He therefore gave strict orders that no attempt should
be made to carry her out, but that she should be destroyed at her
moorings; and the commodore was certain to be obeyed.

The Intrepid was converted into a fire-ship, or "infernal." She was
filled with combustibles, and it was designed that she should steal in
at night in disguise, throw the combustibles into the Philadelphia,
fire them, and then make a race for her life.

The nature of this enterprise required men of extraordinary steadiness
as well as courage; but they could be easily supplied from the American
squadron. It was intended to man and officer the Intrepid as far
as possible from the Enterprise; and in pursuance of this, on the
afternoon of the 3d of February, 1803, all hands on the Enterprise were
called up and aft. Decatur then stated the nature of the service for
which the Intrepid was destined,--a service of heroic possibilities
but appalling danger,--and then called for sixty-two volunteers.
Instead of sixty-two men, the whole ship's company down to the
smallest boy volunteered with a cheer. This was what any captain would
have desired, and Decatur was forced to make a choice. He selected
sixty-two of the youngest and most active men in the crew, who showed
their gratification by saying, "Thankee, sir," as each man was told
off. He could make no choice among his lieutenants, but took them
all--Lawrence, Joseph Bainbridge, and Thorn--and one of his midshipmen,
the indomitable Macdonough, the rest being necessarily left to take
care of the ship. He was compelled to make a draft of junior officers
from the Constitution, and asked for midshipmen Morris, Laws, Izard,
Davis, and Rowe. There was also a surgeon, Dr. Heermann, and Salvatore
Catalano, a Sicilian pilot, who, in return for his services, was made a
master in the American navy, and had an honorable career in it.

On the evening of the 3d of February the Intrepid sailed upon her
glorious expedition, accompanied by the Siren, whose character as
a ship of war was thoroughly concealed. The ketch was to pass for
a merchant vessel from Malta, and her officers had the costumes of
Maltese sailors in which to disguise themselves. The two vessels
reached the entrance to the harbor of Tripoli on the 9th of February,
but a terrific storm arose, which drove them off. For six days they
were storm-tossed in the gulf of Sydra, but on the 16th of February
they found themselves together again off Tripoli. The evening was mild
and beautiful, and the wind was so light that the Siren was almost
becalmed in the offing, but the Intrepid met a wandering breeze that
carried her within the rocky harbor. Once inside, a good breeze was
blowing, which swept them rapidly forward, and threatened to bring the
Intrepid up with the Philadelphia before it was quite dark enough to
do the work meant for her. As it would not do to excite suspicion by
taking in sail, Decatur had buckets and sails towed astern which acted
as a drag, and brought the ketch in very slowly. When Decatur noticed
that the Siren in the offing had no wind and consequently could be of
no assistance to him, he remarked cheerfully to his men, "Never mind;
the fewer the number the greater the glory."

The ketch sailed leisurely in, having the appearance of a merchant ship
from a Mediterranean port, after a considerable voyage.

The crew had been sent below, and only a few officers, disguised as
Maltese sailors, stood or sat about the deck. Before them lay the
Bashaw's castle, with its menacing battlements, and all around the
harbor was a chain of forts that could make a circle of fire for an
invader. Directly under the guns of the castle loomed the tall black
hull of the Philadelphia, flying the piratical flag of Tripoli, while
moored near her were three smaller cruisers and nineteen gunboats.

The moon had risen, and by its clear illumination the "infernal"
steered straight across the blue waters of the harbor for the
Philadelphia. When about two hundred yards off, Salvatore Catalano, the
pilot, hailed the Tripolitan officer of the deck on the Philadelphia,
who lounged over the rail smoking a long pipe.

"This is the ketch Stella, from Malta," he said in the _lingua franca_
of the East. "We lost our anchors and cables in the gale, and would
like to lie by you during the night."

"Your request is unusual, but we will grant it," answered the
Tripolitan officer.

The officer then asked what vessel it was that was lying in the offing.
The pilot, with much readiness, replied that it was the Transfer, a
cruiser lately bought from the British by the Tripolitan government,
and which was daily expected. This answer seemed to satisfy the
Tripolitan, and a boat then put off from the Philadelphia with a fast,
and at the same moment a boat also put off, under the command of
Lawrence, from the Intrepid. On meeting, Lawrence coolly took the fast
from the Tripolitan boat, and soon had the hawser aboard of the ketch.
A moment more and the supposed Maltese sailors, in their jackets and
red fezzes, roused on the hawser and breasted the ketch along under the
Philadelphia's quarter. Had the slightest suspicion been aroused then,
they would have been blown out of the water by a single broadside. But
the Americans retained their coolness in their desperate situation.

Presently the Intrepid drew out from the black shadow of the frigate's
hull into a great patch of white moonlight. The Tripolitans saw the
anchors on the deck, with the cables coiled around them. Instantly a
cry rang through the ship, "Americanos! Americanos!"

At the same moment the Intrepid came grinding up against the frigate's
stern quarter, and, as if by magic, was alive with men. Decatur
shouted, "Board!" and the Americans dashed at the frigate's deck.

Decatur, and two midshipmen, Morris and Laws, leaped at the same
moment into the chain plates. Decatur and Morris made a spring for
the rail; Decatur's foot slipped, else he would have been first upon
the Philadelphia's deck; but Morris, an agile young midshipman, was
a moment before him. Midshipman Laws dashed at a port, and would
have been before Morris in entering the ship, but the pistols in his
boarding-belt caught for a moment between the gun and the port, and he
was third to stand upon the deck. The rest of the Americans swarmed
into the ship.

The Tripolitans, completely surprised, yet fought desperately. They
had been accounted the best hand-to-hand fighters in the world, but
they were no match for the Americans. Within fifteen minutes every one
of them had been cut down or driven overboard, and the Philadelphia
was once more an American ship. Meanwhile lights had been moving about
on shore, and the vessels and forts saw that something was happening
on the Philadelphia, but not enough could be seen to justify them in
firing on their own ship. In a few minutes more, though, smoke was
pouring from the ports, and flames were running up her tar-soaked
rigging. The Americans, with almost incredible swiftness, had hoisted
powder aboard the ship and fired her in a dozen places. Two guns,
double-shotted, were dragged amidships and pointed down the main hatch
to blow her bottom out. They then leaped into the ketch; but at that
moment the most awful danger of that terrible yet glorious night
awaited them. The fast became jammed, and the jigger of the ketch
caught fire as it flapped against the burning frigate, while below,
on the Intrepid's deck, lay all her powder exposed. The officers,
undismayed however, drew their swords and hacked at the hawser until
it parted. Then, under sweeps and sails, the Intrepid made for the
offing, the men pulling for their lives, while the ships and forts, now
thoroughly aroused, opened all their batteries on this daring invader.
But the shot fell short, and raised only showers of spray, at which the
Americans laughed and jeered.

The Philadelphia was now ablaze from rail to truck, and sea and sky
were lighted up by the flames of the burning ship. Her guns began to
go off as the fire reached them, and she poured a cannonade from every
quarter. The ketch was plainly visible as she made rapidly for the
offing, and a hundred guns were trained on her. At this supreme moment
the Americans gave one last proof of their contempt of danger. The men
stopped rowing, and every officer and man, rising to his feet, gave
three thundering American cheers. Then they bent to their oars with
giant strokes, and in a little while were safe under the Siren's guns.
They had not lost a man in the glorious achievement.

The Siren, meanwhile, in the offing, had hoisted out her boats, and
was ready to assist the Intrepid, in case she needed it. The progress
of the ketch was plainly visible until she was lost in the shadow
of the Philadelphia's black hull. In a few minutes a single rocket
skyward showed the anxious watchers that the Philadelphia was boarded;
and almost at once the blaze rushed up the rigging, and enveloped
the tall hull, lighting up the night with a lurid glare, while the
guns of the doomed frigate and those of the castle, the ships, and
the forts thundered out. Then they knew that the great enterprise was
accomplished. The boats pulled toward the harbor entrance; soon the
ketch had shot across the illuminated water, and had reached them.
Decatur, jumping into one of the Siren's boats, was quickly pulled
toward the brig. Stewart, standing in the gangway, saw the boat
approach, and a man, in a sailor's round jacket and a fez, sprang over
the gangway, into his arms. It was Decatur.

Fifteen days after leaving Syracuse, the ketch and the brig were
seen standing in the harbor, the signal of success flying from the
Intrepid's masthead. For this splendid adventure Decatur was made a
post-captain, his commission dating from the 16th of February, and the
officers and men were rewarded.

Before, however, receiving his commission, Decatur was yet to do
glorious things in the bombardment of Tripoli during the following
summer. Commodore Preble, in arranging the boat attacks, which he
supported by the batteries of the "Old Ironsides," and all his brigs
and schooners, gave the command of the right division to Richard
Somers, Decatur's bosom friend, and the left division to Decatur. On
the 2d of August the first attack was made. The Tripolitans had a
flotilla of fourteen gunboats to resist the six the Americans could
muster; and they had, in reserve, behind the rocks in the harbor,
five more gunboats and several heavy galleys, besides their forts,
batteries, and larger clubs. The attack was begun about half past
one in the afternoon, the whole force standing in; the Constitution
approaching as close as possible and pouring in many broadsides against
the forts, the brigs and schooners supporting the gunboats, while the
latter dashed at the Tripolitan gunboats and galleys with a swiftness
and impetuosity that were simply tremendous. The attack soon assumed
a character of hand-to-hand fighting that is seldom seen in modern
days. Decatur's own vessel laid aboard a large Tripolitan gunboat,
and in spite of the most desperate resistance, grappled with her. She
was divided in the middle by a long narrow hatchway, and in this the
Tripolitans mustered to drive back the Americans when they entered.
Immediately Decatur was over the side, followed by his lieutenant, Mr.
Thorne, by Macdonough, and all the Americans in the gunboat's crew.
They advanced together with pikes and cutlasses, and then ensued a
contest, man to man, fighting every inch of the way, which resulted in
cutting down or driving overboard every Tripolitan officer and man.

Just as the Tripolitan ensign was hauled down, it was seen that James
Decatur, Decatur's younger brother, who was in command of another
gunboat and had carried her into action with great spirit, had fallen
by a shot from a Tripolitan which had surrendered and then basely
resumed firing. James Decatur was carried aboard the Constitution to
die, but it was no time to indulge in private griefs; and Decatur,
without knowing whether his brother were living or dead, turned
upon the next foe. This was another gun-vessel, which was commanded
by a gigantic Tripolitan, who seemed to court rather than avoid a
hand-to-hand contest with the Americans.

Decatur ran him aboard, and then with a cheer the Americans leaped into
the gunboat. Seeing the force with which they had to contend, Decatur
waited until his men could form a line. They then advanced resolutely,
led by their officers. They were greatly outnumbered, but by standing
together they made the most of their number. The Tripolitan captain and
Decatur soon met face to face. The Tripolitan, a much larger and more
powerful man than Decatur, stood on tiptoe to deal a more tremendous
blow. Decatur rushed at him with a pike. The Tripolitan wrenched the
pike from him, and raised it to strike. Decatur then drew his sword,
and in trying to parry the pike, the sword broke off at the hilt, and
the pike entered Decatur's breast. Pulling it out, he grappled with
the Tripolitan, and both came to the deck together. The Tripolitan
attempted to draw his dagger; but Decatur, firmly grasping his arm,
managed to get a small pistol from his pocket, and fired it. With a
scream the Tripolitan relinquished his hold and rolled over. As Decatur
rose to his feet, another Tripolitan raised his sword; as the blow was
about to descend on Decatur's head, Reuben James, a powerful young
sailor, threw up his arm, and took the blow, which almost severed his
arm from his body. The Americans were now beginning to get a little the
advantage; and by coolness and resolution they were soon enabled to
get possession of the gunboat. The Tripolitan loss showed the nature
of the fighting, fifty-two men being killed and wounded out of a total
of eighty in the two captured gunboats. The loss of the Americans
was relatively small, owing to their plan of standing together and
attacking as a body.[10]

Four more of these ferocious attacks, combined with a terrific
cannonade from the Constitution, and the assistance from the brigs and
schooners, lost the Tripolitans many of their most serviceable craft,
and made those that were left very shy of coming outside the reefs to
meet the "Americanos." The great guns on the Constitution had knocked
to pieces many of the more exposed land batteries, and brought down
the Bashaw's tone immeasurably. He was then anxious to negotiate,
but Commodore Preble would listen to nothing but the unconditional
surrender of Bainbridge and his men.

The loss of the Americans was small in numbers but great in value
during the bombardment, and was confined chiefly to the gunboats. In
the second attack, on the 7th of August, one of the American gunboats
blew up, killing her brave commander, Lieutenant Caldwell, and several
others. When the smoke cleared away after the awful explosion, it was
seen that the forward part of the vessel still floated. On it was the
long twenty-six-pounder, which was her chief weapon, and which the
gun's crew, directed by Midshipman Spence, had just loaded. With as
much coolness as if there had been a whole vessel instead of a half one
beneath them, the gun was fired, the eleven men on the wreck gave three
cheers, led by the midshipman, and then sprang into the water. All were
picked up, and fought during the rest of the action.

There was another attack on the 28th of August, and again on the 3d
of September. In this last the Constitution bore the brunt of the
Tripolitan fire, and did fearful execution with her heavy guns. And on
the 4th of September occurred the terrible tragedy of the blowing up of
the ketch Intrepid.[11]

The beginning of the autumn marked the end of the season for active
operations, and the American squadron withdrew, with a promise to
return the next season and do yet more damage,--a calamity which the
Bashaw avoided by promptly giving up the American prisoners the next
spring, when the Americans, true to their word, returned in greater
force. A relief squadron which had been sent out from the United
States arrived just at the close of the campaign before Tripoli. It
brought out Decatur's commission as a post-captain, as well as lesser
promotions for the other young commanding officers. Commodore Preble,
on being relieved by Commodore Barron, turned over the Constitution
to Decatur, who thus, at twenty-five, commanded what was probably
the finest frigate in the world. His rank, however, as the youngest
post-captain in the navy did not entitle him to keep her very long,
and he was transferred to the Congress, a smart thirty-eight-gun
frigate. She was in the squadron of Commodore Rodgers, which, after
the humbling of Tripoli, was engaged in bringing the Bey of Tunis to
terms. Commodore Rodgers sent Decatur, who was well known to the heads
of Barbary powers, to negotiate a treaty with Tunis. The Bey at first
refused to receive him. Decatur returned to his ship, which was cleared
for action, and sent a message saying that the Bey must decide at once
between war and peace. The Bey succumbed immediately, and not only
begged for peace, but asked that the Congress should convey a Tunisian
envoy to the United States. This was rather more than Decatur had
bargained for, particularly as he had to give up a part of his quarters
to the Tunisian envoy and his suite. But having succeeded rather better
than he expected, Decatur took the party on board and returned to the
United States, reaching home in 1805.

He was received with praise, admiration, and the highest personal and
official favor. He was given good commands, and a few years after
he had gone out to the Mediterranean to command a little twelve-gun
schooner, he again went out in command of a splendid squadron, his
broad pennant flying on the mighty Constitution. He was sent to demand
reparation from the Dey of Algiers for certain injuries to American
citizens. The American consul went in person to see the Dey, who sat
in state, looking through the open window at the formidable force
with which Decatur was prepared to enforce his demands. The consul
began by saying, significantly, that the squadron was commanded by
Commodore Decatur. The Dey, gravely combing his beard with a diamond
comb, said: "I know this Decatur. He is the man who burnt the frigate
at Tripoli. Hum! Why do the Americans send wild young men to treat with
old powers?" Nevertheless, he very promptly gave all the satisfaction
demanded by the "wild young man."

On the outbreak of hostilities with Great Britain in 1811-12, Decatur
got the command of the United States,--"Old Wagoner," the stanch and
weatherly frigate in which he had made his first cruise with his
beloved Somers. In her he made the second capture of a frigate in that
war, Hull having preceded him in the capture of the Guerrière by the
Constitution.

Off Madeira, on the 25th of October, the United States sighted the
Macedonian,[12] a magnificent thirty-eight-gun frigate, commanded by
Captain Carden. Decatur and Carden were personal friends, and before
the war broke out had often discussed the relative fighting powers of
their ships. Decatur's black servant had listened to these talks as
he stood behind his master's chair. Captain Carden frequently said,
"No, my dear Decatur. Your men are brave, but not experienced; and
when they meet a British ship of equal force, with the best intentions
to do their duty, they will not know how to fight." Cuffee remembered
this, and as soon as it was known on "Old Wagoner" that the approaching
frigate was the Macedonian, he very prudently retired to the lower
hold, and hid behind a hogshead.

The action began with the greatest spirit on both sides, the ships
keeping up a furious cannonade at close quarters, with a heavy sea
on and a good breeze blowing. The Americans showed great superiority
in gunnery, and although the British fought with a gallantry worthy
of British tars, and their officers nobly encouraged them by word
and example, in seventeen minutes from the time the first broadside
struck the Macedonian all was over, and her colors were hauled down.
She had suffered terribly, more than a third of her men being killed
and wounded. She lost so many men at the guns that the marines were
called upon to work the batteries. On the American ship only twelve men
were killed and wounded, and the marines during the whole battle were
drawn up in the waist of the ship, with nothing to do. This, however,
was much more trying than fighting, as they had to stand as if they
were on parade, while shot and shell screamed a few inches above their
heads. The men, however, showed the utmost steadiness, and acted as
well as looked as if they were merely at Sunday morning quarters. When
the Macedonian struck, it was plain from the way she was cut up that
she had made a good and gallant defence. As Captain Carden came over
the side, he offered his sword to Decatur, who refused to take it,
saying,--

"I cannot take the sword of a man who has so bravely defended his ship."

The solemn silence of the occasion was broken by Cuffee, who, the
danger being over, had crawled up out of the hold, and appeared upon
the quarterdeck at that moment, just in time to bawl out,--

"I say, Marse Carden, what you think now 'bout de way dem 'Mericans
fights!"

It was several weeks before the United States reached home, and during
that time Captain Carden was Decatur's guest in the cabin. Decatur's
first letter to his wife after the capture of the Macedonian says: "All
my pleasure is spoiled by poor Carden's sorrow;" for Captain Carden
knew nothing of the previous capture of the Guerrière and of the Java,
which followed shortly after, and thought himself to be the first
and only English captain who had surrendered his ship. On reaching
the United States, Decatur and his officers received the thanks of
Congress, and a gold medal for their gallant conduct.

Decatur had looked forward to another active cruise in "Old Wagoner,"
but he soon found himself penned up at New London by a large blockading
force. Decatur's impetuous nature fretted and chafed under this, and
in 1814, realizing the impossibility of the United States getting to
sea, he got command of the President, of forty-four guns, then lying
at New York. Decatur took command of her with bright anticipations.
New York bay was closely watched by British cruisers, but Decatur had
no fears that he should not be able to get out. Accordingly, on a dark
and stormy night in January, 1814, he picked up his anchor, and made
for the open sea; but before daylight the pilots had run the frigate
aground near Sandy Hook, where for an hour and a half she lay pounding
on the bar. She got off by the rising of the tide, but she was so
hagged and twisted that her back was nearly broken, her masts sprung,
and her sailing qualities so impaired that she stood but a small chance
of escape should she fall in with an enemy. Unable by reason of the
wind to return to New York for repairs, the President proceeded to
sea, and by daylight found herself surrounded by a British squadron,
consisting of the Majestic, razee, and the Endymion, of forty guns, and
the Tenedos and Nymph, light frigates. Then began a fight as well as a
race for life, which lasted thirty hours. The Endymion got near enough
for a bloody contest, in which she was badly crippled and left behind,
the President making a desperate though lame attempt at flight from her
antagonists. But it was in vain. The Tenedos and Nymph gained on her,
and it was soon known to all on board that the President was a doomed
ship. Three of her five lieutenants lay dead upon her decks, while
among the mortally wounded was Midshipman Richard Dale, son of the
famous Commodore Dale, of Revolutionary fame. The killed and wounded
among the crew were numerous, and Decatur himself received a painful
injury.

His people, who had never seen him except in the light of triumph and
success, were curious to observe how he would stand impending defeat.
But never was he calmer and cooler. At one time, seeing he could
handle the Endymion alone, he formed the desperate plan of boarding
her, transferring his people to her, and abandoning the President.
The proposition was received with cheers. One of his youngest
midshipmen,[13] a lad of fourteen, said out aloud, in Decatur's
hearing,--

"I never can get over the side of that ship, as small as I am."

"Oh, yes, you can," replied Decatur, smiling. "I will pick you up and
throw you over myself."

The Endymion, seeing that the President must be shortly overpowered by
the rest of the squadron, very sensibly refused to close, and fell out
of the chase in a helpless condition, every sail being shot away from
her.

It was now night, and the President hoped to escape in the darkness,
which was extreme. But about eleven o'clock the Pomone ranged up under
her lee and poured in a broadside, while the Tenedos was closing in
on the weather quarter, and the Majestic was within gunshot astern.
The President hauled her colors down, and Decatur offered his sword
to Captain Hayes of the Majestic, the ranking officer present. It was
refused in the same noble words which Decatur had used toward Captain
Carden: "I cannot accept the sword of a man who has so bravely defended
his ship."

Decatur was taken to Bermuda, where he was received with the highest
distinction by the great Admiral, Lord Cochrane, and all of the British
officers. At a splendid dinner given him by the British naval officers,
some one was tactless enough to allude to the capture of the President,
at which Lord Cochrane promptly said,--

"The President was mobbed, sir,--simply mobbed."

Decatur and his officers were soon paroled, and sent home in a special
frigate. Peace was declared a few days after, and at New London, where
Decatur was landed, there was a grand celebration of the treaty of
peace, on the 22d of February. The British frigate in which he had been
returned took part in the celebration, and the British and Americans
united, as generous enemies who have become friends should in observing
the glorious occasion.

After the peace, Decatur hoisted his broad pennant on the
Guerrière,[14] and commanded a fine squadron in the Mediterranean,
where his name was always a power. On his return from this cruise he
was made one of the three navy commissioners who were at the head
of the Navy Department in those days. He had amassed a comfortable
fortune, and built a fine house in Washington, near the White House,
and had apparently entered upon a long career of peace and prosperity;
but it was not to be.

It is distressing to chronicle the melancholy end of so glorious
a life. In those days duelling was thought justifiable and even
obligatory on occasions. Decatur lost his life in March, 1820, near
Washington, in a duel with Commodore Barron, concerning some things
he had said about Barron many years before. His death and the manner
of it were universally deplored, and when the anxious multitude who
surrounded his house in Washington was told that he was no more, Reuben
James, the old sailor who had once saved Decatur's life at the risk of
his own, cried out, "The navy has lost its mainmast."

Decatur was the author of that patriotic saying which is heard from
many American lips and is deeply engraved in every American breast: "My
country, may she always be right; but, right or wrong, my country!"




RICHARD SOMERS


The name and fame of Richard Somers will always be of tender and
regretful interest. His gentle and lovable character, his quiet,
undaunted courage, the daring enterprise in which he lost his life at
the early age of twenty-four, all unite in making him one of those
young heroes who are never forgotten. As he died young, so must he ever
remain, a figure of heroic youth, untouched by age or time, illumined
by a melancholy glory. Few circumstances of Somers's early life are
known. Of a singularly modest and reserved nature, he seldom spoke of
himself, and beyond the bare facts of his boyhood and young manhood,
little has been gleaned by his various biographers. His father was a
man of standing and importance, and represented his district in New
Jersey in the Colonial Congress. Somers Point, opposite Cape May, was
the family property. Richard Somers, the youngest of his father's
children, was born in Philadelphia in 1779, whither his family had
removed. It is said that his father was a firm friend and supporter of
General Washington from the beginning of his command of the Continental
army, and that Washington bestowed much kindly notice upon the lad,
Richard Somers. Among Somers's possessions was a ring, which he valued
highly, containing the hair of Washington.

[Illustration: Richard Somers]

The boy went to a "dame's school" in Philadelphia with Stephen Decatur;
and there began that devoted friendship which lasted through Somers's
brief life. No two natures were ever more contrasted than Somers and
Decatur. Somers was mild in the extreme, of the gentlest manners,
silent, and somewhat reserved. Decatur was a young volcano in energy,
and pursued all his objects in life with a fire and impetuosity almost
inconceivable. The affection between the two seemed to be something
deeper and stronger than brotherhood, and joined with it was a
professional rivalry that only such an affection could have prevented
from becoming enmity.

Somers was left an orphan when a lad not more than twelve years old. He
had, however, an uncle who was a second father to him, and he inherited
a respectable property. There is no record of Somers having gone to
sea before he received his appointment as midshipman, of the same date
as Decatur's, 1798. But a number of circumstances indicate that he
was already a capable seaman when he got his midshipman's warrant to
the United States, frigate of forty-four guns. He was made master's
mate of the hold almost immediately on joining the ship, a place given
the steadiest and readiest of the midshipmen, and it is assumed that
he would not have been selected had he not known something of his
profession.

The United States, which wore the broad pennant of Commodore Barry, was
engaged in active cruising in the West Indies during the hostilities
with France in 1799-1801, but never came to close quarters with a
ship of her own size during the cruise. Somers seems to have won the
goodwill of every one on board, including Commodore Barry and the
future Commodore Stewart, who was the first lieutenant. Somers's
mildness seems to have been misunderstood for weakness, and on
hearing of some aspersions upon him, Somers determined, in his cool
and deliberate manner, to show the stuff that was in him. Duelling
was then a common practice among officers of the army and navy, as
well as among all those who classed themselves as gentlemen. Somers
therefore challenged three of his tormentors among the midshipmen, and
arranged that the three duels should be fought one immediately after
another. Decatur was to be his second in all these affairs, and it is
a grotesque circumstance that the origin of the reflections cast on
Somers was from the unresenting way with which he put up with Decatur's
chaff.

In the first two duels Somers received two slight wounds which
prevented him from standing up. Decatur eagerly insisted upon being
allowed to take Somers's place after the first hurt received by
Somers; but Somers refused, and exchanged shots for the third time,
sitting on the ground and held up in the arms of Decatur. It was
the first and last time that his courage was ever doubted, and his
peace-loving and gentle nature was esteemed at its true value ever
afterward.

In 1801 the United States returned home, and Somers's next orders
were to the Boston, of twenty-eight guns, in which, at the age of
twenty-two, he found himself in the responsible situation of first
lieutenant. The Boston was commanded by Captain Daniel McNeill, an old
Revolutionary captain, who was one of the characters of the old navy.
He was a fine seaman and a man of resolution and integrity, but not
very amenable to authority. The Boston was ordered to proceed to Europe
with Chancellor Livingston, who was to arrange terms of peace with
France. They encountered heavy weather, and Captain McNeill carried
sail in such a way as to astonish his young officers; but he had in his
first lieutenant a man almost as well versed in seamanship as himself.

Perhaps no young officer in the navy of that day was so well adapted,
by his conciliatory and amiable manners, to be the first lieutenant of
such a man as Captain McNeill. The Boston had been ordered to report
to Commodore Richard Dale, who was Captain McNeill's senior in rank,
although much his junior in age. But Captain McNeill seems to have had
no notion of putting himself under the orders of a man so much younger
than himself, and although he cruised for nearly two years in the
Mediterranean, ostensibly hunting for the flagship, he managed by the
greatest adroitness never to set eyes on her. He was meanwhile very
actively engaged in his duty, and gave convoy to American vessels,
frightened off the piratical vessels of the Barbary powers, and even
blockaded Tripoli for a time; but he was always just a little too
late or a trifle too early to join the flagship. The cruise afforded
a multitude of amusing anecdotes about this doughty but eccentric
captain, whose character and attainments commanded respect, in spite
of his oddities. Once, at Malaga, at a grand dinner given to Captain
McNeill and his officers, as also to some Swedish officers of high
rank, the American captain was seated between two Swedish admirals. At
nine o'clock a midshipman entered the room, according to orders, and
reported to Captain McNeill that his boat waited. "What did you say?"
asked the captain. The midshipman repeated his announcement, Somers and
the other American officers present waiting in agony for what Captain
McNeill would say or do next. The captain again asked the midshipman
what he said, bawling out, "These bloody Swedes keep up such a
chattering I can't hear what you say!"

Another one of Captain McNeill's adventures was when, lying in a
French port, he wished to test how quickly his ship could be got under
way. Three of his own officers were on shore, but three French naval
officers happened to be on board; so, coolly remarking that he would
hold on to the French officers to keep up his complement, he put to
sea. It was several months before the Frenchmen could return to France,
and meanwhile they had been published as deserters.

At another time, taking a fancy to a regimental band which came
aboard the Boston in an Italian port, he sailed for America with the
musicians, and it was several years before they were all returned to
Italy.

The Boston soon after this returned to the United States, and the
administration of the navy winked at Captain McNeill's peccadilloes, in
view of the actual service he had done during his memorable cruise.

It was at this time that the government determined to send a force out,
under Commodore Preble, to crush Tripoli. Somers got the command of
the Nautilus, one of the four small vessels that were built and sent
out, Stewart getting another, and Decatur a third. Somers was now in
his twenty-fifth year, handsome, well made, and his naturally dark skin
still darker from wind and sun. His manners were polished, and he was
as prepossessing, in his quiet way, as the dashing Decatur. Somers's
black eyes were noticeably melancholy, and after his untimely death
those who loved him fancied they had always seen in his countenance
some premonition of his doom.

The officers who were to command these little vessels superintended
their building, as there were then no regular navy-yards in the
country. The Nautilus, under Somers's command, was the first to
sail, and the first to arrive at Gibraltar, in July, 1803. She was
a beautiful little schooner, of twelve guns, with a crew of nearly
a hundred men. She was, however, very small to cross the Atlantic,
and several times during the voyage Somers was hailed and offered
assistance by friendly shipmasters, who thought the gallant little
vessel must have been blown out of her course.

Somers was one of the boy captains whose youth so disgusted Commodore
Preble when he met them first on their arrival at Gibraltar. But the
commodore found in Somers, as early as with any, the stuff of which
these young officers were made. Somers was very actively engaged in the
labors and cruises which occupied the winter of 1803-4, preparing to
attack Tripoli in the summer. He sympathized ardently with Decatur in
the splendid exploit of the destruction of the Philadelphia. He was
anxious to assist him with the Nautilus, but Stewart's superior rank
and larger command entitled him to support Decatur, which he did in the
Siren. Decatur's success inspired every young captain in the squadron
with a noble desire to equal it, and none more than the quiet and
self-contained Somers.

The preparations for the bombardment of Tripoli continued, and on the
3d of August the first attack took place. Commodore Preble gave the
command of the right division of gun-vessels to Somers, and the left to
Decatur. Somers was supposed to be Decatur's senior at the time, but
the post-captain's commission which the Congress had given Decatur as
a reward for the destruction of the Philadelphia was then on its way,
and arrived a few days after; while the same ship brought Somers's
promotion to a master commandant.

The story of those splendid attacks has been told in the biographies
of Preble and Decatur.[15] On the memorable 3d of August, when the
captives of the Philadelphia in the Bashaw's dungeons first heard from
the guns of the squadron the thundering demand for the release of the
prisoners, Somers, like Decatur, performed prodigies of valor. The
harbor of Tripoli is crossed by a great reef, above the water, and on
which forts and batteries were mounted. At the western end is a narrow
opening of about two hundred yards, while within the reef the rocks and
shoals were so numerous and so difficult that the best seamanship and
the greatest courage were necessary for an attacking enemy. The guns
from the forts and ships nearer the town, too, could be concentrated
on any small craft which passed through this western passage. These
desperate risks did not deter Somers and Decatur, who went inside and
fell upon the Tripolitan gun-vessels with the fury of fiends. On the
3d of August, while Decatur was engaged in his terrible encounter
with the Tripolitan, Somers in a single small gun-vessel held at bay
five gun-vessels, each larger than his own, and fought with savage
determination. The wind was driving him straight on the rocks, and he
had to keep backing his sweeps to save himself from destruction, while
fighting like a lion. The Constitution, seeing his critical position,
came to his support, and, opening her batteries on the Tripolitans,
succeeded in driving them still farther within the reefs, while Somers
brought his gallant little gun-vessel out in triumph.

Four of these dashing attacks were made, in every one of which Somers
and Decatur commanded the two boat divisions. Both had many narrow
escapes. Once, while Somers was leaning against the flagstaff of
his little vessel, as she was on her way to attack, he saw a round
shot coming. He jumped aside, and the next moment the flagstaff was
shattered just at the point where his head had rested. His knowledge of
the interior of the harbor, where the Tripolitans had a large number of
vessels at anchor, inspired him with the design of leading a forlorn
hope,--to strike one great blow, and, if necessary, to die for his
country the next moment. At last he got Commodore Preble's permission
to carry out the daring attempt, which, heroic in its conception, yet
makes one of the saddest pages in the history of the American navy.

The plan was to fit up as a fire-ship, or "infernal," the ketch
Intrepid, in which Decatur had won immortality in the same harbor, take
it in, and explode it among the Tripolitan fleet. Somers earnestly
begged Commodore Preble for the honor of leading this desperate
expedition, and the commodore at last agreed. It would be necessary
to pour one hundred barrels of gunpowder into the hold of the ketch
in order to make it effective as a fire-ship, and before consenting
to this, the Commodore warned Somers that so much powder must not be
allowed to fall into the hands of the Tripolitans. It was during the
Napoleonic wars, powder was in great demand, and the Tripolitans were
supposed to be short of it. After this interview Somers expressed the
determination to be blown up rather than to be captured.

The details of the attack were worked out most carefully. Besides the
powder, the Intrepid was to carry a large stock of splintered wood; and
about two hundred shells, with their fuses prepared, were laid on her
decks, to add their horrors to the explosion. The brave adventurers
had two chances for their lives, in having two boats in which to
escape from the ketch. One of them was a very fast four-oared boat
from Somers's own vessel, the Nautilus, and the other was a six-oared
cutter from the Constitution. Somers was to be in his own boat, while
Lieutenant Henry Wadsworth[16] commanded the Constitution's cutter. Ten
sailors were to be taken along, making twelve persons in all; but the
number was increased to thirteen by a little midshipman, Joseph Israel,
who smuggled himself into the Constitution's boat.

Somers had consulted at every step his bosom friend Decatur,
and Charles Stewart, with whom he had begun his naval life
in "Old Wagoner." Decatur, in his own vessel, the Argus, and
Lieutenant-Commandant Smith, of the Vixen, and Somers's vessel, the
Nautilus, under the command of his first lieutenant, Washington Reed,
were to support the dauntless party in the boats as far as possible.

Everything being ready, on the day after the desperate boat attack
of the 3d of September, in the afternoon, Somers appeared on the deck
of his vessel, and, having the crew piped up, addressed them, telling
frankly the hazardous nature of the attempt he was to make, and calling
for four volunteers who would go with him to advance one step ahead of
the line. For answer, every man and boy on the Nautilus advanced two
steps. This brave spirit was deeply gratifying to Somers, and he was
forced to make a selection. He chose four of his best seamen,--James
Simms, Thomas Tompline, James Harris, and William Keith.

On the Constitution the same spirit was shown, and Lieutenant Wadsworth
selected the six men he needed from the hundreds who were eager to go.
The Constitution's sailors were William Harrison, Robert Clark, Hugh
McCormick, Jacob Williams, Peter Renner, and Isaac Downes. The names of
these humble men deserve to be recorded, for each one was worthy to do,
to dare, and to die with his officers,--Somers, Wadsworth, and Israel.

When the last preparations were made, on the afternoon of September
4, 1804, and the men were assembled on the Nautilus's deck, with the
boats lowered, Somers addressed the ten sailors. He told them that he
wanted no man with him who would not rather be blown up than surrender
to the Tripolitans. The men responded with a cheer; and it was found
that each one had privately asked Somers for the dangerous honor of
applying the match when the time for the explosion came. They then said
good-bye to their shipmates, and indicated what they wished done with
their belongings if they should never return. Somers was accompanied
to the Intrepid by Decatur and Stewart, who remained with him until
the dusk of the September evening warned them that the solemn hour had
come. On parting from them, Somers, who was as tranquil as ever, took a
ring from his finger, and, breaking it in three parts, gave one piece
to Decatur, one to Stewart, and kept the third. The last man over the
Intrepid's side was Lieutenant Reed, who, as Somers's first lieutenant,
was to command the Nautilus.

The night had fallen when the Constitution's boat joined the ketch, and
in it was found the little fifteen-year-old midshipman, Israel, who had
pleaded to go, and, being refused, had smuggled himself into the boat.
There was then no way of getting rid of him, and, admiring his bold
determination, Somers welcomed him on the ketch. There was a light blue
haze on the water, and the night was murky as the "infernal" stole upon
her way. She entered the harbor silently, while outside, in the offing,
the Nautilus, the Argus, and the Vixen stood in as close as they dared.
Presently, in the darkness, the Siren was observed to flit past them.
Stewart, in his anxiety for Somers, had implored Commodore Preble to
let him be near the scene of action, and the commodore had consented.

The Siren ventured farther into the offing than the other vessels,
and Stewart and his officers, like every officer and man on all of
the ships, was intent upon the black shadow of the fire-ship, as she
crept in among the rocks. She was soon discovered, in spite of the
darkness, and a few grape-shot were thrown at her. Stewart was standing
in the Siren's gangway, with one of his lieutenants, anxiously watching
through his night-glass the progress of the Intrepid, when the officer
cried, "Look! see the light!" A light, like a lantern, was seen to
flash across the Intrepid's deck. The next moment a roar as if worlds
were crashing together shook the castle and forts, and rocked the ships
in the offing; a red glare hideously illumined the sea and sky; the
masts and sails of the ketch rose up in the burning air for a moment,
then fell into the fire-lit waves, and all was over. A frightful and
unearthly silence and darkness succeeded. The brigs and schooners
cruised about, their officers and men in anguish over the fate of their
brave companions. The Constitution fired minute-guns all night, so that
if any survived that awful explosion they might know they were not
forgotten. When sunrise came, thirteen blackened bodies floated ashore
at Tripoli. They were so disfigured that the officers could only be
told from the men by the softness of their hands. Bainbridge and his
officers were taken from their captivity to identify the remains of the
thirteen brave souls who had given life itself to hasten the release of
the Philadelphia's gallant company. Not the slightest damage was done
to the Tripolitan ships or forts, or to the town itself.

The ten sailors were buried together near the beach, while the three
officers were laid in the same grave on a plain a little southward of
the castle. Whether Somers blew the ketch up, in his conception of his
duty, or whether the powder was accidentally ignited, can never be
ascertained. All that is known, however, is that he did his duty, as
did every officer and man lost in that perilous attempt. Of each of
them may be said as is written after the name of the little midshipman,
Israel, in the records of the navy, "Died, with honor, in the service,
September 4, 1804."

His country honored Somers by naming for him a beautiful little brig;
but like him it was doomed to misfortune. One of the most terrible
tragedies that ever occurred in the American navy took place upon the
deck of the Somers, and it was afterward lost at sea, going down, as
Somers did, in the darkness and silence of an unfathomed mystery.




ISAAC HULL.


The American navy has produced many men great in the handling of
sailing-ships; but no more capable seaman ever trod the quarter-deck
than Isaac Hull. In all of his achievements his faculty of handling
his vessel, whether great or small, to the utmost possible advantage,
was the most considerable factor in his success; and his tremendous
popularity with seamen, who were always eager to ship with him, came
from their conviction that in time of stress and danger they had a born
sailor to look out for them.

[Illustration: Isaac Hull]

Hull was the son of a Revolutionary officer, and was born at Derby,
Massachusetts, in March, 1775, shortly before the affairs at Lexington
and Concord. His father was taken prisoner and died on one of the
Jersey prison ships, and Isaac was adopted by an uncle, General Hull.
The means and station of the Hull family were such that a liberal
education was within the lad's reach, and he was destined for a course
at Yale College. But he early developed a passion for the sea; and
his uncle, seeing the boy's determined bent, concluded to let him
carry it out. The Continental navy had passed out of existence, and
the reorganization did not take place until 1797-98, so that a naval
career was not open to him at the start. General Hull, however, did
the next best thing possible for the boy, by sending him to sea in a
fine ship owned by a friend of the Hull family. Isaac proved himself
capable and industrious from the start, and by the time he reached his
twenty-first birthday was in command of a small vessel. The desire to
hold a commission in the regular navy possessed him, and in March,
1798, he got a fourth lieutenant's commission, which was dated on his
twenty-third birthday.

His first cruise was made in the ship in which he was afterward to
win such splendid renown,--the Constitution. She was then commanded
by Captain Samuel Nicholson. He remained in her for more than two
years, and thus became thoroughly familiar with the great frigate,--a
knowledge he was eventually to put to good use. In 1800 she was the
flagship of Commodore Talbot, in the West Indies, and Hull was her
first lieutenant. Commodore Talbot and the captain of a British frigate
on that station were friends, and the American and British captains
would often discuss the sailing qualities of their respective frigates,
the British ship being a good sailer as well as the Constitution. At
last a sailing-match was agreed upon, the captains wagering a cask
of wine on the result. The two frigates started with a fresh breeze
at sunrise, and the contest was to last until the sunset gun was
fired. Hull sailed the Constitution, and his seamanship on that day
of friendly rivalry was scarcely inferior to that which he displayed
when Admiral Broke's squadron of five ships was hounding him on an
August day, twelve years after. The Constitution could easily leg
it at an eleven-knot gait, with a tolerable breeze, and was almost
unapproachable on a wind; but that day, under Hull's skilful handling,
she outdid herself, and beat her opponent by several miles. Hull
kept the crew on deck the livelong day, and the seamanlike manner in
which he beat the English frigate, which was also remarkably well
sailed, won the admiration even of his opponents. Hull was too great
a seaman himself to underrate either British skill or pluck, and many
years after it is told of him that, speaking with a very steady old
boatswain, the man remarked, "The British, sir, are hard fellows on
salt water."

"I know that,--they are a hard set of fellows, sure enough," was Hull's
emphatic reply.

Hull saw no very brilliant service during the hostilities with France
in 1799-1800, but he cut out a French letter-of-marque in the harbor of
Port Platte, Hayti, in a very handsome manner. He armed a small vessel,
the Sally, with men from the Constitution, ran into the harbor in broad
daylight, landed a company of marines, who spiked the guns of the fort
and carried off the French letter-of-marque in fine style.

In 1802 Hull went to the Adams, of twenty-eight guns, as her first
lieutenant. The Adams was one of the fastest frigates that ever
floated, and Hull was the man to get the most out of her. She was sent
to the Mediterranean at the beginning of the Tripolitan troubles,
and in her patrol of the Straits of Gibraltar in all weathers, and
her blockade of Tripoli in the dangerous winter season, her first
lieutenant splendidly sustained the reputation he had brought from the
Constitution with him, as one of the ablest seamen in the navy. He
would carry more sail than any other lieutenant in the squadron would
have carried, and would make sail when most ships scarcely showed a rag
of canvas.

In 1803 he got his first command, the little schooner Enterprise, which
he exchanged, after a short time, with Decatur, who brought out from
America the Argus, a handsome sixteen-gun brig, lately off the stocks.
In the Argus he took an active part in the bombardment of Tripoli, and
manifested his usual steadiness and coolness. Commodore Preble, wishing
to examine the harbor as closely as practicable during the bombardment,
trusted to Hull's seamanship to get him the best view possible, and
reconnoitred one night in the Argus. It came near being the end of the
vessel and all on board, by one of those accidents against which skill
and courage avail nothing. A heavy shot struck the brig's bottom, and
raked it for several feet, ripping the plank out as it went. Had it
gone an inch deeper, the ship's bottom would have been out; but the
gallant brig and her brave company were saved for great services to
their country.

After the reduction of the Barbary powers Hull returned home, and in
1806 he reached the rank of post-captain. He was then thirty-one years
old, short and stocky, but military in his bearing, prompt and decided
in his manner, kind to his men, but a firm disciplinarian. He was
singularly chivalrous to women, and treated the humblest woman with the
highest respect.

In 1811 Hull got the Constitution, and with her, Lieutenant, afterward
Commodore, Charles Morris, a lieutenant worthy of such a captain. In
the celebrated chase of the Constitution the following year, scarcely
less praise is due to Morris, then her first lieutenant, than to Hull.

The Constitution's first duty was to take a large amount of specie to
Holland, in payment of interest on a debt due by the United States.
From thence she proceeded to Portsmouth, England.

By that time it was known that war was imminent, and Hull kept his
ship prepared for action at a moment's notice. It seemed at one time
as if the Constitution would fire the first gun of the conflict in an
English port. The Havana, frigate, lay close to the Constitution,
and one night a man from the American frigate jumped overboard and
swam to the Havana, where he was taken aboard. Next morning Hull sent
a boat with Morris, to ask the man's surrender. The British captain
declined to give him up, saying that the man swore he was a British
subject. As the British navy made laws for the navies of the world in
those days, the Americans had to submit with a very bad grace. But
compensation was at hand. A man from the Havana, seeing the turn of
affairs, jumped overboard and swam to the Constitution. He was welcomed
on board, one may be sure, and when the Havana's lieutenant sent
after him, Hull coolly announced that the man said he was an American
citizen, and therefore would not be given up. The British captain
had to be satisfied with this answer. But there was some expectation
that an attempt would be made to seize the man by force. Meanwhile
Hull concluded to change his berth, the Havana and her consort being
a little too near; so he picked up his anchor, and dropped down to
leeward a mile or two. The Havana promptly followed him. Hull then
thought it likely that he would be attacked before morning, and made
his preparations accordingly. The ship was cleared for action, the
cabin torn out of the way, the battle lanterns lighted, and the men
sent to their quarters at the tap of the drum. Hull, full of fire and
determination, said to the men,--

"My lads, are you ready for a fight? I don't know but what this frigate
is after us. Are you ready for her?"

The reply was a rousing American cheer. Even some men who were in irons
joined in the cheering, and contrived to get a message to the captain
asking to be released during the time of the expected fight, that they
might do their duty. This was done, and amid the greatest enthusiasm
the guns were cast loose. It was noted that the men took hold of the
gun tackles as if they meant to jerk the guns through the ship's side.
Lieutenant Morris, passing along the batteries, told the men that if
the ship had to fight, it would be in their quarrel, and he hoped they
would give a good account of themselves. The reply of these gallant
tars was, "Let the quarterdeck look out for the colors, and we will
look out for the guns."

Some hours having passed, with the Constitution plainly ready for
a fight, without any demonstration from the British frigate, Hull
determined to lift his anchor and sail for France. The men responded
with a loud groan to the boatswain's call to man the capstan bars, and,
sailor-like, were acutely disappointed that they got off without a
chance to show what the ship could do.

Hull returned to the United States, and in June, 1812, war was
declared. The Constitution was at Annapolis, where she had been newly
coppered, and where a sloop-of-war was also being fitted out. A report
got about, among the Constitution's crew, that men were to be drafted
from her to the sloop-of-war. This created great dissatisfaction. The
men, nearly all native-born Americans, although new to the ship, were
proud of her, and had a superstitious faith in her good fortune and
were devoted to their captain. Their complaints became almost mutinous,
when Hull appeared among them and assured them that not a man should
be taken out of the ship. This pacified them, and on the 14th of July,
1812, they sailed for New York, to join Commodore Rodgers's squadron.
About four o'clock on the morning of July 19th, the cry rang through
the ship that the American squadron was sighted; but as day broke, it
was found that the Constitution was almost surrounded by a British
squadron under Admiral Broke, one of the finest seamen in the British
navy. It consisted of the Africa, sixty-four; the frigates Shannon and
Guerrière, of thirty-eight guns each (with the last the Constitution
was to have it out, yardarm to yardarm, that day month); the light
frigates Belvidera and Eolus; and two small vessels. By sunrise it fell
almost calm, and it seemed as if the glorious frigate would have to lie
where she was, to be eaten up by her enemies as soon as the wind rose.
But Hull and Morris were men of resource, and while fully prepared to
go down fighting, if necessary, they knew a way of getting off even
without a wind. All the spare hawsers in the ship were bent together,
and to a kedge anchor which was put in a boat, sent ahead half a mile,
and let go. The crew, at a signal, clapped on, and walked away with the
ship. Before she lost the impetus gained by rousing on the one kedge,
another one was carried ahead and let go; and so she progressed at the
rate of about three knots an hour. At first the British were amazed to
see her trotting off without a wind; but they soon found out what was
going on, and put all the available boats in the squadron to towing the
Shannon after the Constitution. The Shannon, however, could not make
much headway, as Hull had mounted stern-chasers in the cabin, and fired
on the British boats whenever they came within range.

The Shannon, however, was coming up on the starboard, while the other
ships were towing, kedging, and sending their boats ahead with sweeps,
to surround the gallant frigate. The Guerrière, too, was nearing
her on the port quarter, and men less resourceful than Hull and his
officers would have despaired of escape. But just then a light breeze
struck the ship, the sails were trimmed, and the ship came by the wind
beautifully. This brought the Guerrière nearly within gunshot, and she
roared out her broadside; but the Constitution's people continued
hoisting up their boats with as much coolness and steadiness as if the
cannonade were no more than birdshot. For an hour the Constitution
legged it at a lively rate; but about ten o'clock it fell calm, and
the wearisome and tedious method of kedging was again resorted to. The
British put nearly all their boats on the Shannon, but in spite of
numbers the American frigate managed to keep just out of gunshot.

Every device known to seamanship was used to increase the distance
between the frigate and her pursuers. Her sails were wet down fore and
aft, several thousand gallons of water were pumped out of her, the
boat's falls were kept in hand to run the boats up, and every cat's
paw was taken advantage of with the finest possible seamanship. Yet so
hopeless did her chances seem that Admiral Broke had a prize crew told
off, to take her into Halifax! Neither Hull nor his officers or men
contemplated for a moment giving up the frigate. Hull knew his ship;
he had a remarkably capable set of officers, and his ship was so well
manned by intelligent Americans that it was said in a very little while
after they had enlisted the crew could have sailed and fought the ship
without their officers.

About two o'clock the Belvidera got within range and began to throw
her broadside; but Hull, after returning a few shot, devoted himself
strictly to keeping his ship away from her enemies. All day the
British ships used every method that skill could devise to get at the
Constitution, but were able neither to overhaul her nor to close with
her. At eleven o'clock at night a breeze sprang up which lasted for an
hour, when it died away. During that night neither the Constitution nor
her pursuers kedged, the crews on all the ships being too exhausted;
but no officer or man on the Constitution went below. The officers lay
down at their stations, and the sailors slept at their guns, with their
rammers and sponges at their sides.

With daylight came wind enough to keep the ships moving, and at
sunrise the sight was singularly beautiful. The summer sea was faintly
rippled by a long, soft swell, and the sun shone with unclouded
splendor. The five pursuing ships, as well as the Constitution, were
clouds of canvas, from rail to truck, and all six were on the same
tack. Including the six men-of-war, eleven sail were in sight. The
British squadron had been joined by the Nautilus, brig, and the rest
were merchantmen. During the morning an American merchant ship was
observed approaching. The Constitution, seeing the ship was unaware of
her danger, hoisted an English ensign and fired a gun at her,--which
induced her to run away from her supposed enemy.

All day the chase continued; but the Constitution showed a clean
pair of heels, and was slowly, though steadily, widening the distance
between herself and her pursuers. In the afternoon a heavy squall with
rain came up. The Constitution took in her sails, which induced the
British ships to do the same. But as soon as she was hid by the curtain
of falling rain, she made sail upon her stout masts, that carried her
along at a rattling gait. In about an hour the weather cleared, when it
was seen that the Belvidera, the nearest vessel, was far astern, the
others were more distant still, the Africa being hull down. The chase
was still kept up during the whole of that night, but at daylight next
morning the British ships were almost out of sight, and about eight
o'clock they hauled their wind and gave up the contest.

Not only had the noble frigate escaped from her enemies, but she had
done so without losing a gun, an anchor, or a boat. She was ready
at any moment of the chase to go into action, and the steadiness,
coolness, and precision of her manoeuvres were never surpassed. This
chase is one of the glories of the American navy,--not merely because
of the escape itself, but by reason of the seamanlike manner in which
it was accomplished.

Shortly after, the Constitution ran the blockade and got into Boston,
to hear the news that she had been captured!

The delight of the people at the escape of their favorite frigate was
unbounded. Hull was hailed as a hero; but with characteristic modesty
he ascribed most of the credit of his escape to his officers and crew,
both in his official report and a published card.

Having had an intimation, however, that it was in contemplation to give
the ship to Bainbridge, in virtue of his superior rank, and without
waiting for orders, which might be just what he did not want, Hull
sailed eastward as soon as he had watered and victualled his ship. On
the afternoon of the 19th of August, just one month to a day after
he had first been chased by the Guerrière, he ran across her again,
and both ships prepared to fight it out, with the greatest spirit
imaginable.

Captain Dacres, of the Guerrière, and Hull were personal friends, as
many of the American and British captains were in those days, and
there was a standing bet of a hat between them on the result in case
their two ships ever came to exchanging broadsides. The Guerrière was
an extremely fine French-built frigate, carrying fifty guns,--the
Constitution carried fifty-four and her broadside was much the heavier.
In men, the Constitution had also the advantage of the British ship,
but the damage inflicted by the Constitution was far in excess of her
superiority in men and metal. On the Guerrière's great mainsail was
inscribed in huge red letters,

    "All who meet me have a care,
     I am England's Guerrière."

The two ships were looking for each other, when on the 19th of August,
about ten o'clock, a sail being reported off the port bow, a midshipman
was sent aloft to try and make her out. All hands were hoping the
stranger was the Guerrière, when Hull called out with animation,--

"What do you think she is?"

"She's a great vessel, sir. Tremendous sails."

"Never mind," coolly replied Hull, turning to the boatswain. "Mr.
Adams, call all hands. Make sail for her."

Before the boatswain's pipe was heard, the men came tumbling up on
deck, even the sick turning out of their berths. Hull, in his official
report of the battle, says: "From the smallest boy in the ship up to
the oldest seaman, not a look of fear was seen. They went into action
giving three cheers, and requesting to be laid alongside the enemy."
When the call to quarters was heard through the ship, the men went
to the guns dancing. Sail was crowded on, and soon it was seen that
the stranger was the Guerrière. She had hauled her wind, and lay with
her topsails aback, gallantly waiting for her enemy. Her officers and
crew prepared to meet the Americans with the spirit of British seamen.
There were ten Americans in the crew who came to Captain Dacres and
told him they could not fight against their own country. The captain
magnanimously told them to go below, and assist in the cockpit with the
wounded.

As soon as the Constitution got within range, the Guerrière let fly
her batteries, firing the starboard guns, then wearing and giving
the Constitution her port guns. The Constitution came on, yawing at
intervals to prevent being raked, and occasionally firing one of her
bow guns. Three times Lieutenant Morris asked permission to fire a
broadside, and each time Hull answered, "Not yet." At last, when within
fifty yards of the Guerrière, the moment had come. Hull spoke a few
stirring words to his people.

"Men!" he said, "now do your duty. Your officers cannot have entire
command over you now. Each man must do all in his power for his
country. No firing at random. Let every man look well to his aim.
Sailing-master, lay her alongside."

The Constitution came up into the wind in gallant style, and as she
fell off a little, the Guerrière, an antagonist worthy of the great
frigate, ranged alongside. The Constitution let fly every gun in
her starboard batteries at short range, and the shock was like an
earthquake. Every timber in the frigate trembled like a leaf. When
the smoke cleared away, it was seen that this terrific broadside had
made destruction on the British ship. Her mizzen-mast had gone by the
board, her mainyard had been shot from the slings, and a momentary
confusion reigned on her decks. The effect of their first broadside was
so encouraging to the Americans that before firing another gun they
gave three thundering cheers. The English officers spoke afterward of
the extra ordinary enthusiasm of the Americans, which was a part of the
fury of their attack.

When the cheers had subsided, Hull called out, "My lads, you have made
a brig of that craft;" to which the sailors shouted back, "We'll make a
sloop of her soon, sir;" and in a little while the foremast went by the
board. The Guerrière then swung round, and, being almost unmanageable,
got into a terrible position for raking. Her officers and men fought
with undiminished valor, and when the ensign was shot away, another one
was nailed to the stump of the mizzen-mast. On the Constitution the
halyards were shot away, and the flag became entangled in the splinters
of a shattered yard. A sailor sprang aloft and nailed it to the mast,
and both ships continued the action without thought of surrender.

The Guerrière, however, was plainly getting the worst of it. Most of
her fire was directed to the masts and spars of the Constitution, while
several shot that struck the frigate's hull rebounded into the water.
At this the sailors cheered.

"Huzza!" they cried. "Her sides are made of iron! Huzza for Old
'Ironsides'!"

Then some one on the Constitution, pointing to the captain, cried,--

"Hull her, men! Hull her!"

The sailors, catching the pun, roared out,--

"Hull her! Hull her! Yes, we'll hull her!"

Hull, who had grown very stout, and was short withal, was standing on
an ammunition box, while shot flew thick and fast around him. Leaning
over to give an order, his knee breeches, which were very tight, burst
from knee to hip. The men shouted with laughter; but it was no time to
repair such damages, and Hull finished the battle with his trousers
hanging in rags.

It was not to last long. The mainmast soon followed the other masts,
and in thirty minutes from the time the Constitution's first broadside
had been fired, the Guerrière lay, a helpless hulk, rolling in the
trough of the sea, that washed into her shattered main-deck ports.

Her masts and spars having gone by the board, she swung round, so that
she lay perfectly helpless, while every gun in the Constitution raked
her. The men could see the whites of each other's eyes, and the gleam
of the teeth as they fought. Captain Dacres had been badly wounded,
while standing in the hammock nettings cheering his men on, a vast
number of officers and men killed and wounded, and the Guerrière's
decks ran with blood. But even in these dreadful circumstances not a
man or boy on the British ship faltered; and when it was plain to
every eye that resistance was over for the proud Guerrière, one of her
powder boys was heard to shout to another confidently,--

"Work away there! Huzza! She'll soon be ours!"

Her captain saw that it was time to stop the useless slaughter,
and a gun was fired to leeward, which signified surrender. But her
men refused to haul down the jack they had nailed to the stump of
the mizzen-mast, and not until Captain Dacres stepped into the
Constitution's boat did the brave men and boys of the Guerrière
acknowledge themselves beaten. It was, indeed, an idea almost
impossible for them to grasp, that a crack British frigate should have
been whipped in fair fight by an American; but it is easily understood
when it is remembered that they were men of the same stock,--for the
Constitution was wholly manned by native-born Americans, who came
justly by that genius for fighting at sea which is the common heritage
of the Anglo-Saxon race.

As Captain Dacres came over the side of the Constitution, Hull met
him with the cordiality of a friend and shipmate instead of the air
of a conqueror. He gave the British captain a hand, saying, with the
greatest friendliness,--

"Dacres, I see you are hurt. Let me help you."

As soon as Captain Dacres reached the Constitution's deck, he attempted
to hand his sword to Hull, who said,--

"No, no, I cannot take the sword of a man who knows so well how to use
it; but--I'll thank you for that hat!"

The business of transferring the prisoners then began. It was seen at
once there was no hope of saving the Guerrière, and it was determined
to remove everything of value and then blow her up. The damages to the
Constitution were repaired in an hour. She had lost seven men killed
and seven wounded. The Guerrière had lost seventy-nine in killed and
wounded.

The Constitution lay by the Guerrière all night, and the Americans
worked like Trojans to save the belongings of the prisoners. Hull
asked Captain Dacres if everything of value had been sent him out of
the Guerrière's cabin. Captain Dacres replied that a Bible, his wife's
gift, had been left behind. Hull immediately sent a boat after it.
Captain Dacres, in his report to the Admiralty, said: "I feel it my
duty to state that the conduct of Captain Hull and his officers to our
men has been that of a brave enemy, the greatest care being taken to
prevent our men losing the smallest trifle, and the greatest attention
being paid to the wounded."

After working all night the morning of the 20th of August saw the brave
but unfortunate Guerrière made ready for her ocean grave. A slow match
was applied to her magazine, and the Constitution bore away. About
three miles off she hove to, while her officers and men, together with
those of the doomed frigate, waited breathlessly for the explosion.
As the fire gained headway, a dense volume of smoke formed over her.
Some of her guns had been left shotted, and as the fire reached them,
they began to go off, their sullen boom over the sea sounding like
the death-knell of the gallant ship. Presently the flames reached the
magazine. Streams of light, and a roar that seemed to shake the deep,
followed; a mass of wreckage flew skyward; the Guerrière was no more.

There was great uneasiness felt on board the Constitution in regard
to the large number of prisoners she carried. There were not enough
handcuffs in the ship for the whole British crew, and the Americans
felt a manly unwillingness to handcuff any of the men who had fought
them so bravely. But it was noted that from the start the prisoners and
their captors behaved well, the American and British sailors sitting
around the fok'sle together, spinning yarns, exchanging tobacco, and
chumming quite amicably.

Hull made for Boston, and on his arrival there was greeted with the
wildest enthusiasm. The people were beside themselves with joy. Before
this a British ship had been deemed invincible, and the knowledge that
one of these great ships, with a captain and crew worthy of her, had
struck to an American captain who had never before handled a frigate
in action, was gratifying to the national pride. Hull, to his great
discomfiture, was seized, as he stepped upon the dock, and carried on
the shoulders of his admirers to his destination. A grand banquet was
given to him and his officers in Faneuil Hall. Congress had a medal
struck in his honor, and gave swords to the officers and a handsome sum
in prize money to the crew. So great was Hull's popularity that the
commissioners of the navy would not have taken the ship away from him,
had he asked to retain her, but with true magnanimity he gave her up
to Bainbridge. Hull knew that Bainbridge was justly entitled to her,
and he was not the man to withhold anything from a brother in arms.
Bainbridge therefore took her, and went out and captured the Java.[17]

Hull was actively, though not brilliantly, employed during the rest
of the war, but did not get afloat again, as there were more captains
than frigates. In 1813 he married a beautiful girl, the daughter of
a clergyman. She had laughed at his pretensions when he was only a
lieutenant; but after his great cruise she said, when she knew it would
be repeated to Hull, "How delightful it must be to be the wife of a
hero!" He took the hint, and soon after they were married.

Hull's subsequent career was one of honor and usefulness. He was a
great hater of idleness, and often said, "Idleness will soon bring
any man to ruin." He had fine commands, both ashore and afloat, and
hoisted his broad pennant over several splendid squadrons. In 1836 he
commanded the Mediterranean station. At Gibraltar he found his old
friend Dacres, then an admiral, also in command of a squadron. The two
met with delight. Admiral Dacres showed Commodore Hull the greatest
attention, and at a splendid dinner given in his honor on the British
flagship the admiral told Mrs. Hull, who was present, the story of the
saving of his wife's Bible. Later, both of them having been detached
from their squadrons, they were in Rome for a winter together, and were
inseparable. Admiral Dacres was a remarkably tall, thin man, while
Commodore Hull was somewhat the size and shape of a hogshead; and the
wags had infinite amusement over the queer figures of these two heroic
men.

On Commodore Hull's retirement he made his home in Philadelphia. He
always wore his uniform, and as he walked the streets every hat was
doffed to him, and the salute was courteously returned. The end came in
February, 1843. His last words were, "I strike my flag,"--words that
he had never before had occasion to utter. He was a devout Christian,
and during his whole life he honestly lived up to the requirements of a
just and pious manhood.




CHARLES STEWART.


In the splendid galaxy of naval officers of the early part of the
century each one seems to have gained some special distinction, equally
brilliant, but differing entirely from any other. Thus, as Hull made
the most remarkable escape on record, and Decatur succeeded in the most
daring enterprise, so Stewart may be credited with the most superb
seamanship in the one great fight that fell to his lot, for with one
ship, the glorious Constitution, he fought two vessels at the same
time, raking them repeatedly, without once being raked himself, and in
the end forcing the surrender of both his antagonists.

[Illustration: Charles Stewart]

Charles Stewart was born in Philadelphia in 1778, and entered the
merchant service at thirteen years of age. At twenty he had risen
to the command of a fine vessel in the India trade, but on the
reorganization of the navy in 1798 he was given a naval commission.
His rise in the navy was rapid, as he was an accomplished seaman when
he joined it. After serving for a short time as a midshipman, he was
made the junior lieutenant on the United States, frigate, when she was
commissioned at the beginning of hostilities with France. With him
on this cruise were Decatur and Somers; and, as Fenimore Cooper aptly
says, the noble frigate turned out to be a nursery of heroes.

Stewart began the cruise as fourth, and ended it as first, lieutenant.
He was of commanding figure and of pleasing address, and his capacity
was such that from the first he was thought likely to distinguish
himself.

When the United States was laid up in ordinary, Stewart was given the
command of a small schooner, the Experiment. In this little vessel he
showed much spirit and enterprise, making many captures, and fighting
whenever he had a chance.

Stewart was, like Decatur, of an impetuous and even domineering
disposition, and made everybody under him "walk Spanish," as the
sailors said. But he himself knew how to obey promptly. Once, having
received a peremptory order from his superior officer to report with
his ship immediately, Stewart sailed, towing his mainmast after him, as
he had not time to have it fitted and did not choose to wait.

In 1803 he was sent to the Mediterranean with the Siren, a beautiful
little cruiser, as a part of Commodore Preble's squadron destined to
reduce Tripoli. Stewart was the senior among the commodore's "schoolboy
captains," and second in command to Commodore Preble himself.

Although he had no opportunity of performing deeds like Decatur's
in the Tripolitan war, his general good conduct was highly praised,
and the Siren was brilliantly engaged in all the glorious actions of
that famous time. At the beginning of the war of 1812 Stewart was
given the command of the Constellation, frigate, which shared with
the Constitution the reputation of being a lucky ship,--lucky in
meeting and whipping her enemies when the force was anything like
equal, and lucky in running away when they were too many for her.
Stewart took command of this noble ship at Annapolis in 1813. He was
ordered to Norfolk, and took the ship to Hampton Roads. He arrived
and anchored one night, and next morning at daylight there were five
British men-of-war in sight of him. The Constellation endeavored to
get out of the way, and the British ships chased her, but, the wind
failing, both the pursuers and the pursued were becalmed. Stewart,
though, remembering the Constitution's escape by kedging from a British
squadron, concluded it would never do that the Constellation should not
succeed equally as well; so, putting out his boats, the frigate was
kedged up toward Norfolk, until the tide fell, and she took the ground
at Seawell's Point, not far from the present Fort Monroe. The mud was
soft, the ship's bottom was hard, and the tide would rise; so Stewart
felt no alarm about her. The British squadron were also waiting for
the tide, but they did not think that Stewart would attempt to get his
ship up the narrow and tortuous channel to Norfolk.

They did not know Stewart, though. As soon as the darkness of the
winter night came, and the tide began to lift the ship out of the mud,
he sent pilots ahead to buoy the channel with lights. The ship, helped
somewhat by the wind, but towed by the boats, would go a mile or two up
to the nearest buoy, when that light would be put out, and she would
be headed for the next one. So quietly was this done that the British
never suspected what was going on. But when daylight came there was no
Constellation to be seen; she was safe in the Elizabeth River.

The British determined to blockade her there, and succeeded in doing
so; but although they made several desperate attempts to carry her
by boarding, they never succeeded. Stewart had her so well guarded
with boats, and the boats with a circle of booms, while the ship was
protected with boarding netting, her guns kept double-shotted, and her
officers and crew always on the alert, that her enemies themselves
were forced to admire the care taken of her. It was the joke among the
British officers that Stewart must be a Scotchman, he was so wary and
so watchful with his ship; and the British Admiral is said to have
remarked: "If that had been a French ship, we would have had her long
ago."

Having satisfied himself that although the Constellation could not
be taken, yet it was unlikely that she would get out during the war,
Stewart applied for and got the Constitution. This was in 1814. The
Constitution had then made her celebrated escape from Admiral Broke's
squadron, and had destroyed the Guerrière and the Java,--for when "Old
Ironsides" got through with an enemy, he was generally past saving.
It may be imagined with what splendid hopes Stewart took the great
ship after she had been refitted at Boston. He got out, although seven
British ships blockaded Boston, and sailed to the West Indies. He
made a few prizes, and took a small British cruiser; but this was not
enough for the Constitution to do. Stewart's disappointment with his
cruise was great, and it almost seemed as if the ship were no longer
to be a favorite of fortune, until she was chased by two frigates,
the Junon and the Tenedos, off the Massachusetts coast. Stewart had
a good pilot aboard, and he made for Marblehead under a spanking
breeze, with the two British frigates legging it briskly after him. The
Constitution drew about twenty-two feet of water, and Stewart could
not conceal his anxiety as the pilot carried her along the dangerous
coast, and it seemed as if any moment she might be put on the rocks.
The pilot, though, a cool-headed, steady fellow, knew his business,
and was nettled at Stewart's evident uneasiness. The British ships,
not knowing the coast, declined to follow, and were falling slightly
astern; but it looked as if the Constitution would only escape one
danger to be destroyed by another. Presently Stewart asked the pilot
for the hundredth time,--

"How many feet of water has she under her keel now, pilot?"

"Two," answered the pilot; when, seeing Stewart's countenance turn pale
with apprehension, he added nonchalantly: "And afore long she won't
have but one!"

The effect of this news upon the captain of a war-ship may be imagined;
but in a moment or two the ship slipped into deep water, and, carrying
sail hard, got into Marblehead safe and sound, while cheering
multitudes flocked to the shore to welcome her.

In a few days Stewart succeeded in slipping into Boston again,--the
sixth time in the course of the war that the ship had eluded the
British blockade. Stewart took up his berth in the upper harbor, and as
he was known to be a fighting captain with a fighting ship, the State
and city authorities concluded that they would rather have him a little
farther off. Accordingly they asked him to take his ship down into the
lower harbor, as, if the British blockading fleet attacked him where
he was, the cannonade would do great damage to the town. Stewart's
reply to this request was characteristic. He coolly informed them that
he should stay where he was, but it would make very little difference
to them where he lay, as, "if attacked, I shall make such a defence as
will endanger the town." He recommended them to build some additional
batteries to defend the town. The authorities had to be satisfied
with this reply; but they took Stewart's advice, and increased their
batteries so that they were better prepared than before to meet a
bombardment, should the British fleet treat them to one.

On the 17th of December, 1814, Stewart again slipped past the
blockading fleet, making the seventh time the Constitution had done
this, and sailed on his last and greatest cruise. He had lately been
married, and it is said that he asked his wife what he should bring
home to her. She replied, "A British frigate." Stewart replied, "I will
bring you two of them." He kept his promise.

Stewart was soon on the broad ocean. Nothing of note happened until
February, when one morning, off the coast of Portugal, Stewart suddenly
and from no reason he was able to give, except an unaccountable impulse
to proceed to a certain spot in the Atlantic, changed the ship's
course and ran off sixty miles to the southwest. At two o'clock in the
afternoon of the 20th of February, 1815, about sixty leagues southwest
of the Madeira islands, a small frigate, the Cyane, was sighted, and
a little later a large sloop-of-war, the Levant. The Constitution
immediately gave chase, although it was thought that one of the ships
was much heavier than she really was, as she had double gun-streaks and
false ports painted amidships, which the Americans, in chasing, took
for real guns and ports.

It soon became plain that the two ships were bent on fighting, but they
manoeuvred in a very masterly manner for several hours, in order
to get together before trying conclusions with the great frigate. At
five minutes past six o'clock they hove to and hoisted their ensigns,
and the Constitution replied by showing her colors. The three ships
were arranged like the points of an equilateral triangle,--a very
advantageous position for the two attacking ships, but one which was
turned by the superb seamanship of Stewart to his own profit by what
is commonly esteemed to have been the finest manoeuvring ever known
of an American ship in action. Stewart fought his port and starboard
batteries alternately, giving one of his antagonists a terrible
broadside, then wearing, and letting fly at the other, raking them
repeatedly, and handling his ship in such a manner that neither the
Levant nor the Cyane ever got in a single raking broadside.

Soon after the action began, a full moon arose in splendor, and by
its radiance the battle went on stoutly. There was a good working
breeze, and the British captains handled their ships admirably, but
"Old Ironsides" appeared to be playing with them. She answered her
helm beautifully, and always presented her broadside to the ship that
attempted to approach her. Soon both the British ships were suffering
dreadfully, and the leading ship, the sloop-of-war Levant, was forced
to wear under a raking broadside from the Constitution, and ran off
to leeward, unable to stand the fire. Having disposed of her, the
Constitution now turned her attention to the other ship, the light
frigate Cyane, and another raking broadside caused her to strike her
colors. Stewart at once sent Lieutenant Ballard and a prize crew aboard
of her, and after repairing the slight damages his ship had sustained,
set off to look for the Levant. She too had repaired damages, and,
although free to escape, was gallantly returning to meet her mighty
antagonist again. For a time the little Levant bravely withstood
the heavy frigate's fire, but at last was forced to run away, the
Constitution pursuing her. The two ships were so close that those
in the Constitution could hear the planks ripping on the Levant as
the heavy shot tore through her. At ten o'clock she was overhauled,
and forced to strike also, and the Constitution had gained the most
brilliant and seamanlike of all her victories.

The Constitution lost in this fight three men killed and twelve
wounded. The other two ships lost, altogether, nineteen killed and
forty-two wounded.

The Constitution, with her two prizes, made sail for Porto Praya, where
they arrived on the 10th of March. Next day, about twelve o'clock,
while the captured officers of the Cyane and Levant were on the
quarter-deck, the first lieutenant, happening to pass along, heard a
little midshipman who had been taken on the Cyane utter an exclamation
to Captain Falcon, late of the Cyane,--

"Oh, Captain Falcon," he cried, "look at the large ship in the offing!"

"Hold your tongue, you little rascal!" answered Captain Falcon, in a
low voice.

The American lieutenant looked up and saw, on the top of a fog bank
that lay on the water, the sails of a large ship. Indistinctly as
she was seen, the squareness and smartness of her rig induced the
lieutenant to think her a man-of-war. Instantly he went below and
told the captain. Stewart, who was shaving, without stopping in his
occupation, directed him to call the men to quarters, and make ready
to go out and attack the advancing ship. The lieutenant went on deck,
gave the order, and it was promptly obeyed. The men were not surprised,
because, as they explained, a dog belonging to the ship had been
drowned that day, and they knew they would have to fight or run within
twenty-four hours. Then the lieutenant noticed that two more ships had
appeared above the fog-bank, with the first one. He ran below to tell
this to Stewart, who was wiping his face and getting into his uniform
at the same time.

"Cut the cables," he said, "and signal the prizes to do the same and
follow us out."

In another minute he was on deck, and the cables were cut, leaving the
anchors at the bottom, and sail was being made with perfect order and
marvellous rapidity. In fourteen minutes from the time the first ship
had been seen, and ten minutes from the time the Constitution's cable
had been cut, the frigate was standing out of the roads under a cloud
of canvas, ready to fight or run, as occasion might require.

The trade winds were blowing, and the Constitution, with her two
prizes, passed within gunshot of the three strangers. Some of the
English prisoners who had been landed, manned a battery on shore and
opened fire on the Americans. This and other circumstances revealed
to the British squadron that the three ships making out to sea were
American men-of-war, and they promptly tacked and followed.

The British ships were the Acasta, of forty guns, a very fast ship; the
Leander, of fifty guns; and the Newcastle, of fifty guns, all belonging
to Admiral Sir George Collier's fleet. The British officers, prisoners
on the Constitution, became jubilant as the British ships gained on the
Constitution with her two prizes, and promised the Americans that "Kerr
in the Acasta" would soon overhaul the Americans. One of the British
captains, standing in the stern gallery, called out as the Acasta
neared the Constitution, "Captain Kerr, I envy you your glory this day!"

Stewart, with his men at quarters and every rag of canvas set that
would draw, was edging off, but prepared to fight the three heavy
frigates with the Constitution and the two smaller ships if obliged
to. He signalled the Cyane and the Levant to take different courses,
so that the British squadron might divide in pursuit. This was done,
and to the amazement of the Americans and the painful chagrin of the
British prisoners the Acasta suddenly went about in pursuit of the
Levant, which, by a singular mistake, was supposed to be a heavy
American frigate; the other two ships followed, while the Constitution
was trotting off at an eleven-knot gait.

The Levant put back to Porto Praya, which was a neutral port; but
the three frigates, after chasing her in, opened fire on her, and
her commander, Lieutenant Ballard, of the Constitution, hauled down
his flag. He had his revenge, though. When the British prize-master
came on board to take possession of the Levant, he said, "This is, I
presume, the American man-of-war Peacock." "You are mistaken, sir,"
replied Ballard coolly; "this is the Levant, late of his Britannic
Majesty's navy, and prize to the United States ship Constitution."

The commander of the British squadron was censured at home for his
mistake in leaving the Constitution that he might go in pursuit of the
smaller ship; and the affair on the part of the British was thought to
have been bungled to the last degree.

Stewart carried the grand old ship into New York the middle of May, and
then learned that peace had been made many months before.

He was received with acclamations. The people by that time had come
to believe the ship invincible. Besides her glorious career before
Tripoli, she had made two extraordinary escapes from British squadrons.
She had run the blockade seven times through large British fleets.
She had captured two heavy frigates, one light frigate, a large
sloop-of-war, and many merchant-ships, and had made more than eleven
hundred prisoners. Her fire had always been fearfully destructive,
while she had never had any great slaughter on her decks, nine being
the largest number killed in any single engagement. She had never lost
her commanding officer, either by wounds or death, had never lost a
mast, and had never taken the ground. This record is not one of chance.
She was, first, one of the best built frigates in the world; and,
second, she was officered and manned in a surprisingly good manner. Her
crews were generally made up wholly of American seamen and her four
great commanders during her warlike career--Preble, Hull, Bainbridge,
and Stewart--would have given a good account of any ships they might
have commanded.

Congress rewarded Stewart by a gold medal and a resolution of
thanks. His officers received silver medals, and there was the usual
distribution of prize-money among the officers and crew.

Stewart had a long and distinguished career in the navy, rising in
1859 to be senior officer; but his fighting days were his early days.
He commanded the Franklin in 1817, a splendid line-of-battle ship,
and took her to Europe under his broad pennant as Commodore. She was
visited by the Emperor of Austria, and many royal persons, besides
officers of high rank in foreign navies, all of whom were struck with
admiration at her beauty, force, and the fine crew she carried. Stewart
was retired in 1861, and spent his last days at his country-place, "Old
Ironsides," in New Jersey. Among the souvenirs of his great fight was
a rude iron hilt to his full-dress sword, a superb Toledo blade. The
gold hilt had been shot away in his great fight, and the ship's armorer
had made an iron one, which Stewart afterward wore.

He died in 1869, after having been borne on the navy list for
seventy-one years, and he was the last survivor of the great captains
of 1812-15.




OLIVER HAZARD PERRY.


The victory won by Perry on Lake Erie, September 10, 1813, has ever
been one of great popular renown. It was won in the sight and knowledge
of the American people; it was the first success the American navy ever
won in squadron; the consequences were important; and the fact that the
battle was won on the Canadian line, where the American army had met
with reverses, was gratifying to the national vanity.

[Illustration: Oliver H. Perry]

Perry's youth--he was barely eight-and-twenty--was a captivating
element in his success, and as the victory was due in a great measure
to his personal intrepidity, he was justly admired for it. He cannot
be classed with those American commanders, like Paul Jones, Preble,
Decatur, and Hull, who, either in meeting danger or escaping from
it, seemed able to compass the impossible; but he was a man of good
talents, of admirable coolness and courage, and prone to seek active
duty and to do it.

Perry was born in Rhode Island in 1785. His father was a captain in
the infant navy of the country, as it was reorganized at the time of
the French aggressions. Captain Perry's first duty was to supervise
the building of a vessel of war at Warren, Rhode Island, some distance
from his home. He found it necessary to remove to Warren, and took
with him Mrs. Perry, leaving the home-place in charge of Oliver, then
a boy of thirteen. He was, even then, a boy of so much steadiness and
integrity that he was found quite equal to this task. The fever for the
sea, though, seems to have seized him about that time, and in 1799, his
father having command of a small frigate, the General Greene, Oliver
was given a midshipman's commission, and joined his father's ship.
Captain Perry was an officer of spirit and enterprise, and Oliver saw
some real, if not warlike, service in the General Greene.

His next cruise was in the Adams, frigate, which was sent out in 1802
to join Commodore Morris's squadron at Gibraltar. The orders of the
squadron were to watch the ships of the Barbary powers, and to prevent
as far as possible their aggressions upon American commerce. This was
hard and thankless work, and most of the younger officers who made the
Mediterranean cruise in 1802-3 considered themselves as peculiarly
unfortunate, as they were generally ordered to return to the United
States just at the time that the active hostilities began, in which
their successors reaped so much glory. Perry was one of those who made
the uneventful cruise of 1802. He enjoyed great advantages, though,
in sailing on a ship of which Isaac Hull, afterward the celebrated
commodore, was first lieutenant. Hull's admirable seamanship in
navigating the narrow straits of Gibraltar in all weathers, and the
blockading of Tripoli for eight months during an inclement season,
upon a dangerous coast, without pilots and with insufficient charts,
was a subject of general commendation from the officers of the
squadron. Perry improved his opportunities so well that he was given an
appointment as acting lieutenant the day he was seventeen years old. It
is believed that this is the most rapid instance of promotion in the
American navy.

Perry returned home in the Adams in the autumn of 1803. The next summer
it was known that a determined attempt would be made by Preble's
squadron to reduce the Barbary powers, and Perry was extremely
anxious to be on the scene of action. He found himself ordered to
the Constellation, in the squadron under Commodore Barron which was
sent out to assist Preble; but the Constellation and the President,
forty-four guns, did not reach Tripoli until Preble had practically
completed the work. Perry remained in the Constellation several months;
but as she was too large to be of much service on that coast, Perry
thought himself fortunate to be ordered to the schooner Nautilus, of
fourteen guns, as first lieutenant. This was his first duty in that
responsible capacity, and he acquitted himself well, although only
twenty years old. He had a beautiful and penetrating voice, and this,
in addition to his other qualifications, made him a brilliant deck
officer.

He took part in the operations off Derne, and was highly commended for
his conduct. In the autumn of 1806 he returned home, and served at home
stations until 1809, when he got his first command. This was a smart
little schooner, the Revenge, of fourteen guns.

At that time the occurrences which led to the war of 1812-15 were
taking place, and Perry soon had a chance to show his determination to
maintain the dignity of the flag he flew. An American vessel had been
run away with by the English captain who commanded her and who had
hoisted British colors over her. Perry determined to take possession
of her, although two small British cruisers lay near her. This he did,
supported by three gunboats. The British cruisers, appreciating the
justice of his conduct, did not interfere, although Perry had no means
of knowing whether they would or not and took all the chances. As he
was carrying the vessel off, he was met by a British sloop-of-war, and
her captain sent a boat, with a request that Perry should come aboard.
This Perry flatly refused, and, determined that his ship should not be
caught unprepared as the Leopard caught the Chesapeake in 1807,[18] he
sent his men to quarters, and made every preparation to resist; but the
British ship passed on, and no collision occurred. In January, 1811,
Perry had the misfortune to lose the Revenge by shipwreck off Watch
Hill, in Rhode Island; but the court of inquiry which investigated it
acquitted him of blame, and praised his conduct at the time of the
accident.

When war was declared with Great Britain, Perry was in command of a
division of gunboats at Newport; but finding there was little chance of
seeing active service in that duty, he asked to be sent to the lakes,
where Commodore Chauncey was preparing to dispute the possession of
those great inland seas with the British.

In the spring of 1813 Perry arrived at Lake Erie, and entered upon his
duties. The small fleet to oppose the British had to be constructed in
the wilderness, on the shores of the lake; and men and material had to
be transported at great labor and cost from the seaboard.

Perry showed the utmost skill, energy, and vigilance in his arduous
work, and built and equipped his little squadron in a manner most
creditable to himself and his subordinates.

The land forces, operating together with the seamen and marines, got
command of the Niagara River; but a little British squadron guarded
the mouth of the river, at which there was a bar which it was thought
unlikely the Americans could pass and so get into the lake itself.
Perry, however, watched his chance, and on a Sunday afternoon in
August, 1813, to his surprise, he found the British squadron had
disappeared. It was said that the British commander, Barclay, had
gone over to the Canadian side to attend a dinner, thinking the
Americans could not possibly get over the bar before his return. But
Perry and his officers and men went to work, and by the most arduous
labor they got all the vessels into the lake before Captain Barclay
returned. Once in the lake, the Americans were much stronger than the
British, and Perry determined to go in search of the enemy. He had
much sickness on his little squadron, and was ill himself, so that
it was not until early in September that he was prepared to fight.
Meanwhile the British, although having only six vessels to oppose to
Perry's nine, undauntedly sought the conflict, and on the morning of
the 10th of September, while Perry was in Put-in-Bay, he saw the little
British squadron standing in the offing. Perry had two brigs, the
Lawrence,--his own flagship, named for the brave Lawrence,--and the
Niagara, each of which carried twenty guns; and he had five smaller
vessels. Captain Barclay had the Detroit,--his flagship, of nineteen
guns,--the Queen Charlotte, of seventeen guns, and four smaller
vessels.

The wind was light and variable, so that the American vessels came out
slowly; but the little British squadron waited with their topsails to
the mast, until a quarter to twelve, when the first shot was fired by
the Detroit. In a very little while the action became general, each
American and British vessel bravely doing its best to get alongside its
enemy. It was the effort of the gallant commanders of the American and
British squadrons to fight flagship to flagship; and in doing this,
Perry, in the Lawrence, drew ahead of his column, and concentrated upon
his ship the fire from the Detroit and two other vessels. The British
fought their batteries with unusual skill, and the result soon was that
a dreadful slaughter took place on the Lawrence's decks, her guns were
silenced, and she was so much cut up that she was totally unmanageable.
But Perry, with indomitable courage, continued the fight. He himself,
with the help of the purser and the chaplain, fired the last gun
available on the Lawrence. Her consort, the Niagara, approached about
this time, the wind sprang up, and Perry, seeing that the battle was
passing ahead of him, determined to abandon his own unfortunate ship
and make for the Niagara. He ordered a boat lowered, and, taking with
him his brother, a little midshipman of thirteen years old, he was
rapidly pulled to the Niagara. Once on board of her, he bore up, and
soon got her into a position to rake both the Detroit and the Queen
Charlotte with fearful effect. These two vessels, after an heroic
defence, were compelled to strike, while the seven smaller American
gunboats soon overpowered the four British ones. The Detroit, however,
before striking had forced the Lawrence to haul down her colors; and
the fight, as all the others during this war, was as creditable to
British as to American valor.

The first news of the victory was in Perry's celebrated despatch: "We
have met the enemy, and they are ours." The news from the Canadian
border had not always been gratifying, and on that account the American
people were the more delighted at this success. Perry was given a gold
medal and promoted to be a post-captain; for although he had been
called commodore by courtesy, such was not his real rank at the time.

Perry had no further opportunity of distinguishing himself before peace
was declared, in January, 1815. He obtained afterward some of the
best commands in the navy, and in March, 1819, he became a commodore
in fact, by being given the command of a squadron in South America
destined to protect American trade in those quarters. He hoisted his
broad pennant on the John Adams, and sailed in June. He reached the
mouth of the Orinoco River in August, and, although it was in the midst
of the sickly season, he determined to go up the river to Angostura.
He shifted his flag to the Nonesuch, schooner, and sent the frigate to
Trinidad.

After reaching Angostura he remained twenty days. Yellow fever was
raging, and Perry seems to have been singularly indifferent to this
fact. Fever broke out on the schooner, and it was then determined to
get back to the sea as soon as possible. As they dropped down the river
with the powerful current two days after leaving Angostura, Perry got
into his gig, and amused himself shooting wildfowl on the banks. He was
exposed to the sun, and that night, after going aboard the schooner,
which was anchored on the bar at the mouth of the river, the weather
grew bad, with a heavy sea, which washed over the side and leaked down
into Perry's cabin, drenching him. Next morning he was very ill.

From the first he felt that he should not recover, and, although calmly
preparing for death, spoke often of his young wife and little children
at home. He was very anxious to live until the schooner could reach
Trinidad and he could, at least, die upon his ship. At last, on the 23d
of August, the Nonesuch reached Port Spain, Trinidad, where the John
Adams was at anchor. A boat put off at once from the frigate carrying
the first lieutenant and other officers, in response to the signal from
the schooner. They found Perry in the agonies of death on the floor
of the little cabin. He survived long enough to show satisfaction at
seeing them, and asked feebly about the ship; but in a little while the
anxious watchers on the frigate saw the flag on the Nonesuch slowly
half-masted,--Perry was no more.

He was buried at Trinidad with full military honors. Some years
afterward a ship of war was sent by the government to bring back his
remains to his native country. He sleeps at Newport, Rhode Island, near
the spot where he was born; and the reputation he left behind him is
that of a gallant, capable, and devoted officer.




THOMAS MACDONOUGH.


Thomas Macdonough may be called the Young Commodore; for he was an
acting commodore at the age of thirty-one, when the modern naval
officer is still in subordinate grades of rank. It is truly astonishing
what wonders were accomplished by men in their first manhood in the
early days of the American navy, and Macdonough had seen as much
service as most veterans before his twenty-first birthday. He was a
son of a Revolutionary officer, and was born in Delaware in 1783. His
diffident and retiring disposition was early marked. Fenimore Cooper
speaks of him in his midshipman days as "the modest but lion-hearted
Macdonough." The words describe him admirably; for this quiet, silent
midshipman was always to be found leading the forlorn hope,--"the lost
children," as the French expressively call it.

[Illustration: Thomas Macdonough]

Indeed, Macdonough's character as an officer and a man is as nearly
perfect as can be imagined; and when his great talents are considered,
he may well be held as a type of what the American naval officer should
be. He entered the navy in 1800, when he was seventeen, which was
rather old for a midshipman in those days. He had enjoyed a good
education for his years, and remained a close student all his life. He
was deeply but not obtrusively religious, and no human being ever heard
a low or profane word from his lips.

Such a young man as Thomas Macdonough must make his mark early, and
from the first his commanding officers reposed the greatest confidence
in him. He was ordered to the Philadelphia, under Captain Bainbridge,
when Commodore Preble went out in 1803 to reduce the African pirates.
He happened to have been detached from the Philadelphia and in command
of a prize at Gibraltar when the unfortunate ship went upon the
rocks near Tripoli, October 31, 1803, and he thus escaped the long
captivity of his shipmates. He reported promptly to Commodore Preble,
and was assigned to the Enterprise, schooner, under Decatur, then a
young lieutenant commandant of less than twenty-five years. It may be
imagined that no officer in the Mediterranean squadron felt a more
ardent desire than Macdonough to rescue Bainbridge and his men and to
destroy the Philadelphia.

At last Decatur organized his celebrated expedition in the ketch
Intrepid, and among the eleven officers he selected for that glorious
enterprise was Macdonough. At that time Macdonough was still a
midshipman. He was tall and very slender, never having been physically
strong; but he was, even then, a man for the post of danger.

The ketch set off on the 3d of February from Syracuse and returned
on the 19th, having in that time entered the well-guarded harbor
of Tripoli by night, burned the Philadelphia at her moorings, and
escaped without losing a man. Macdonough was the third man on the
Philadelphia's deck, and was especially active in his work of
distributing the powder for the ship's destruction in her storerooms
aft. No officer in that glorious expedition conducted himself better
than Macdonough; and when it is remembered that Decatur commanded it,
that James Lawrence was one of his lieutenants, and Charles Morris,
who was afterward Captain Hull's first lieutenant in the escape of
the Constitution and the capture of the Guerrière, was one of the
midshipmen, it will be seen that Macdonough was measured by no common
standard.

Macdonough shared in all the glory of those splendid campaigns, and
received the thanks and commendations of his superiors, besides
promotion. In 1806 he was made first lieutenant of the Siren, one of
the smart brigs that had done good service during the Tripolitan war.
She was at Gibraltar, where the British navy is always very much in
evidence; and Macdonough, the mild and forbearing, soon had a chance
of showing the stuff that was in him. One day, while his commanding
officer, Captain Smith, was on shore, Macdonough noticed a boat going
from a heavy British frigate that lay close to an American merchant
vessel. When the boat repassed the Siren, on her way back to the
frigate, she carried one more man than she had on leaving the frigate.
In those days, if a British captain suspected an American merchant
vessel of having a British subject among the crew, it was common enough
to seize the man, and when once on board a British ship, it mattered
little whether he were American or British, there he had to stay.
Macdonough suspected this to be the case, and sent a boat to the brig
to ask if a man had been taken and if he were an American. Such was
actually reported. Macdonough at once ordered the first cutter lowered,
and although she pulled only four oars and the British boat pulled
eight, he set off in pursuit. He did not catch up with the British boat
until she was directly under the frigate's quarter, and the man in the
bow had raised his boat-hook. Suddenly Macdonough reached forward, and,
catching hold of the prisoner, who sat in the stern sheets, lifted him
bodily into the American boat, and before the British could believe
their eyes, was well started on his way back to the Siren.

The captain of the frigate had seen the whole affair, and in a rage he
jumped into a boat and headed for the Siren. When he reached her the
men of the cutter had gone aboard, and the young lieutenant was calmly
walking the quarterdeck. The captain angrily demanded the man, and
asked if Macdonough knew the responsibility he was taking upon himself
in Captain Smith's absence.

"I will not give up the man, and I am accountable only to the captain
of this ship," replied Macdonough.

"I could blow you out of the water at this moment," said the captain.

"No doubt you are perfectly able to do it," answered Macdonough; "but I
will never give up that man as long as this ship will float."

"You are a very indiscreet and a very young man," continued the
captain. "Suppose I had been in the boat just now?"

"I would have taken the man or lost my life."

"What, sir!" cried the captain; "would you dare to stop me now if I
were to get hold of the man?"

"I would, and you have only to try it," was Macdonough's undaunted
reply.

The captain, seeing nothing was to be got out of the resolute young
lieutenant, left the ship, but was pulled toward the merchant ship.
Macdonough had a boat lowered which followed the British boat, watching
her until she returned to the frigate. This action not only won the
good opinion of the captain and other officers and men of the Siren,
but of many of the British officers as well, who knew how to respect a
man of such resolute courage.

Macdonough was ever afterward treated with the utmost consideration
and politeness by all the British officers at Gibraltar, including the
officers of the overbearing captain.

At the outbreak of the war with Great Britain Macdonough was what was
then termed a master commandant. His was not the fortune of Decatur,
Stewart, and others of his brave shipmates to seek for glory on the
wide ocean, but he was sent into the wilderness, as it were, to create
a navy, and to fight the British on the great lakes. He established
himself with his seamen and workmen on the shores of Lake Champlain,
and began immediately the construction of a fleet. Officers and men
worked with the greatest ardor, and the commodore, as Macdonough was
now called by courtesy, might often have been seen handling the saw and
plane. A corvette, called the Saratoga, and meant for the commodore's
flagship, was begun, with several smaller vessels; and so rapidly did
they advance that only a few weeks from the time the trees were cut
down in the forest the vessels were launched and being made ready for
their guns. These had to be dragged many hundreds of miles through
a pathless wilderness, such as the northern and western part of New
York was then. It was difficult, but still it could be done. When it
came to transporting the cables, though, a point was reached, about
forty miles from the lake shore where the vessels were building, when
it seemed impossible to move a step farther. There were no roads, and
the cables had been brought in ox-wagons, which now came to a complete
standstill. No one knew what to do until an old sailor proposed that
they should stretch each cable its whole length, and men, stationed ten
yards apart, should shoulder it and carry it the forty miles remaining;
and this was actually done.

Meanwhile the British had not been idle, and they too, on the other
side of the lake, had built a frigate, called the Confiance, that
was heavier than the Saratoga, and they had other smaller vessels.
Their commanding officer, Captain Downie, was a worthy antagonist of
Commodore Macdonough, and about the same age, while the British vessels
were manned by seasoned sailors, many of whom had served under Nelson
and Collingwood.

Early in September, 1814, both squadrons being ready to fight,
Commodore Macdonough chose his position with a seaman's eye, in
Plattsburg bay. He knew that his enemy would hunt for him wherever he
might be, and he chose to fight at anchor, rightly supposing that the
British, through their greater experience, could conduct the evolutions
of a squadron better than the Americans; for, while none could be more
daring in action than Macdonough, none was more prudent beforehand. The
exact knowledge he had of the elements for and against him explains
much of his success.

On the night of the 9th of September, in the midst of storm and
tempest, the American squadron made its way up the lake to Plattsburg
harbor. The next morning saw it anchored in the admirable order devised
by Commodore Macdonough's genius. The flagship, Saratoga, the heaviest
ship in the squadron, was in the middle of the line. Ahead of her was
ranged the gun-brig Eagle, commanded by Captain Cassin, who had been
one of Commodore Preble's midshipmen with Macdonough, eleven years
before. The Eagle had shoal water off her beam, so that the head of
the line could not be turned. On the other side of the Saratoga was
the Ticonderoga, a small sloop-of-war, while beyond her was the little
Preble, named for the great commodore, who was no more. There were,
besides, ten small gunboats, of which the Eagle was supported by two,
the Saratoga by three, the Ticonderoga by two, while the remaining two
were to assist the Preble in defending the end of the line. All of the
vessels were riding easily at anchor, and all of them were provided
with springs to their anchors and kedges, to enable them to change
their position at will. The wisdom of this precaution was shown on the
great day for which they were prepared.

On the 11th of September, 1814, a brilliant Sunday morning, just
at sunrise, the dazzling white topsails of the British fleet were
seen passing along the neck of land called Cumberland Head, which
juts into the bay. The American guard-boat pulled in, all hands were
called to quarters in the American squadron, and an American ensign
was set at every masthead. Then on board the flagship was made the
signal for divine service, and Commodore Macdonough, kneeling upon his
quarterdeck, surrounded by his officers and in hearing of his men, with
every head bared, read the prayers appointed to be read before a fight
at sea. After this brief but solemn act all awaited the onset with
steadiness and cheerfulness.

It had been suggested to him that he should issue an extra allowance of
grog to the men, but he replied,--

"No. My men shall go cool into action; they need no stimulant beyond
their native valor."

The American vessels were so skilfully moored that no matter from what
quarter the wind was, the British were obliged to approach them "bows
on," a very dangerous way to attack a bold and skilful enemy.

The British rounded the headland in noble style. The Confiance was
leading, her brave commander, Captain Downie, fatally conspicuous on
her deck, his breast covered with medals gloriously earned. Following
her, came three smaller vessels, the Finch, the Chubb, and the Linnet,
and twelve gunboats, carrying both soldiers and sailors, and each armed
with a single long eighteen-pound carronade.

As the four British ships, each on the same tack, neared the American
line, the Eagle suddenly roared out a broadside. The shot fell short,
and the British squadron came on, with majestic steadiness, without
replying, until the Linnet was abreast of the Ticonderoga. Then the
Linnet let fly a broadside, of which every shot dropped into the
water except one. This one shot, though, struck a chicken-coop on the
Ticonderoga's deck and smashed it, letting out a young game-cock, a
pet with the Ticonderoga's men. The game-cock, delighted to get his
liberty, jumped upon a gun-slide and uttered a long, loud, and defiant
crow at the British vessel, which he seemed to think had directed her
whole broadside at him. The Americans burst into three ringing cheers,
that shook the deck, delighted with the game-cock's courage, which he
proved further by flying up into the rigging and crowing vociferously
all the time the British were advancing.

The Confiance came on steadily until just abreast of the Saratoga, when
Commodore Macdonough himself, sighting a twenty-four pounder, fired
the first effective gun of the battle. It struck the Confiance near
the hawse-hole, and ranged the whole length of her deck, doing fearful
damage and splintering her wheel. A terrible broadside followed; but
the Confiance as if disdaining to answer, moved proudly on to engage
at close quarters, and not until the wind became light and baffling
did she port her helm about two cables' length from the Saratoga.
Then she opened upon the corvette. Her guns were double-shotted, and
their effect at close range, in a perfectly smooth sea, was frightful.
Meanwhile the Linnet and the Chubb had taken position abeam of the
Eagle, and attacked her with great fury. The gunboats had fallen upon
the little Preble, and soon drove her out of line, when with the
Finch they concentrated their fire upon the Ticonderoga. The gallant
little brig gave them plenty to do, and stubbornly defended the end of
the line. At one moment the gunboats would advance upon her, the men
standing up ready to board her, and would be beaten off in the act of
entering her ports or springing upon her decks. Then they would haul
off and pour round after round of grapeshot into her. Still the little
vessel held out. Captain Cassin was seen coolly walking the taffrail,
a target for every shot, but he escaped without a wound, as if by a
miracle. At one time all the matches gave out in the division of guns
commanded by midshipman Paulding.[19] This young officer, who was an
acting lieutenant, although only sixteen years old, had the wit and
readiness to fire his guns by snapping his pistol at the touch-hole.

Nothing could exceed the determined valor with which the Saratoga
and the Confiance kept up the fight. The Linnet presently turned her
attention to the Saratoga, and poured one raking broadside into her
after another, besides what she had to take from the Confiance. The
brave Captain Downie had been mortally wounded early in the engagement,
but the ship was still admirably fought. On the Saratoga three times
the cry went up that Commodore Macdonough was killed, for three times
was he knocked senseless to the deck; but each time he rose, none the
worse except for a few cuts and bruises.

The guns on the engaged side of the Saratoga became disabled one
by one, by the long twenty-fours in the main-deck battery of the
Confiance, which, though suffering from the musketry fire of the
Americans, was yet doing magnificent work. At last but a single gun of
the starboard batteries of the Saratoga remained serviceable, and in
firing it the bolt broke, the gun flew off the carriage, and actually
tumbled down the hatchway.

The ship was afire in several places, due to the hot shot poured
into her by the Confiance, one-fourth of her men were killed, and she
had not a gun available on her engaged side; while both the Confiance
and the Linnet were giving her one raking broadside after another. In
this awful extremity Commodore Macdonough determined to wind his ship,
which means to turn the ship completely around so that she could use
her uninjured batteries. This difficult but brilliant manoeuvre was
executed with the utmost coolness, and soon she sprung a new broadside
on the Confiance. The Confiance attempted the same manoeuvre, but
she only got partly round, when she hung with her head to the wind, in
a terrible position, where the fresh batteries of the Saratoga raked
her fore and aft. No ship could stand this long and live; and after
two hours of as desperate fighting as was ever seen, the Confiance was
forced to haul down her colors.

By that time the Finch had been driven out of the fight, and the Chubb
had been shot wholly to pieces. The little Linnet, though, alone and
single-handed, undauntedly sustained the fight, hoping that some of
the gunboats might be able to tow her off. But when the Saratoga had
finished with the Confiance, without a moment's loss of time, she
turned her broadside on the Linnet, and soon forced her to strike,
with her hull riddled like a sieve, her masts gone, and the water
a foot deep in her hold. By midday all was over, and of the sixteen
British ensigns that had fluttered proudly in the morning air, not one
remained. It was one of the most destructive naval engagements ever
fought. In Commodore Macdonough's official report, he says there was
not a mast left in either squadron on which sail could be made. Some
of the British sailors had been at Trafalgar, and they all agreed that
the fighting of that 11th of September had been more severe than at
Trafalgar.

The American sailors fought with extraordinary coolness, and many
amusing as well as terrible and inspiring things occurred. One old
sailor on the Saratoga, who had worked and fought all during the battle
and had been slightly wounded several times, was seen mopping his face
delightedly while calling out to one of his messmates, "Ay, Jack, this
is the best fun I've had this war."

Another, getting a shot through his glazed hat, took it off, and,
turning to an officer, said in a tone of bitter complaint, "Look
a-here, sir; them Johnny Bulls has spiled my hat. Now, what am I going
to do for a hat?"

As soon as the Linnet struck, the British officers, led by Captain
Pring, who succeeded Captain Downie in command, came aboard the
Saratoga to deliver their swords. All the American officers were
assembled on her quarterdeck, and as the British officers approached
Commodore Macdonough with their swords extended, he said, with deep
feeling,--

"Gentlemen, your gallant conduct makes you the more worthy to wear your
swords. Return them to their scabbards."

At once every attention was given the wounded, the officers working
side by side with the men. Captain Pring, in his report, says:--

"I have much satisfaction in making you acquainted with the humane
treatment the wounded have received from Commodore Macdonough. They
were immediately removed to his own hospital at Crab Island, and
furnished with every requisite. His generous and polite attention to
myself, the officers, and men, will ever be gratefully remembered." All
this was quite characteristic of Macdonough, who united the tenderness
of a woman with a lion-like courage.

The night of the battle the commodore visited every ship in the
squadron, and personally expressed to the officers and men his
appreciation of their gallant services that day.

The news of the victory was received all over the country with
manifestations of joy. Congress passed the usual resolution of thanks
to Macdonough, his officers and men, gave him and his two commanding
officers gold medals, silver medals to the lieutenants, and a handsome
sword to each of the midshipmen, with a liberal award of prize money
to the men. Macdonough was made a post-captain, his commission dating
from the day of the battle.

The State of Vermont gave him an estate overlooking the scene of his
victory, and many States and towns made him presents. Macdonough bore
all these honors with characteristic modesty and simplicity, and,
instead of being elated by them, tears came into his eyes in speaking
of what his country had bestowed upon him.

Soon after this peace was declared, and Macdonough returned again to
service on the ocean. His health had always been delicate, and as years
passed on, it grew more so. But he continued to go to sea, and did his
full duty as always. In 1825 he was in command of the glorious old
Constitution, as his flagship on the Mediterranean station. She had
been splendidly refitted, sailed admirably, both on and off the wind,
and, as the sailors said, "looked like a new fiddle." He made his last
cruise in this noble ship. His health rapidly declined, and on his way
home from the Mediterranean he died and was buried at sea on the 10th
of November, 1825.

Few men have enjoyed more national esteem and affection than
Macdonough. His career shows that a man may have the softest manners
and mildest disposition along with an invincible courage and a high
spirit. Macdonough may be taken as the type of a great seaman and a
pure and perfect man.




JAMES LAWRENCE.


The name of Lawrence, like that of Somers, is associated with youth,
with gallantry, and with misfortune. It was his fate, after many
brilliant and heroic successes, to lay down his life and lose his ship;
but his colors were hauled down, not by himself, but by the enemy, and
his last utterance, "Don't give up the ship," which has become the
watchword of the American navy, was literally obeyed. It is remarkable
that this unfortunate vessel, the Chesapeake, never was formally
surrendered, but was taken possession of and her flag struck by her
captors.

[Illustration: James Lawrence]

James Lawrence was born in Burlington, New Jersey, in 1781. His family
were persons of consideration and property, and Lawrence was destined
to be a lawyer. He was a remarkably handsome, gentle, and docile boy,
and it was a surprise to his family when, at twelve years of age, he
developed a passionate desire to enter the newly created navy. He
never wavered from this wish, but, being a singularly obedient boy,
he agreed to try the study of the law for a time, and applied himself
seriously to it for a year or two. In 1798, however, when he was in
his eighteenth year, and when his natural bent was fully indicated,
his inclination toward the navy became overpowering. His family wisely
released him from the law, which was so distasteful to him, and got him
a midshipman's warrant in the navy.

His first service was in the Ganges, a small twenty-four-gun frigate.
At the time of his entrance into the navy he was of a noble and
commanding figure, of captivating manners, and although somewhat
impatient in temper, at heart entirely amiable and generous. From
the beginning he was remarkable for his kindness and consideration
toward his inferiors. When it was necessary to punish the sailors,
and Lawrence had to superintend the punishment, his eyes would fill
with tears; and when he became a lieutenant, his popularity with the
midshipmen was unbounded. It is told of him that once the midshipmen in
Commodore Rodgers's squadron determined to give the commodore a dinner,
to which none of the lieutenants were to be invited. All were agreed
to leave out the lieutenants, when one of the midshipmen cried, "What!
not ask Mr. Lawrence!" The impossibility of leaving Lawrence out seemed
patent to all of them; and to make the compliment more marked, he was
the only lieutenant asked to meet the commodore.

Lawrence's first service in the Ganges was during the troubles with
France. The Ganges patrolled the seas, and caught several French
privateers which made a good resistance, but never got alongside a
vessel of equal force.

In 1802 Lawrence went out to the Mediterranean in the Enterprise, as
first lieutenant. This gallant little schooner fully sustained her
reputation in the operations of Commodore Morris's squadron, which
preceded Commodore Preble's by a year. Although the war had just begun,
and had not yet assumed the fierce and determined character of the
following year, yet the Bashaw had a foretaste in 1803 of what was to
befall him in the way of bombardments and boat attacks in 1804. In
one of the boat attacks Lawrence volunteered, and his conduct on the
occasion won high praise.

The force was under the command of Lieutenant David Porter, first
lieutenant of the New York, flagship, who had already distinguished
himself against the French, and was destined to make one of the most
daring cruises in the history of navies.

The New York, with the Adams, frigate, and the little Enterprise, began
the blockade of Tripoli in May, 1803. A number of merchant vessels,
protected by gunboats, ran under the batteries of the old part of the
town, where they were comparatively safe from ships of the draught of
the American squadron. Every preparation was made to defend them, but
Porter, Lawrence, and other brave and daring young spirits determined
to make a dash for them and destroy them if possible. Having got the
commodore's permission, an attacking party was organized under Porter,
with Lawrence as second in command, with three other officers and a
number of picked men. On the morning of the attack the boats advanced
boldly, in the face of a sharp musketry fire, and succeeded in making
a landing. The Tripolitans adopted their usual style of hand-to-hand
fighting, but in spite of it the vessels were fired and the Americans
retired with slight loss. The Tripolitans, by the most tremendous
efforts, put out the fire and saved their vessels; but they discovered
that the Americans were disposed to come to close quarters with them,
which policy finally brought down the power of the Barbary States.

Lawrence, as well as Porter, was particularly distinguished in this
dashing little affair. The next adventure in which Lawrence was engaged
was a few weeks after; the Enterprise being under the command of Hull,
then a lieutenant commandant. It had been determined to hunt up the
Tripolitan ships of war wherever found. The Enterprise was engaged in
this service, and on a June morning, very early, the lookouts from the
Adams, frigate, observed a signal flying from the Enterprise of "Enemy
in sight." A Tripolitan frigate, supported by nine gunboats, trying
to get to sea from Tripoli, had been penned up in a narrow bay by the
Enterprise, which, too weak to attack, signalled for her more powerful
consort to come to her assistance. The Adams responded promptly, the
Enterprise meanwhile maintaining her station with as much daring as if
she were a forty-four-gun frigate instead of a twelve-gun schooner. As
soon as the wind permitted the Adams to get within range, she opened
with terrible effect upon the corsair, which replied vigorously, and
did not strike until she had received the fire of the Adams, in smooth
water and at short range, for three quarters of an hour. Soon after her
colors were hauled down, fire reached her magazine, and she blew up.

It was Lawrence's extreme good fortune, after serving under such a
captain as Isaac Hull, to serve next under Decatur. The Argus, one
of the four handsome little vessels built for the war with Tripoli,
had been sent out under Decatur, who was to exchange her for the
Enterprise, Hull's superior rank entitling him to the larger vessel.
Yet it is remarkable that the little Enterprise, although distinctly
inferior to the other four small vessels, survived every one of them,
and had an unbroken career of success both in running and fighting.

As soon as Decatur took the Enterprise, and had got a good look at
Tripoli on the reconnoitring expedition made by Commodore Preble
in the early winter of 1803, the idea of the destruction of the
Philadelphia and the release of Bainbridge and his companions possessed
his mind. It may be imagined that Lawrence ardently sympathized with
him, and in his young first lieutenant Decatur recognized a daring and
steadfast spirit akin to his own. It was Decatur's habit, in speaking
of Lawrence, to say, "He has no more dodge in him than the mainmast,"
which was true.

In the same month of December the Enterprise captured the ketch
Meshouda, which, renamed the Intrepid, was to take part in one
of the most glorious successes, and afterward in one of the most
heart-breaking tragedies, of the American navy.

In the preparation of the ketch, and in working out the details of his
plan, Decatur was ably seconded by his first lieutenant. The expedition
for the destruction of the Philadelphia was exactly suited to a man of
Lawrence's vigorous and imaginative temperament.

If a precise record remained of that immortal expedition,--the six
days of storm and tempest, in which the ketch, ill ventilated and
crowded with men who were wet to the skin most of the time and half
starved because their provisions were spoiled by salt water, was blown
about the African coast,--how surpassingly interesting it would be!
It is known, however, that both officers and men not only kept up
their determination, but their gayety. On that February evening when
the ketch stole in and made fast to the Philadelphia to destroy her,
Lawrence, next to Decatur, bore the most active part. It was he who
commanded the boat that put out from the ketch and coolly fastened
a hawser to the forechains of the doomed frigate; and it was he who
intercepted the frigate's boat and took the fast from it and passed
another line from the Philadelphia's stern into the ketch. When
Decatur shouted, "Board!" Lawrence was among the first to land on
the quarterdeck, and as soon as that was cleared, he dashed below,
accompanied by two midshipmen, as intrepid as himself,--Mr. Laws and
the indomitable Macdonough,--with ten men, and fired the berth-deck
and all the forward storerooms. Nothing is more extraordinary than
the quickness and precision with which every order was carried out on
that night of glory. Lawrence and his party were in the ship less than
twenty-five minutes, yet they were the last to drop into the ketch.[20]
On their return after this celebrated adventure, Lawrence received his
due share of praise.

There was much hard work to be done by every officer in the squadron
before it was ready to attack Tripoli in August, 1804, and Lawrence, as
first lieutenant, did his part. Once before Tripoli, there was severe
fighting as well as hard work. The fact that Decatur was taken out of
his ship so often to lead a division of the boats, left the command of
the Enterprise much to Lawrence, and he handled the little schooner in
the most seamanlike manner.

In the winter of 1804-5 the government determined to build a number
of small gunboats, to renew the attacks on Tripoli in the summer.
Some of the lieutenants who had returned to the United States in the
changes necessary in the squadron, were selected to take them out to
the Mediterranean. Lawrence, who had come back to the United States
after spending two years in the Mediterranean, was given the command
of one of these little vessels, Number Six,--for they were thought to
be too insignificant to name and consequently were merely numbered.
They carried a large spread of canvas, but their gunwales were so near
the water that they looked rather like rafts than boats. On the way
over, Lawrence was sighted by the British frigate Lapwing, which sent a
boat to rescue them, supposing them to be on a raft after a shipwreck.
Lawrence thanked the officer in charge of the boat, but proceeded on
his way.

Commodore Rodgers was then in command of the American force which again
appeared before Tripoli in May, 1805; and without firing a gun a treaty
of peace and the release of the Philadelphia's officers and men were
secured. The squadron then sailed for Tunis, where it intimidated the
Tunisians into good behavior and negotiated a treaty of peace under the
threat of a bombardment.

Soon after most of the vessels returned home. Lawrence recrossed the
ocean again in his gunboat, and commanded her for some time after.

On the 22d of June, 1807, occurred the painful and mortifying
rencounter of the Chesapeake, frigate, with the British frigate
Leopard, one of the most far-reaching events in the American navy.
As the name of Lawrence will ever be connected with the unfortunate
Chesapeake, the story of that unhappy event can be told here.

The Chesapeake was a comparatively new ship, carrying thirty-eight
guns, and was put in commission to relieve the Constitution in the
Mediterranean. She seems to have been an unpopular ship from the first,
as she was thought to be weak for her size, and was a very ordinary
sailer. She was to wear the broad pennant of Commodore James Barron,
who had Captain Gordon as his flag captain. Both of these men were
esteemed excellent officers.

The Chesapeake was fitted partly at the Washington Navy Yard and partly
at the Norfolk Navy Yard. There had been a charge that she had among
her crew three deserters from the British frigate Melampus. The charge
had been investigated, however, and found to be a mistake. It was known
that the Leopard, of fifty guns, was hanging about outside the capes of
Virginia, but it was not suspected that she would attempt to stop the
Chesapeake. The British government, arrogant in its dominion over the
sea, had claimed and exercised the right of searching merchant vessels;
and the United States, a young nation, with a central government which
was still an experiment as well as an object of jealousy to the State
governments, had submitted from not knowing exactly how to resist. But
with a ship of war it was different, and neither the authorities nor
the people of the United States dreamed that any attempt would be made
to violate the deck of a national vessel.

There seems to have been great negligence in preparing the Chesapeake
for sea, and when she sailed she was in a state of confusion, her decks
littered up, and none of the apparatus used in those days for firing
great guns was available. Neither was her crew drilled, having been at
quarters only three times. Her officers were men of spirit, but there
seems to have been a fatal laxness in getting her ready for sea.

The Chesapeake, with a good wind, dropped down to Hampton Roads, and
was soon stretching out to sea. About noon the Leopard was discerned,
and from the first seemed to be following the Chesapeake. At three
o'clock the two, still making for the open ocean, were near enough to
speak, and the Leopard hailed, saying she had despatches for Commodore
Barron. This was not remarkable, as such courtesies were occasionally
exchanged between ships of friendly nations. The Chesapeake hove
to, as did the Leopard, close to each other, when the Chesapeake's
officers noticed that the British frigate had her guns run out, and was
evidently perfectly ready for action. Very soon a boat put off from
her, and a lieutenant came aboard the Chesapeake. He went below into
the great cabin, and handed Commodore Barron a letter from Vice-Admiral
Berkley, dated at Halifax, directing him on meeting the Chesapeake to
search her for the three alleged deserters, and offering to allow the
Leopard to be searched if desired.

Commodore Barron was a brave man and a good officer in general, but he
appears to have been seized with one of those moments of indecision
which in a few minutes can wreck a whole life. It is difficult, though,
to imagine how one could act judiciously in an emergency so terrible,
when the choice lies between submitting to a frightful insult and
provoking a conflict which must result in the loss of many gallant and
innocent men. The commodore's real fault was in going to sea in an
unprepared condition.

Commodore Barron took about half an hour to deliberate before sending
a reply; and as soon as the British boat put off, orders were given
to clear the ship for action and get the people to quarters, and
Commodore Barron himself went on deck. While this was being done, the
Leopard hailed, and fired a gun toward the Chesapeake, followed by
a whole broadside, and for about twelve minutes she poured her fire
into the helpless Chesapeake. Commodore Barron, a marine officer, and
sixteen men were wounded, and three men were killed. Commodore Barron
repeatedly ordered a shot to be fired before the ensign was lowered,
but there were no means at hand for igniting the powder. At last a
young lieutenant named Allen ran to the galley, and, taking a live coal
in his fingers, rushed back to the gun-deck and succeeded in firing one
of the guns in his division. At that moment the American ensign touched
the taffrail.

The Leopard then sent a boat and took possession of the three alleged
deserters, and made off, while the disgraced Chesapeake returned to
Norfolk.

It is not easy to describe the outburst of indignation which followed
this mortifying event. Commodore Barron was court-martialled, but
as it was proved that his mistake was one of judgment, and that he
conducted himself well after the danger became imminent, he was merely
sentenced to five years' suspension from the navy.

The British government disavowed the action of Captain Humphries of
the Leopard, although it did not punish him; but Vice-Admiral Berkley
was never again employed in the British navy. It also restored the
three men it had taken from the Chesapeake to the deck of the American
frigate.

After this affair it began to be plain that the United States must
either boldly repulse the efforts of Great Britain in her claims to
right of search, or else tamely submit. The latter was not to be
thought of. The war of 1812 was fought for the principle of protecting
sailors in American ships, and for the right to carry goods in free
bottoms; hence its motto was: "Free trade and sailors' rights."

These were agitating times for the navy, as officers of intelligence
realized that war was coming and it would be chiefly a naval war;
and they therefore strove diligently to perfect themselves in their
profession, so that when they came in conflict with the seasoned
sailors of England the American navy might give a good account of
itself.

Lawrence was among the most earnest and ambitious of these young
officers, and he acquitted himself so well in those intervening years
that it was plain he would do well in whatever situation he was placed.

In 1808 he was made first lieutenant of the Constitution, and that was
the last subordinate place he held. In 1809 he got the Vixen, which
he exchanged for the Wasp, and finally the Argus. In 1811 he got the
Hornet, a fast and beautiful little cruiser, carrying eighteen guns,
and was in command of her when the long-expected declaration of war
came in 1812.

The Hornet and the Essex, under Captain Porter, were ordered to
cruise with Captain Bainbridge in the Constitution. But after getting
out from Boston in October, 1812, and cruising a few weeks with the
Constitution, they separated. The Hornet, being off San Salvador,
challenged the Bonne Citoyenne, a vessel of about her own strength,
to come out and fight. As the Bonne Citoyenne had a large amount of
specie on board which her captain was under orders to deliver, he
very properly declined to fight, and was blockaded by the Hornet for
nearly three weeks. The Montagu, ship of the line, appearing however,
Captain Lawrence thought it time to be off, and managed to slip out to
sea in the darkness of an autumn night. He cruised some time, taking
a few prizes, and on the 24th of February came in sight of a large
man-of-war brig, the Peacock. She was called "the yacht" from the
beautiful brightness and order in which she was kept, and was commanded
by Captain Peake, a gallant and skilful officer. The Peacock showed a
perfect willingness to fight, and the two vessels stood for each other
at once. About five o'clock, being very near each other, their ensigns
were hoisted, and the battle began by exchanging broadsides as they
passed. After one or two rounds the Hornet came down, her batteries a
sheet of flame, and her fire frightfully destructive to her adversary.
The Peacock stood the blast of fire a very short time, fifteen minutes
being the longest time estimated,--Lawrence afterward said it was
eleven minutes by his watch, but, his clerk having put it down fifteen
minutes, he allowed it to stand,--when the Peacock lowered her colors
and displayed signals of distress in her forerigging. She was in a
sinking condition, when a prize crew was thrown aboard; and in spite
of every effort on the part of the officers and men of the Hornet, the
Peacock went down, carrying nine of her own people and three of the
Hornet's. The prize-master of the Hornet and his boat's crew saved
themselves with difficulty in the launch.

The Peacock was well handled and fought by her commander, who lost his
life in the engagement. But the Hornet was so skilfully manoeuvred,
and her gunnery, besides being extremely accurate, was so rapid, that
she had the advantage from a few minutes after the beginning of the
combat. She was slightly superior to the Peacock both in men and metal,
but the damage she did was far beyond the small difference of strength
between her and her antagonist. When the Peacock surrendered, her
mainmast had gone by the board, her hull was riddled, and she had six
feet of water in her, which soon carried her to the bottom; while, by
nine o'clock that night, every injury to the Hornet had been repaired,
and she was ready to go into action again.

Lawrence treated his prisoners with characteristic generosity, and his
example was not lost on his men. The Peacock's crew had lost everything
by the sinking of the ship, and the Hornet's men took up a subscription
among themselves to provide each of the prisoners with two shirts, a
blue jacket, and trousers.

Finding himself crowded with prisoners, Lawrence stood for home, and
arrived at New York late in March, 1813. The officers of the Peacock,
on being paroled at New York, addressed him a very handsome letter of
thanks, in which they said, "We cannot better express our feelings than
by saying that we ceased to consider ourselves prisoners."

The city of New York, anticipating the thanks of Congress, and the gold
medal for Lawrence, with prize money for the crew, gave Lawrence the
freedom of the city and a handsome piece of plate. On the 6th of April
a great dinner was given at Washington Hall, then a splendid place of
entertainment in New York, to Lawrence and his officers, while in the
ball-room of the building the petty officers, sailors, and marines
of the Hornet were entertained. The sailors landed at Whitehall, and
with music playing, marched up Pearl Street, Wall Street, and Broadway
to Washington Hall amidst the greatest enthusiasm on the part of the
inhabitants. After a fine dinner Captain Lawrence and his officers,
accompanied by the members of the city government of New York, visited
them, and the party was received by the sailors rising and giving
three times three for their commander. The whole body of sailors was
afterward invited to occupy the pit at the theatre, with Lawrence and
his officers and their hosts in the boxes. The audience cheered the
sailors vociferously, and the sailors seem to have cheered everything;
and they were highly pleased with their entertainment.

This was the last glimpse of brightness in Lawrence's short life. He
had a prospect of getting the Constitution, but his hopes were dashed
by being ordered to command the Chesapeake, then fitting at Boston.

The ship had become more and more an object of dislike in the navy
since her unfortunate experience in 1807. Sailors hated her, and would
not enlist in her if they could help it. No officer would serve in
her if he could get any other ship; consequently she was officered by
juniors who had to take her because they could do no better. She had
lately returned from a cruise in which she had sailed many thousands of
miles, under an active and enterprising captain, without once meeting
a chance to distinguish herself, and capturing only a few trifling
prizes. Lawrence was dismayed at the offer of this command. He begged
to remain in the Hornet rather than go to the Chesapeake. He told his
friends that the frigate was a worthless ship, and he would not have
her if he could honorably refuse; but this he could not do. In May,
1813, he took command of her. Up to the last moment he hoped to be
relieved by Captain Stewart, but it was not to be.

He found the ship short of officers, and those he had very young. His
first lieutenant, Augustus Ludlow, was a brilliant young officer,
but twenty-one years of age, who had never served before as first
lieutenant in a frigate. His other sea lieutenants were midshipmen
acting as lieutenants. His crew was largely made up of foreigners; and
one, a Portuguese boatswain's mate, was doing what he could to spread
dissatisfaction among the men because they had not been paid the
small amount of prize money due from the last cruise. The marine guard
was made up wholly of Americans, and there were a few men from the
Constitution. These men afterward gave a good account of themselves.

Outside the harbor of Boston it was known that the Shannon, a fine
thirty-eight-gun frigate, lay in wait for the Chesapeake. Her
commander, Captain Philip Broke, was one of the best officers in the
British navy, and had had the ship seven years. He had not followed
the example of so many British captains who neglected gunnery practice
with their crews, and paid dearly for their rashness with their ships
and sometimes with their lives. Captain Broke was a chivalrous man,
and, desiring to engage the Chesapeake on equal terms, wrote Captain
Lawrence a letter, proposing a meeting any time within two months in
any latitude and longitude he might choose. Unfortunately, this letter
never reached Lawrence. On the first day of June, 1813, the Shannon
stood in toward President's Roads, expecting an answer from Lawrence
to Captain Broke's challenge. Lawrence, however, took the Shannon's
appearance as a challenge, and, lifting his anchor, made sail to meet
her.

At soon as the anchor was up, Lawrence had a flag hoisted with the
inscription "Free trade and sailors' rights." He then made a short
address to his men, which was coldly received, not a cheer being raised
at the prospect of meeting the enemy.

The ship was cleared for action, and as she passed out, the Shannon was
waiting for her on an easy bowline. Both ships proceeded under a good
breeze until about thirty miles beyond Boston Light. They then came
together under short fighting canvas, and in the manoeuvring for a
few moments Lawrence was in position to rake his enemy; but whether it
escaped him, or he preferred to fight it out alongside, is not known.

A few minutes before six, the ships being fairly alongside, and not
more than fifty yards apart, the Shannon fired her first broadside, and
was immediately answered by the Chesapeake. The effect of these first
broadsides in smooth water and close range was terrific. Three men at
the Chesapeake's wheel were shot down one after another. Within six
minutes her sails were so shot to pieces that she came up into the wind
and was raked repeatedly. In a short while Captain Lawrence was shot in
the leg, but kept the deck. Mr. White, the sailing-master, was killed,
and Mr. Ludlow, the first lieutenant, Lieutenant Ballard, Mr. Brown,
the marine officer, and the boatswain were all mortally wounded. The
Shannon had not escaped scatheless, although the execution aboard
of her was not to be mentioned with the Chesapeake's. Some of the
British frigate's spars and sails being shot away, she fell aboard her
antagonist, and the two ships were prevented from drifting apart by the
fluke of an anchor on the Shannon hooking in the Chesapeake's rigging.
Captain Broke immediately ordered the ships lashed together. This was
done by the Shannon's boatswain, who had his arm literally hacked off
in doing it, but who did not flinch from his task.

As soon as Captain Lawrence saw the ships were fast, he ordered the
boarders called away. But instead of this being done by the boatswain,
the bugler, a negro, was called upon to sound his bugle. The man, in a
paroxysm of terror, had hid under a boat, and when found was perfectly
unable to sound a note. The remaining officers on the Chesapeake's deck
shouted for the boarders, and at this moment the gallant Lawrence,
conspicuous from his commanding figure, and wearing his full uniform,
fell, shot through the body. As he was being carried below, he uttered
those words which are a part of the heritage of the American navy,
"Don't give up the ship."

The carnage on the Chesapeake's deck was now frightful, and the men
began to flinch from their guns. Captain Broke, seeing this, gave
the order to board, and, himself leading the boarders with great
intrepidity, sprang upon the Chesapeake's quarterdeck. At this the
Portuguese mate and some other mercenaries threw the berth-deck
gratings overboard, and ran below, crying, "So much for not paying men
prize money!"

A young lieutenant, coming up from the gun-deck, was seized with
a panic, and, throwing his pistol down, ran below in a cowardly
manner.[21] But there were still gallant souls left upon the
unfortunate frigate's deck. Mr. Livermore, the chaplain,--the only
officer on deck when the British entered the ship,--advanced boldly,
firing his pistol at Captain Broke, and made a brave defence, although
his arm was nearly cut from his body by Broke in defending himself.
The few marines who were left fought desperately, and severely wounded
Captain Broke. All of these men were Americans, and were cut down to
a man. The officers of the gun-deck tried to rally the men below, and
succeeded in inducing the few Americans to follow them above; the brave
Ludlow, in fearful agony from his wounds, struggled up the hatchway.
But it was too late, and they were soon overpowered. The flag had
been hauled down by the triumphant enemy; the ship was theirs. The
battle lasted only about fifteen minutes, and seldom in the history of
naval warfare has there been more dreadful slaughter. The Chesapeake
suffered most, her captain and three lieutenants, her marine officer,
her sailing-master, boatswain, and three midshipmen being killed, and
her few remaining officers wounded. She lost, besides, one hundred and
thirty-six men killed and wounded. The Shannon had her captain badly
wounded, and lost several officers, and had seventy-five men killed and
wounded.

The English ensign was immediately hoisted over the American, and
as soon as possible sail was made for Halifax. Lawrence and his
wounded officers lay together in the ward room of the Chesapeake, the
cabin having been much shattered. For four days Lawrence lingered in
extreme anguish. He bore his sufferings with silent heroism, and it
is remarkable that he never spoke except to make known the few wants
that his situation required. On the Shannon Captain Broke lay, raving
with delirium from his wounds, and only occasionally rational. At these
times he would ask anxiously after Lawrence, muttering, "He brought
his ship into action in gallant style," and other words of generous
admiration. When it was known that Lawrence was no more, it was thought
best to keep it from Broke, as it was known it would distress him
greatly.

On Sunday, the 6th of June, the two ships entered Halifax harbor,
the body of Lawrence wrapped in the battle flag of the Chesapeake,
and lying on her quarterdeck. The people took the Chesapeake for the
President, and shouting multitudes lined the shores and docks. But when
it was known that it was Lawrence's ship, and her brave commander lay
dead upon her, an instant silence fell upon the people. They remembered
Lawrence's kindness to the officers and men of the Peacock, and they
paid him the tribute of silent respect.

The funeral was arranged for the 8th of June, and was one of the
most affecting ever witnessed. The British naval and military
authorities omitted nothing that could show their esteem for a brave
and unfortunate enemy. The garrison and the fleet turned out their
whole force, the officers wearing crape upon the left arm. The coffin,
wrapped in the Chesapeake's flag, with the dead officer's sword upon
it, was brought ashore in an admiral's barge, the men rowing minute
strokes, and amid the solemn booming of minute guns. It was followed by
a long procession of man-of-war boats. It was landed at King's Wharf,
where six of the oldest British captains acted as pall-bearers. The
procession to the churchyard of St. Paul's was very long. The American
officers were chief mourners, followed by the officers of the Shannon;
and the presence of the wounded among both the American and English
officers was touching in the extreme. Admiral Sir Thomas Saumerez, one
of Nelson's captains, and the officers of the fleet, and the general
of the forces, with the officers of the garrison, came next in the
procession, followed by a large number of the most respectable citizens
of Halifax. The route was lined with troops, and the funeral was like
that of a great and distinguished British admiral,--so great is the
respect all generous minds must feel for a character like Lawrence's.

His young first lieutenant, Ludlow, survived several days after
landing; but he, too, soon followed his captain to a hero's grave.
Great honors were also paid him at his interment.

The Americans, however, could not allow the British to pay all the
honors to the dead Lawrence, and in August his remains and those of
his faithful lieutenant were transferred to Salem, in Massachusetts,
where they were temporarily buried until they could be transferred to
New York. Lawrence's pall was carried then by six American captains,
among whom were Hull, Stewart, and Bainbridge,--all men who had known
Lawrence, and served with him when he was a dashing and brilliant young
midshipman. Eventually, both Lawrence and Ludlow were buried in Trinity
churchyard, New York, where they still rest. Lawrence left a young wife
and two children, for whom the country provided.

A poignant regret for Lawrence's misfortunes and death was felt by the
country generally. His youth,--he was but thirty-one years of age,--his
brilliant career, the charming generosity of his nature, and the graces
of his person and manner made him beloved and admired. His fault--if
fault it was--in seeking an action when his ship was new to him and ill
manned and scantily officered, was that of a high and daring spirit,
and was readily condoned; while to this day the story of the Chesapeake
is painful to a true American.

At the battle of Lake Erie Perry's flagship bore the name of Lawrence;
but, like Lawrence himself, was unfortunate, and, after being cut to
pieces, was forced to strike. Another vessel was named the Lawrence;
but ships whose names are associated with harrowing events are not
favorites with either officers or men, and she was borne upon the navy
list for only a few years. But the name and fame of Lawrence will last
with his countrymen as long as the American flag flies over a ship
of war, and the pity of his fate will ever be among the most moving
incidents in American history.




FOOTNOTES:

[1] See the biography of Commodore Truxtun, who captured L'Insurgente.

[2] See the biography of Decatur.

[3] See the biography of Stewart.

[4] See the biography of Commodore Hull.

[5] See the biographies of Porter and Lawrence.

[6] See Cooper's Naval Biography for this incident.

[7] See the biography of Bainbridge.

[8] See the biography of Decatur.

[9] See the biography of Somers.

[10] It was after this attack that the celebrated scene occurred in
the Constitution between Decatur and Commodore Preble, as related in
Preble's life.

[11] See the biography of Richard Somers.

[12] As in the case of the fight of the Constitution with the Guerrière
and the Java, the Macedonian was a lighter ship, with fewer men and
guns than the Constitution. But the execution done in every case was
far beyond the difference between the American ship and her antagonist.

[13] The late Captain Foxhall Parker, 1st.

[14] Not the original ship, captured and blown up by Commodore Hull,
but one built and named for her.

[15] See the biography of Decatur.

[16] Lieutenant Wadsworth was the uncle of Longfellow, and the poet was
named for this gallant gentleman and brave sailor.

[17] See the biography of Bainbridge.

[18] See the biography of James Lawrence.

[19] Afterward Rear-Admiral Paulding.

[20] See the biography of Decatur.

[21] He was promptly dismissed the navy for cowardice on this occasion.




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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES


Minor punctuation errors repaired.

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=.

 p56 while cruising off Gaudeloupe, replaced with
     while cruising off Guadeloupe,





End of Project Gutenberg's Twelve Naval Captains, by Molly Elliot Seawell