Since Parliament passed the Convoy Act in 1798, all British merchantmen were required to sail together in convoys protected by the Royal Navy. If Porter was lucky enough to run into a convoy, the escorting warships would undoubtedly be too much for the Essex, but that would not preclude him from picking off a straggler or two. Because merchantmen sailed at varying speeds, keeping them bunched together was impossible. If a convoy was big enough, a skilled raider like Porter with a fast ship could claim a prize or two with relative ease, despite the presence of bigger escorts.
Lookouts aboard the Essex kept a sharp eye out, but they spotted few foreign vessels, and those they saw invariably turned out to be Portuguese. Porter chased every ship that remotely resembled a British man-of-war or merchant vessel, but he was consistently disappointed.
While waiting for his opportunity, Porter honed the crew’s fighting skills. He tried to compensate for the shortcomings of the frigate’s carronades by obsessively drilling the men in small arms. He was determined to make his hands the most accomplished boarders afloat. The crew had already melded into a successful fighting unit during the first cruise of the war, but the Essex men had never faced an enemy frigate. Porter wanted them ready for that supreme test. As the ship plowed toward the Cape Verdes, the drills were incessant. David Farragut wrote that “I have never since been in a ship where the crew of the old Essex was represented, but that I found them to be the best swordsmen aboard. They had been so thoroughly trained as boarders that every man was prepared for such an emergency, with his cutlass as sharp as a razor, a dirk made from a file by the ship’s armorer, and a pistol.”
Despite the hard work (and to some extent because of it), morale was high. The Essex men, young and old, hungered for glory and prize money, and they were confident their young skipper would secure them both. He had already shown how adept he was at turning patriotic zeal into gold. The money they had coming from the Essex’s first cruise was significant, and money from signing bonuses was still in their pockets. And this was just the beginning; they expected Porter to produce far more on this lengthy voyage. The officers, too, had cash from three months’ pay the navy had advanced them, and they were eager for more, as was the captain. “My next cruise I hope will be more profitable,” he wrote to Hambleton on October 4, 1812, “if they give me any discretion I shall expect to make my fortune.”
On November 23, the Essex crossed the Tropic of Cancer at 25° 27’ north latitude, and 28° 39’ west longitude. To relieve the boredom of the trip, Porter permitted a time-honored ceremony to take place. David Farragut and the other neophytes who had never crossed the line before were initiated at the clown court of King Neptune. On November 23 a lookout at the main masthead cried, “Sail Ho.” The officer of the deck shouted back, “Where away?” followed by “What does she look like?”
“A small boat on the lee bow,” came the reply.
The officer then hailed the stranger and asked what boat she was. The answer was that she was Neptune’s, god of the sea, and he wished permission to come aboard with his train, which was speedily granted.
A bosun’s mate and his cronies were waiting in the fore-chains. They sprang over the bow and mounted an unsteady carriage made of boards lashed together. Two chairs were tied together in the center of the awkward conveyance to provide a throne for Neptune and his wife, Amphitrite. Four men drew the carriage while others trailed behind with their shirts off and their bodies painted. Others walked along the side with their trousers cut above the knees and their legs and faces painted. Barbers with razors made of iron hoop accompanied them, along with constables and musicians playing band music. They marched onto the quarterdeck, where Neptune dismounted and asked Captain Porter’s permission to shave all aboard who had not crossed the line before—provided the king and his entourage were paid with rum. Permission was granted, and the initiation went on all afternoon.
Popular bosun’s mate William Kingsbury played the part of Neptune. Under his bleary-eyed direction, the novices were lathered with tar, crude soap, and other disagreeable ointments, after which, one by one, they were forced to sit on a rough spar spread across a huge tub of water. Fixed in this position, each man was shaved in turn with dull razors made of rough wood. The victim was then plunged into the icy water and cleansed. When he arose, dripping wet, he would participate in tormenting the rest of the uninitiated.
As the ceremony progressed, “Neptune . . . and most of his suite, paid their devotions so frequently to Bacchus,” Porter recalled, “that before the christening was half gone through, their godships were unable to stand; the business was therefore entrusted to the subordinate agents, who performed both the shaving and washing with as little regard to tenderness as his majesty would have done. On the whole, however, they got through the business with less disorder and more good humor than I expected; and although some were unmercifully scraped, the only satisfaction sought was that of shaving others in their turn with new invented tortures.”
The crossing of the line ceremony was a tradition borrowed, as so many were, from the Royal Navy. Not every British officer approved of the tomfoolery, of course. Some thought it, at best, a waste of time; Captain William Bligh had been one of these. Porter, on the other hand, found it harmless fun.
AS THE ESSEX CONTINUED ON TOWARD PORTO PRAIA, PORTER paid special attention to the crew’s health. The fighting quality of the frigate depended as much on the men’s physical condition as it did on their weapons. The Essex could not make an extended voyage or win the battles Porter was so assiduously preparing for if the men were incapacitated by ship-borne diseases like typhus (ship’s fever), dysentery, malaria, and especially scurvy. Porter might be impulsive at times, quick to anger, even choleric, but he was also smart, thoughtful, and studious. He had spent a good deal of time studying the conditions that maximize the well-being of ordinary sailors. A happy, healthy crew, in his view, was far more effective in a fight than a disgruntled one. Porter’s concern for the welfare of his men came from personal experience and outstanding teachers like his father and Thomas Truxtun.
As part of his health regimen, Porter put the crew on three watches instead of two, which allowed the men to get a good night’s sleep. Britain’s famed explorer Captain James Cook had done the same thing forty-four years earlier—as had other skippers—with excellent results. Under the commonly used two-watch system seamen never had more than four hours’ rest. Since their watches changed every four hours, half the crew was always on duty. Organized in three watches, the men could have eight hours of down time. Porter gave strict orders that they not be disturbed unnecessarily. In severe weather or other emergencies, of course, this regulation had to be dispensed with. On these occasions nobody got any rest. But when conditions permitted, which was much of the time, a three-watch system was used. Porter could do this because his crew was experienced enough to compensate for the smaller number of men on each watch under the three-watch system.
Captain William Bligh, whom Porter had studied, used the three-watch system in the ill-fated HMS Bounty for the same reason that his mentor Cook had. Bligh had served as master on Cook’s third voyage, and he had seen the good effects of organizing daily life around three watches instead of two. The extreme length of the Bounty’s voyage from England to Tahiti meant that her crew would inevitably be subject to the ravages of ship-borne diseases, so if Bligh wanted a crew at all, he had to look after the men’s health. “I have ever considered this [three watch system] among seamen as conducive to health,” he noted in his log, “and not being jaded by keeping on deck every other four hours, it adds much to their content and cheerfulness.”
Bligh’s concern for the crew’s health was heightened by overcrowding on the tiny Bounty. Porter had the same problem. A small warship with an unusually large crew made keeping the men in good physical condition exceptionally difficult. On a long voyage a crowded man-of-war was a naturally unhealthy place. “What can be more dreadful,” Porter explained in his journal, “than for 3
00 men to be confined with their hammocks, being only eighteen inches apart, on the berth deck of a small frigate, a space of 70 feet long, 35 feet wide, and 5 feet high, in a hot climate, where the only aperture by which they can receive air are two hatchways about 6 feet square? The situation must be little superior to the wretches who perished in the black hole of Calcutta.”
To protect his men against a naturally unhealthy environment, Porter allowed them to sleep on the gun deck with the ports open. As he wrote in his journal,
The regulation of permitting the crew to sleep on the gun deck with the ports open, where they have free circulation of air contributes not a little . . . to the preservation of their health. Most commanders are opposed to this indulgence, in consequence of their supposing their hammocks in the way of the guns . . . but so far from finding a disadvantage in it, I find a great advantage in always having the men near their quarters, when on the slightest alarm they may be ready for action. . . . It must be understood that none are permitted to sleep on the gun deck, but those who are quartered at the guns there; and they are compelled to sling the hammocks opposite their [own] guns.
The sick were not permitted to remain on the gun deck at night. They stayed below on the berth deck. But Porter required that they be brought up to the gun deck every morning and their hammocks slung in a cool place, where they would not be disturbed by men at work.
He also insisted on the utmost cleanliness for everyone on the ship. Each morning he had the crew mustered at their quarters, where their officers inspected them. He recommended bathing at least once a day. Officers were required to show the men an example by doing it themselves. In addition, Porter fumigated the ship every morning. And he ordered the berth deck kept in a clean and wholesome state, putting Lieutenant Finch in charge. “Lime [was] provided in tight casks for the purpose of white-washing, and sand for dry-rubbing it,” he explained, “and orders given not to wet it if there should be a possibility of avoiding it.” He insisted “that no wet clothes or wet provisions should be permitted to remain on the berth deck, or that the crew should be permitted to eat anywhere but the gun deck, except in bad weather.” Having established the above and other regulations, he “exhorted the officers to keep [the men] occupied constantly during working hours in some useful employment,” Between the hours of four and six in the afternoon, however, they were allowed time for amusement—whenever the duties of the ship permitted, of course.
Porter had good wind sails rigged to provide ventilation below as Cook had done. “As we have but few who sleep on the berth deck,” he noted, “we have no foul air generated; and it is found that good wind sails, and a little vinegar evaporated . . . are sufficient to keep the air perfectly sweet.”
The greatest menace to the crew remained scurvy. In Porter’s view, “Sudden and frequent changes of climate, great exposures to inclement weather, violent fatigues . . . unseemliness, bad provisions and waters” were its principal causes. This, of course, was not true. The real cause remained a mystery until twentieth-century science found that a vitamin C deficiency was the culprit. But Porter knew that the way to prevent scurvy had been known since at least the time of Cook’s first voyage, which began in 1768.
Cook’s experience in the Royal Navy had made him especially sensitive to the problem. When he first entered the service in June 1755, he was shocked by how badly seamen were treated aboard ships of war in the British navy. Getting men to serve was already difficult, and having to resort to the heinous practice of pressgangs was so common, he assumed that once the men were aboard they would be well treated, but the opposite was the case. Most British captains paid no attention to the men’s health. Innocent tars fell sick and died from scurvy and other ship diseases at astonishing rates. Conditions were bad enough that large numbers of men looked for every opportunity to desert.
Even more disheartening to Cook was the discovery that skippers in the Royal Navy considered the scourge of scurvy normal. He observed their shocking indifference on his very first voyage in HMS Eagle, a 60-gun warship, on patrol from Lands End in England to Cape Clear in Ireland, under a Captain Hamer. To his astonishment, Cook observed dozens of men suffering from scurvy after having been on board only a few weeks. Conditions became so bad that in a few months Captain Hamer was forced to put into port and send 130 men to hospital. They were the lucky ones; at least they were alive. The man who passed for a surgeon had himself died from scurvy. All of this happened while the Eagle was in sight of land nearly every day.
Drawing on all the knowledge then available about ways to prevent scurvy, particularly the work of James Lind, Cook implemented a program during three lengthy voyages that was astonishingly successful. Not one man aboard his ships ever died from scurvy during the many years he was at sea.
There was no excuse for any captain in 1812 having this disease ravage his ship, yet through indifference and sheer stupidity, scurvy remained a threat in both British and American warships. Porter was determined not to let it ruin his cruise. Using what he learned from Cook and other writers, and his own experience, Porter hoped his health regime would protect the Essex from the ravages of scurvy and other diseases. He was convinced that with “precautions to procure exercise and cleanliness, with proper ventilations and fumigations, with the best provisions, and the purest water, perfectly free from all bad taste and smell, he would command a young, active, healthy, and contented crew.” Of course, diet was supremely important, which is why Porter insisted on having lemon, lime, and oranges aboard, along with the best water he could obtain, fresh vegetables, and fresh food in general, especially fish.
He was particularly enthusiastic about the good effects of lemon juice. During his time in the Mediterranean he discovered that it was as cheap as vinegar and quite effective. He bragged that his “men were never affected by the scurvy” as other crews were. “On long voyages through different climates, where the transitions from hot to cold and from dry to wet are very great and frequent, the ravages of the scurvy are more dreadful,” he explained in a letter, “and lemon juice is found to be indispensably necessary as a preventative to that disease; for after long use of salt provisions, fresh provisions and vegetables have not always the desired effect, as they frequently bring on dysenteries more destructive to life than the scurvy, indeed, there have been instances of persons on long voyages who have suffered greatly by scorbutic affections that have abstained entirely from the use of salt provisions.”
Porter’s concern for the well-being of the crew did not lead to any slackening of discipline. He ran a tight ship, but he was fair, and his men respected him. When the voyage began, he announced a general pardon for all previous offenses, and then threatened that the first man he had to punish would receive three dozen lashes. The threat was real. No one doubted it. The captain’s tough measures were accepted because if they were to obtain the riches they all sought, the ship would have to perform to his high standards. As an example, he expected the Essex to be cleared for action and the crew at their stations, ready to fight within fifteen minutes of being summoned. Hands consistently fulfilled this demanding requirement, knowing how important it would be when faced with an enemy frigate. Porter was also wise enough not to abuse his power. Although he insisted that all orders be obeyed without hesitation or demur, he expected officers to act with civility toward their subordinates, on the grounds that in no way did courtesy detract from discipline.
Later in life, Porter gave this striking description of the powers of a sea captain:
A man of war is a petty kingdom, and is governed by a petty despot. . . . The little Tyrant, who struts his few fathoms of scoured plank, dare not unbend, lest he should lose that appearance of respect from his inferiors which their fears inspire. He has therefore no society, no smiles, no courtesies for or from anyone. Wrapped up in his notions of his own dignity, and the means of preserving it, he shuts himself up from all around him. He stands alone, without the friendship or sympathy of one on board; a solitary being in th
e midst of the ocean.
As he was wont to do, Porter exaggerated. Carried to extremes, the kind of self-imposed isolation he described above could be self-defeating, and while he was captain of the Essex he did not fall into that trap. He maintained the respect of his men without having to stand so far apart from them that he lost the capacity to lead them effectively into battle.
AT SUNRISE ON NOVEMBER 26, A LOOKOUT SPOTTED THE FIRST Cape Verde Island—St. Nicholas, a dry, uninviting place. Porter saw no vegetables or trees, and began thinking that the provisions he needed would not be forthcoming on any of the archipelago’s ten islands. Viewed from the sea, they appeared barren and desolate. Erupting volcanoes in ages past and scorching tropical sun had turned them into sterile places inhospitable to vegetation. The largest and most important was Santiago, where Porto Praia, the capital and first place of rendezvous with Commodore Bainbridge, was located.
Not only did the islands have an inhospitable look, but Porter could not be sure of the reception he would get from the authorities. The Cape Verdes were Portuguese colonies, after all, and Britain was Portugal’s closest ally. It was true that since Napoleon had invaded Portugal in November 1807 and the royal family had fled with their court to Brazil, the islands had become a neglected backwater of a declining empire. But they were still Portuguese territory, and even though Portugal was supposedly neutral in the war between Britain and America, officials in the islands might not want to traffic with an American warship. There might also be problems with the Royal Navy. Although Porto Praia was not a place where British men-of-war normally stopped, from time to time they did, and one or two might be there now.
On November 27, the Essex approached the island of Santiago. As Porter surveyed the countryside, he was disappointed at what he saw. Arid hillsides, sugarcane fields, and banana plantations dominated the landscape. Villages and flocks of goats dotted the mountainsides, but the soil was so poor that no vegetation, except for a scattering of coconut trees, was visible. He was so disappointed that he contemplated just looking into the harbor at Porto Praia and seeing if Bainbridge and Lawrence were there, but not stopping if they weren’t. He could make do with the provisions he had and move on to the next point of rendezvous, the island of Fernando de Noronha.
The Shining Sea Page 8