Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors: Tales of 1812
TextTHE RIVAL LIFE-SAVERS
It was February, the year after the war. The month had been cold and stormy. Frequent and sudden squalls had kept everybody on the alert. For over two months the United States frigate Macedonian (she once had H.M.S. prefixed to her name, by the way) had been facing the bad weather, that had ranged from the Bermudas as far to the eastward as the Bay of Biscay. It was blowing great guns on this particular morning, and blowing with that promise of thick weather that seamen learn to recognize so readily. Not two miles away an English frigate was seen coming grandly along as she shortened sail.
It did not require the aid of the falling barometer or the sight of the thick black clouds gathering to the northeast, to prove that they were in for it again.
Two men were on the Macedonian's main topgallant yard. They were trying to spill the wind out of the sail that was standing straight up above their heads like a great balloon.
"Confound this business, anyhow," grunted the older man. "Did you ever see such an evil-acting bit of rag in your life?" He pounded into the struggling canvas, as if he could sink his blunt fingers in the folds and obtain a better grasp. But the wind had firm hold on it, and had filled it so taut that it was struggling and moving like the body of a living thing.
"Hold hard!" suddenly exclaimed the younger man; "I see what's the matter." Just the second before he spoke, the leech of the topgallant sail had caught over the end of the yard arm. He lay out on the yard to clear it, his loosened hair and his big collar flapping across his face.
The elder man shouted something to him, probably in warning; but the sails were making such a thunder of it that his words could not be heard. When the leech was cast loose, the yard gave a heavy pitch, the sail gave a jump that tore it from the hands of the men nearer inboard, and the young fellow, whose balance was upset by the sudden movement, lost his hold and fell back with a sudden cry of fright. He caught at one of the beckets as he slipped; but it carried away, and down he went, striking the water within a few feet of the frigate's side.
The officer of the deck, who had been roaring up angry imprecations to the "lazy lubbers" on the yard to "make haste and get in that sail," jumped back toward the wheel. Carrying the press of canvas she was then under, the Macedonian was making not far from thirteen or fourteen knots, and almost directly before the wind. It was no laughing matter to bring her up all standing, as it were; and though men were jumping here and there, hauling and heaving with the added strength that comes from the dread cry "Man overboard!" it was almost five minutes before the great ship had headed up, and during that time she had left the spot where the poor lad had gone down, by a mile and more. The Lieutenant, when he had given his first order, had thrown overboard one of the boat's gratings, and this had been followed by one of the chicken coops on the forecastle. With the squall coming down upon her, and the stiff wind increasing every minute, the Macedonian lurched up and down, almost burying her nose in the roaring, tumbling sea. Every one was on deck.
"'Tis no use trying to lower away a boat now, Mr. Edwards," observed Captain Stewart. "'Twould be only risking the lives of brave men. Stand by for a few minutes and keep sharp lookout." Although it was blowing hard, the air was filled with a thick, gray mist, and the sky now appeared to close down upon the water. It was a lonely, fearful place for a man to be out there in the waste of the waters, fighting for his life. It was a lonely, fearful feeling for men to have who must leave him there. And they all knew him well; they liked him, for he was a cheerful, laughing lad. The old sailor who had been on the yard arm with him had descended to the deck. He was telling it breathlessly to the men gathered about him.
"Why," said he, "I hollers to him to be careful when the sail fetched away. It was just as if the yard tried to fling him off like that." He snapped his fingers at arm's length.
A man who was standing on one of the anchor-flukes well forward suddenly pointed out to leeward. The English frigate, that had been last seen holding a course due west, was now, evidently, engaged in making all snug for the coming blow. She had heaved to, and was now lying with topsail aback, rearing and plunging, – sometimes pitching down until her hull was completely hidden in the hollows of the seas. The mist had blown away. A clear, shadowless, distance-killing light succeeded it. It was hard to tell whether the frigate was two miles off, or whether she was a little toy boat in the near perspective. But the heaving water that lay between the ships, crossed with its lines of white, rolling foam, was no toy thing. It had an angry, spiteful look. It was pitiless, and yet had lost the dread that it held when hidden in the treacherous half-gloom of the mist.
But why had the English frigate come up into the wind? All hands had rushed to the side. It was almost as if they had forgotten the frightful cause of their own delaying. Soon all was understood. There was a tiny, white speck drifting to the southward of the English vessel. It would heave to the top of a great sea and disappear again.
"One of their boats is out!" roared the man who was standing forward, using his hands for a trumpet.
The officers on the quarter-deck had now sighted both the vessel and the little object far astern of her. The First Lieutenant was squinting through the glass and talking excitedly.
"Egad, sir, I can make it out; there's a man clinging to a cask or something just to leeward of that cutter. There are eight good men in that boat, I can tell you," he added, "but I think they have lost sight of him."
The lashings of the whaleboat, which most American vessels carried, had been cast loose some time before. The Captain touched the Lieutenant on the arm.
"He's as near to us as he is to them; call away the whaleboat," he said quietly; and then, turning to a young, boyish-looking officer, – one of the senior midshipmen, – he said, "Mr. Emmett, you will go with her."
"Clear away the bowlines!" roared the Lieutenant. "Man the after-braces! Be lively, lads – lower away!"
With a cheer, the men of the crew – picked oarsmen and ex-whalemen they were – Nantucket and New Bedford fellows – jumped to the side. The long, narrow boat was lowered with half her crew in her. The other half slid down the falls. Mr. Edwards leaned over the side, holding his hat on with both his hands.
"Mr. Emmett," cried he, "you bring back that man; don't let the Britishers beat you!"
The midshipman looked up, touched his cap, and grinned.
The man handling the steering-oar was a grizzled, hawk-nosed down-easter. Many a time had he brought his boat up to the side of a whale when the seas were running high, and when it would have appeared that a small boat could not have lived, much less fight the greatest, strongest beast to be found on all this earth.
The excitement of the moment cut into the blood of the oarsmen. They were going down with the wind, and they fairly jumped the boat from one wave-crest to the other. But occasionally, as a heavier sea would come up astern of them, they would race down and lag for an instant in the hollow until lifted by the next.
The tall Yankee must have been reminded of the time when he raced with the other rival boats in order to get fast with the harpoon first, for he began encouraging in the old whaleman fashion: —
"Give way, my lads, give way! A long, steady stroke now! Do ye love gin? A bottle of gin to the best man!" forgetting that he was no longer the first mate of the old Penobscot. "Oh, pile it on while you have breath! pile it on! On with the beef, my bullies!"
The men, with set teeth and straining backs, were catching together beautifully, despite the fact that the wind threatened to twist the oars out of their grasp. The little middy, sitting in the stern sheets, had folded his arms; but he was swinging backward and forward to every lift and heave, with the same strange grin upon his face. And now the steersman caught sight of the English boat as she hove up to the top of a great wave. It was plain that they had lost sight of the object they were seeking. "Oars!" cried the steersman. The men ceased rowing, and watched him with anxious and nervous eyes, waiting for the word to get down to it again.
"There he is, Mr. Emmett! about a half a mile away there, sir, almost dead ahead! And egad, they see him too!" for just as he had spoken the English sweeps had caught the water with a plash.
Once more the boat-steerer's tongue was set awagging. It was a race now down the two sides of a triangle; a fair race and a grand one.
"Every devil's imp of you pull! No talking; lay back to it! Now or never!" yelled the steerer.
The heavy English cutter, with her eight men at the oars, had caught the fever too, and the five rowers in the Yankee boat had work cut out for them. The midshipman was now standing up, balancing himself easily, with his legs spread wide apart.
"We'll have that man, my lads!" he shrieked. "Only think he's ours, and there's no mistake, he will be ours! Give way, give way! Now we have him!"
The man could now plainly be seen, clinging to the top of the chicken coop.
"It's Brant, of the starboard watch, sir," said the steersman, leaning over. "Harkee, he sees us."
It appeared as if both boats would arrive at the same moment, when suddenly a most surprising thing occurred. The man waved his hand, and leaving the small but buoyant raft that had supported him, he plunged head first into the water and struck out for the whaleboat hand over hand. The bow oar leaned over and caught him by the back of the shirt. A quick heave, and he was landed between the thwarts.
"I hated to spoil a good race, messmates," he panted, "or I'd come off to you before."
The English cutter was now alongside. The men in the two boats were looking at one another curiously.
"Thank you very much for your trouble," cried Midshipman Emmett, taking off his hat, and having to shout his words very slowly and distinctly in order for them to be heard.
"Nothing at all, I assure you, sir," came the answer from the young man in the other boat. "We saw the whole thing happen, and would have been glad to pick him up for you. This is Mr. Farren of the Hebe."
"This is Mr. Emmett of the Macedonian. Good day!"
"Good day!"
The stern way of the English vessel had carried her well to leeward of the boats; the frigate had come about, and was slowly bearing down to pick the whaleboat up. Amid great cheering she was hoisted in at the davits. The hero of the occasion saluted the quarter-deck and walked forward through the crowd, whose anxiety had now changed to merriment. At last he saw the old sailor who had been on the main topsail-yard with him.
"Bill," said he, "what was you sayin' when I left the yard to umpire that thar race?"
RANDOM ADVENTURES
The newspapers published during the War of 1812, granted even that they were vastly prejudiced of course, contained so much of thrilling interest, and so much that is now forgotten, that a complete file, for instance, of "Niles's Register" is a mine of wealth to a student of the times. Every week a stirring chapter was added to the records of Yankee ships and Yankee sailors. Fabulous sums were paid in prize money, fortunes were made often in a single venture.
One of the luckiest cruises of the war, so far as rich returns are concerned, was made by a little squadron of four vessels that sailed from Boston on October 8th under the command of Commodore Rogers. It consisted of the President, the United States, and the Congress frigates, and the Argus sloop of war. Five days after sailing the United States and the Argus became separated from the others in a gale of wind, and afterwards cruised on their own account. On the 15th, the President captured the British packet Swallow, having on board two hundred thousand dollars in specie – a rich haul, indeed. On the 31st of the month, the Congress captured a South Sea ship loaded with oil that was being convoyed by an English frigate, the Galatea; the latter made off and left her consort to her fate. The President, on the 25th of October, captured the fine English frigate Macedonian, and sent her safely into New London harbor. After taking one or two smaller prizes, the President and Congress sailed into Boston the last of December, having covered over eight thousand miles. The landing of the money taken from the Swallow and the other prizes was made quite a function. It was loaded into several large drays, and escorted from the Navy Yard to the bank by the crews of the frigates and a detachment of marines, "drums beating and colors flying," as an old-time account has it. The gold dust and specie amounted to the value of three hundred thousand dollars, besides the value of the vessels taken.
But the little Argus, under the command of Captain Sinclair, had some adventures worth the telling, before she returned to port laden with the fruits of war. After parting company with the squadron, she laid her course for the coast of Brazil, then one of the most profitable cruising grounds, although the waters swarmed with British war vessels. From Cape St. Roque to Surinam she sailed and there made two prizes; thence she cruised through the West Indies and hovered in the vicinity of the Bermudas; afterwards she went as far north as Halifax along the coast before she turned her head towards home.
The Argus must have been a nimble vessel, for, according to her logbook, she had escaped imminent capture a score of times, owing to her speed and capacity for sailing close on the wind. Once she had fallen in with a British squadron of six sail, two of them being ships of the line. For three days and nights they pursued her closely. One of the big fellows, proving to be a very fast sailer, outstripped the others, and twice was almost within gunshot. On the fourth day the Argus came up with a large English merchant ship about sunset. The wind had shifted so as to give her the windward gage of the pursuing battle-ship. In full sight of her, and of the others that were distant some ten or twelve miles, the Argus captured the merchantman; and, under cover of the dark, stormy night that shut down, she made her escape with her prize. After a cruise of ninety-six days, she put into the harbor of New York. The actual value of the prizes she had captured amounted to upwards of two hundred thousand dollars – more than enough to pay for her original cost three times over.
But to leave the deeds of the regular navy and take up those of a few of the private armed vessels: less is known of their doings, of course; they should be given a separate volume to themselves in writing the history of our wars with England – and the volume is yet unwritten, but some day it may be. Bravely they fought, often against odds, and more than once they contributed to the defence of our coast in cooperation with the regular navy and the land forces. Take operations of the English blockading squadron under Admiral Warren that was sent to close up the waters of the Chesapeake. Many were the times that the privateers eluded his watch-dogs and sailed in and out through his fleet, and more than once did he have a chance to test their metal. The schooner Lottery, of Baltimore, mounting six guns and having a crew numbering but thirty-five, in February, 1813, was attacked by nine large British boats containing over two hundred and forty armed men. For an hour and a half the privateer stood them off, and before she was finally captured, she had killed more of the enemy than her own crew numbered! The privateer Dolphin, also hailing from Baltimore, was taken after the same heroic defence, and Admiral Warren must have found such work to be rather uncomfortable experience. The United States schooner Asp, three guns and twenty-one men, was pursued up a shallow creek by a detachment of boats from the English fleet; and, after beating off her pursuers for some time, she was taken by superior numbers and upon her capture was set on fire. But the Americans, who had retreated to shore, returned and succeeded in extinguishing the flames and saving their vessel. A remarkable thing in connection with the presence of the English fleet in the Chesapeake was the attempt to blow up the flagship Plantagenet with a torpedo. The news that Americans were working upon such a line of invention had filled the English with dread and horror, they declared that any one captured while engaged in such a work would be hanged at once without a trial, for they denounced such methods of warfare as "crimes against humanity." But this did not deter an adventurous projector by the name of Mix from trying to rid the bay of its unwelcome visitors. For a long time he had been at work perfecting a "new explosive engine of great destructive powers," and on the 18th of July, at midnight, he dropped down with the tide alone in a small rowboat, and, when within forty fathoms of the Plantagenet, he put his torpedo into the water with the intention of having it drift with the tide athwart the flagship's bows. But an alert sentry on one of the guard boats discovered him and hailed; Mix drew his infernal machine into his boat and escaped. Every night for a week the inventor tried his luck, but was spied before he could complete his preparations, and was forced to draw off. But once he so frightened the English officers that they made sail and shifted their anchorage, and upon another occasion the flagship let go a pell-mell broadside, and threw up rockets and blue lights to ascertain the whereabouts of the lone adventurer.
On the night of the 24th Mix came very near to accomplishing his purpose, and a contemporary printed account gives such a vivid description of it that it is well worth quoting: "When within one hundred yards the machine was dropped into the water, and at the same moment the sentinel cried, 'All's well,' the tide swept it towards the vessel, but it exploded a few seconds too soon. A column of water full fifty feet in circumference was thrown up thirty or forty feet. Its appearance was a vivid red tinged with purple at the sides. The summit of the column burst with a tremendous explosion, and fell on the deck of the Plantagenet in torrents, while she rolled into the yawning chasm below and nearly upset." Then the account shortly remarks, "She, however, received but little injury." But this early attempt at waging submarine warfare made the British exceedingly weary of anchoring in our ports, which was to our advantage.
But to leave this digression and return to the privateers again: justice has not been done them, as we have said. But to take the names of a few and tell of their experiences is perhaps a good idea. Well known were they to the public eighty odd years ago. For instance, the schooner Atlas, of nineteen guns, that sailed from Philadelphia soon after war was declared with England – she was famous! Her captain's name was David Moffat, and he was a fearless commander and a "right good seaman." The Chronicle and the Naval Temple, published in 1816, give each a short account of one of his encounters with the enemy; to quote from the latter: —
"On the third of August at eight a. m., the Atlas discovered two sail, for which she bore away. At eleven o'clock the action was commenced with a broadside and musketry. She continued engaged with both ships till noon, when the smaller one struck her colors. The Atlas then directed the whole of her fire against the large ship, when the small one, although her colors were down, renewed her fire on the Atlas, which had to recommence firing on her; in a few minutes every man was driven from her decks. Twenty minutes past twelve the large ship struck. Possession was immediately taken of both of them. One proved to be the ship Pursuit, Captain Chivers, of four hundred and fifty tons, sixteen guns, and thirty-five men. The other was the ship Planter, Captain Frith, of two hundred and eighty tons, twelve guns, and fifteen men." They proved to be richly laden, and with both of them in her wake the Atlas started for home; she had lost but two men killed and five wounded. The Pursuit arrived safe in port on the same day as the privateer, but the Planter was recaptured off the cape of the Delaware.
The privateer Decatur under command of Captain Divon, after a long and severe fight, captured a schooner of the English service that mounted fifteen guns – over twice as many as the Decatur carried. The Saratoga of New York, Captain Aderton, took the Morgania, a British packet of eighteen guns, off Surinam, and in the action both vessels were nearly dismantled. The Comet, of Baltimore, had a running fight with three English merchant-men and a Portuguese sloop of war; she beat off the latter, who officiously interfered, and compelled all three of the Englishmen to strike their colors. The Young Eagle took two British ships at once – one quite as large and as powerful as she was. The Montgomery, Captain Upton of Boston, mounting twelve guns, fought yard arm to yard arm with a fine sloop of war belonging to the English navy, mounting twenty guns. The Surinam, for that was her name, gave up the fight, and, much crippled, put in at Barbadoes. They were rare good fighters – these privateers.
But perhaps one of the strangest adventures was that of the Young Teazer– what a saucy, impudent name for a vessel; but, according to account, it suited her to a nicety. Captain Dobson of New York was part owner and commander, and while cruising off Halifax he was chased by a large armed ship, the Sir John Sherbroke. As she kept gaining steadily, Dobson headed his own vessel straight for Halifax harbor; he passed the lighthouse, and as he did so hoisted up English colors over the American in order to lead his pursuer to suppose he was an English prize. As if in disgust at having wasted so much time, the Sir John Sherbroke hove about and put to sea, and as soon as she was at a safe distance, Dobson hauled down his misleading colors and did likewise, successfully escaping.
The journals of the time are crowded with adventures such as these, and the few here referred to have been selected merely at random. But they give an idea of the adventurous spirit and daring enterprise of the Yankee tars and captains.