Six Frigates

by Ian W. Toll

  In the last week of April, President and Congress made ready to escape to sea. Firing a thunderous salute to the town, which brought thousands of cheering Bostonians down to the wharves to see them off, the two frigates weighed and sailed down the fairway, dropping their hooks again in the lower Roads to await a chance to slip past Shannon and Tenedos. The weather was on the side of the Americans. Springtime temperature inversions had laid the entire bay under a heavy fog. Lieutenant Henry Edward Napier of HMS Nymphe wrote of the challenge of watching Boston in that part of the year:

  In most climates we may expect fine weather after thunderstorms, but on this coast an almost constant fog, still and damp, reigns paramount throughout the months of April, May and June, with longer intervals of fine weather, as it approaches July, when its visits become less frequent and its continuance shorter. The only interruption to this detestable weather is storms and hard rain with now and then a gleam of sunshine, which seldom continues more than a few hours. I have been assured by several people that they have known these fogs to last three weeks, without the slightest intermission.

  On the morning of May 1, aided by a favorable combination of wind and tide, and well-concealed by the obsidian murk, the two big frigates pushed out to sea and vanished beyond the eastern horizon. When the news arrived in London, maritime insurance premiums would spike and every merchant in the empire would pay for it out of his own pocket. Captain Thomas Bladen Capel of La Hogue reported the news to Admiral Warren in a tone that speaks for itself: “It is with great mortification I am to acquaint you, that…two of the Enemy’s Frigates (the President and Congress) have escaped from Boston. I deeply lament the circumstance, but trust you will be satisfied that every exertion was made by the Ships under my orders to prevent the Enemy putting to Sea…the long continued Fogs that prevail on this part of the Coast at this Season of the year give the Enemy great advantage.”

  Late that April, Captain Evans and several of the Chesapeake’s lieutenants fell ill, and either for this or for other reasons Secretary Jones assigned the newest officer on the captain’s list to take command of her. This was thirty-two year-old James Lawrence, a New Jersey native and (like so many of his colleagues) a combat veteran of Preble’s 1803–04 tour in the Mediterranean. Lawrence had earned his recent promotion during his cruise to South America, in Commodore Bainbridge’s squadron, as commander of Hornet. After Bainbridge and Constitution had left San Salvador on December 27, 1812 (going on to capture and destroy the Java two days later), Lawrence and Hornet were left lying off the harbor to watch the Bonne Citoyenne. The Citoyenne’s captain, Pitt B. Greene, had refused Lawrence’s challenge to a prearranged ship-to-ship duel on the basis that his orders to transport a large quantity of specie home to England must take precedence. Applying the principles of the code duello, Lawrence concluded that Greene was a coward for refusing a fair fight, and implied as much in conversations with San Salvador’s American consul, knowing the man was likely to circulate the damning allegation in English naval circles. The incident was destined to weigh heavily on Lawrence’s mind in a forthcoming encounter, in which the roles would be exactly reversed.

  After a fruitless, month-long blockade of San Salvador, Hornet was chased away by the arrival of the British 74-gun battleship Montague. Sailing alone up the Brazilian coast as far as the mouth of the Demerara River, Hornet chanced upon a British 18-gun brig, the Peacock. The two vessels fought a short, bloody action. Fifteen minutes after the first gun, the Peacock surrendered and soon afterward sank, taking several hands with her to the bottom. Returning to New York, the victorious Lawrence was promoted to captain and swiftly received orders to assume command of the Chesapeake.

  Lawrence welcomed the promotion but did not much care for his new assignment. He had hoped for the Constitution, but she had been promised to Charles Stewart, who stood senior to him on the list. In any case, Constitution was undergoing repairs and months away from being ready for sea. If he could have chosen between Chesapeake and Hornet, Lawrence would have preferred to keep the Hornet, despite the fact that she was an unrated vessel, unsuitable to his new rank. He was apparently wary of Chesapeake’s reputation as an unlucky ship. But Secretary Jones’s letter placing him in command of Chesapeake came in the form of an order, not an offer, and Lawrence dutifully set out on the four-day overland journey to Boston, arriving the night of May 18, 1813.

  He found the frigate in good order, nearly ready for sea, needing only a few additional provisions and slops (seamen’s clothing). She was almost fully manned, awaiting only the arrival of a few new recruits from Maine. This assessment of her readiness was reaffirmed by First Lieutenant Augustus Ludlow, who told his brother Charles on May 28, “The ship is in better order for battle than ever I saw her before.” Lawrence’s orders were to get clear to sea, evading the watchdogs as Rodgers had done a month earlier, and attack enemy shipping in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, with hopes of taking a few troop transports and checking the buildup of British military forces on the Canadian border. He prepared to sail on the first fair wind.

  Outside the harbor, meanwhile, HMS Shannon was close inshore, backing and filling within a few cable lengths of Boston Lighthouse. From her masthead, a lookout could plainly see the top yards of the Chesapeake, and it was obvious to Captain Broke that she was ready for sea. Would she escape in the fog, as Rodgers had? Or was there any hope of drawing her out for a single-ship duel on equal terms? Hoping fervently for the latter, Broke sent the Tenedos away to cruise south of Cape Sable and ordered her not to return to Boston before June 14. Shannon continued to capture American merchant vessels in the sea-lanes leading into Boston, but Broke burned them to the waterline rather than send them into Halifax, because (as Lieutenant Ludlow explained) the English commander “does not intend to weaken his crew by manning prizes.” Broke was willing to relinquish the wealth offered by prize-taking in order to conserve his ship’s strength for a meeting with the Chesapeake.

  Lawrence and the other officers of the U.S. Navy did not know much about Philip Broke, or about the Shannon, other than the fact that she had been operating in American waters since the earliest days of the war, and was one of the enemy frigates that had come within a whisker of capturing the Constitution off the New Jersey coast in July 1812. Having commanded the Shannon for seven years, Broke was one of the most experienced and efficient frigate captains in the British service. In the post-Nelson, post-Trafalgar era of unquestioned naval supremacy, when the remnants of France’s navy were mostly caged in its harbors, and occasions to fire a shot in anger were few and far between, the Royal Navy’s overall standards of gunnery and readiness had declined. The Shannon was an exception. Captain Broke was a zealous advocate of daily gun drills. Anyone who doubted it could have taken a telescope and climbed to a hilltop of one of Boston Harbor’s outer islands on any clear afternoon and watched the Shannon’s boats towing empty barrels into a practice range, and heard her 18-pounder batteries let rip their deafening broadsides, discharging huge columns of thick white smoke into the sky, and afterward scanned the surface of the bay in vain for any sign of the barrels. Broke was even more adamant in his insistence on small arms drills, and every day the Shannon’s topmen and marines perfected their mastery of grenades, rifles, blunderbusses, and swivel guns.

  Shannon was as ready for battle as any frigate had ever been, and Captain Broke wanted the opportunity to prove it. “All fog and rain these days, and chance sight of strangers through the gloom,” he wrote his wife on Monday, May 31. “Fog again, so no prospect at all; however, we hope better fortunes. Chesapeake is not gone.”

  On Sunday morning, Chesapeake cast off her moorings and sailed from Long Wharf down to President Roads. Climbing aloft into the main rigging of the Shannon to have a look into Boston Harbor for himself, Broke saw that the American frigate had her royal yards crossed and was ready for sea. The last day of May was unseasonably clear, and the Chesapeake would not have the option of sneaking out through the fog, as her sisters had don
e a month earlier. Would she await a turn in the weather? Or could she be coaxed to come out and fight? Broke elected to communicate his feelings on the subject to Lawrence directly, and his challenge is worth quoting in its entirety:

  Sir,

  As the Chesapeake appears now ready for Sea, I request you will do me the favor to meet the Shannon with her, Ship to Ship, to try the fortune of our respective Flags. To an Officer of your character, it requires some apology for proceeding to further particulars. Be assured, Sir, that it is not from any doubt that I can entertain of your wishing to close with my proposal, but merely to provide an Answer to any objection which might be made, and very reasonably, upon the chance of our receiving an unfair support.

  After the diligent attention which we had paid to Commodore Rodgers, the pains I took to detach all force but Shannon and Tenedos to such a distance that they could not possibly join in any Action fought in sight of the Capes, and the various Verbal messages which had been sent into Boston to that effect, we were much disappointed to find that the Commodore had eluded us, by sailing on the first change, after the prevailing Easterly winds had obliged us to keep an offing from the Coast. He, perhaps, wished for some stronger assurance of a fair meeting. I am therefore induced to address you more particularly, and to assure you that what I write I pledge my honor to perform to the utmost of my power.

  The Shannon mounts twenty four Guns upon her broadside, and one light Boat-Gun, Eighteen pounders on her Main deck, and Thirty two pound Carronades on her Quarter deck and Forecastle; and is manned with a Complement of Three Hundred Men and Boys, (a large proportion of the latter), besides Thirty Seamen, Boys, and Passengers which were taken out of recaptured Vessels lately. I am thus minute, because a report has prevailed in some of the Boston papers, that we had one Hundred and Fifty Men additional lent us from La Hogue, which really never was the case. La Hogue is now gone to Halifax for Provisions, and I will send all other Ships beyond the power of interfering with us, and meet you wherever is most agreeable to you, within the limits of the undermentioned Rendezvous, viz: from Six to Ten leagues east of Cape Cod light House, from Eight to Ten Leagues East of Cape Ann lights, on Cashe’s ledge in Lat. 43° N. or, at any bearing and distance you please to fix; off the South breaker of Nantucket, or the Shoal on St George’s bank.

  If you will favor me with any plan of Signals, or Telegraph, I will warn you (if sailing under this promise), should any of my Friends be too nigh, or any where in sight, until I can detach them out of our way—or I would sail with you, under a truce Flag, to any place you think safest from our Cruisers, hauling it down when fair to begin Hostilities.

  You must, Sir, be aware that my proposals are highly advantageous to you, as you cannot proceed to Sea singly in Chesapeake without imminent risk of being crushed by the superior force of the numerous British squadrons which are now abroad, where all your efforts, in case of a rencontre, would, however gallant, be perfectly hopeless.

  I entreat you, Sir, not to imagine that I am urged by mere personal vanity to the wish of meeting the Chesapeake, or that I depend only upon your personal ambition for your acceding to this Invitation: we have both nobler motives. You will feel it as a compliment if I say that the result of our meeting may be the most grateful Service I can render to my Country; and I doubt not that you, equally confident of success, will feel convinced that it is only by continued triumphs in even combats, that your little Navy can now hope to console your Country for the loss of that Trade it can no longer protect. Favor me with a speedy reply. We are short of Provisions and Water, and cannot stay long here. I have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient humble Servant,

  P. B. V. Broke,

  Captain of His Britannic Majesty’s Ship

  Shannon

  There was a postscript indicating that the letter had been written in a hurry, and the author, on reading over his first draft, had wanted to clarify a few minor points. Broke promised to keep the challenge a secret if Lawrence was under particular orders not to accept it, concluding: “Choose your terms, but let us meet.” The letter was signed, sealed, and entrusted to a discharged American prisoner, who was permitted to take his boat into Marblehead with the promise that he would ride south to Boston and deliver it directly into Lawrence’s hands.

  By this stage of the war, it was clear that single-ship duels ran against America’s strategic interests. The frigate victories of 1812 had been electrifying in their effects on American national morale and self-confidence, and devastating to British public perceptions in a similar magnitude. Apart from these intangible effects, however, they had done nothing to alter the balance of power, which still weighed heavily in favor of the Royal Navy. In the American view, the war could be called off at any moment if the British government would only soften its stand on the abduction of seamen from foreign ships, while the British ministers continued to regard the American war as a unwelcome distraction from their long struggle against Napoleon. By the spring of 1813, the American naval strategy was not to defeat individual enemy warships, but to force England to the negotiating table by inflicting a severe economic penalty on its politically influential merchant interests. Ship-to-ship duels, whether they were won or lost, could no longer serve American objectives in the war. A single lost ship represented a significant diminution of America’s navy and an insignificant diminution of England’s navy. Even if victorious, an American frigate, following an action, was likely to be removed from active service for several months while undergoing repairs. The greatest impact any American frigate could have in the course of the war—as President Madison, Secretary Jones, and the rest of the cabinet in Washington understood and had decreed—was to get loose in the Atlantic and prey upon British shipping.

  Whatever dry calculations occupied the minds of statesmen and diplomats in Washington and London, however, the war had developed into a monstrous affair of honor between the two navies. Even if James Lawrence had not issued a similar challenge to the captain of the HMS Bonne Citoyenne in San Salvador six months earlier, and been rebuffed in a manner that gave him grounds to question his adversary’s courage, he would have found it difficult to refuse or ignore Captain Broke’s challenge. “To an Officer of your character, it requires some apology for proceeding to further particulars.” There was not the remotest trace of a taunt or insult in Broke’s challenge; he took it as given that Lawrence shared his desire for battle on equal terms. “I entreat you, Sir, not to imagine that I am urged by mere personal vanity to the wish of meeting the Chesapeake, or that I depend only upon your personal ambition for your acceding to this Invitation: we have both nobler motives.” In a sense that jars modern sensibilities, Broke and Lawrence were brother officers, more deeply beholden to one another than to the civilian statesmen they served. “Favor me with a speedy reply. We are short of Provisions and Water, and cannot stay long here.” To transmit such valuable intelligence to an enemy, under different circumstances, would be traitorous. “Choose your terms, but let us meet.” Broke guaranteed any arrangement that would prevent other British warships from providing “unfair support” to the Shannon, and he assumed, in turn, that Lawrence would accept that pledge as sacred.

  As it happened, Lawrence never received Broke’s letter, nor would it have made any difference if he had. The first day of June brought clear skies and a mild southwest breeze, and the watch officer woke Lawrence to report that the Shannon was still in the offing. The captain came on deck, spyglass in hand, and went aloft into the main rigging to have a look. After a few minutes he climbed back down the ratlines and ordered the Chesapeake to sea.

  Even without knowing the Shannon was short of provisions and fresh water, Lawrence must have known it was in his power to slip past her without a fight, simply by waiting a few days for a change in the weather. He had commanded the Chesapeake less than two weeks, hardly enough time to grasp her idiosyncrasies. Half of his officers and probably a quarter of his crew were new to the ship, and many had not yet even stowed their dunnage
(baggage). Many of the new hands had not yet been exercised at small arms and the great guns. Finally, he had peremptory orders to get his ship out to sea, avoiding an engagement if possible. None of it caused him a moment’s hesitation. Lawrence chose to take the Chesapeake out at once, apparently not doubting that she would achieve a sixth consecutive American victory in a single-ship action.

  Returning to his greatcabin, he wrote a quick note to Secretary Jones, informing him of his intention to fight the Shannon, and another to his brother-in-law, James Montaudevert, asking him to look after his wife and children in the event of his death, concluding: “The frigate is plain in sight from our deck and we are now getting under way.” It was the last letter he would ever write.

  At noon, the wind and tide were right, and the hands shipped the capstan bars to heave up the anchor. The Chesapeake loosed her topsails, sheeted them home, and sailed down the Narrows amid a small flotilla of spectator boats whose passengers boisterously cheered the ship and her crew. At half past one she rounded the lighthouse and bore away to the northeast, following in the wake of the Shannon, which was leading ahead under staysails and royals. Broke intended to fight well out to sea, in the offing between Cape Ann and Cape Cod, far enough from Boston that he would have no reason to fear being attacked by shore craft. He kept Shannon on her course until five, when she had arrived at a position about twelve miles south southwest of Cape Ann. Then he hove to the wind and waited for his adversary to close.

  Lawrence kept the deck as the Chesapeake sailed out into the bay. He wore his freshly brushed blue uniform coat, with epaulets, lapels, and high standing collar trimmed with glittering gold lace, white trousers, top boots, a black cocked hat, and a polished sword in scabbard at his belt. His long hair was braided tightly in a queue and tied with a black ribbon. With Lieutenant George Budd at his side, he circulated among the gun crews, inspecting their preparations, and ordered canister and bar shot loaded on top of the round and grape. In a custom borrowed from the Royal Navy, each of the Chesapeake’s great guns had been given a name, painted in large white letters above the gunports: Wilful Murder, Dreadnought, United Tars, Pocahontas, Bunker’s Hill, Liberty for Ever, Washington, Raging Eagle, etc. On the principle that men should not be sent into battle with empty stomachs, Lawrence ordered the hands piped to dinner, and they messed as usual, on tables slung between the guns. “Bear a hand, boys, and get your dinner,” Lawrence told them as they ate—“you will have blood for supper.”