The Shining Sea

by George C. Daughan

  Not much time passed after James Shields returned to London in the spring of 1790 before English whalers fishing in the eastern Pacific needed naval bases to protect and service them. As might be expected, Spanish officials were making it difficult, as they always had, to obtain provisions and make repairs in ports along the coast of South America. Spain wanted to keep the aggressive British out of the eastern Pacific. Spanish ports in Chile and Peru were, to all intents and purposes, closed. Bribery allowed some British whalers to use Valparaiso, Calloa, and Paita, but this was an unsatisfactory arrangement from Pitt’s point of view, which is why he had dispatched Colnett to find places where Britain could establish her own bases.

  American whalers, operating out of ports like New London in Connecticut, Hudson and Sag Harbor in New York, and Nantucket and New Bedford, could have easily supplied Britain’s needs. But their oil was kept off the British market by a prohibitively high tariff of 18 pounds 3 shillings per ton on all foreign oil—a duty passed by Parliament in 1783 at the conclusion of the Revolutionary War.

  Captain Colnett left England for the eastern Pacific on January 4, 1793, with orders from Pitt to find places where ports could be established for the whaling fleet. Colnett doubled Cape Horn, sailed up the west coast of South America, and continued along the coast of Central America and Mexico to the Gulf of California. He also visited the Galapagos and other islands, but he did not find what Pitt wanted, and he returned empty-handed on November 1, 1794.

  Pitt did not give up. Since Parliament would not reduce the tariff on American whale oil, and was determined to rely on the British fleet, he had to devise ways of making whaling voyages more successful without the prospect of having reliable bases from which to obtain succor. In 1795 Pitt tried to deal with the problem by giving shipowners substantial incentives to engage in the whaling business in the Pacific. A bonus was to be awarded to a fleet of whale ships of not less than eight that sailed into the Pacific, stayed between sixteen and twenty-four months, and returned with at least thirty tons of sperm oil and head-matter. The first ship of the eight would receive a bonus of 600 pounds and the other seven 500. Parliament approved the scheme, and it worked well.

  In 1811, Parliament extended the rewards for three years to ten additional ships that met the same requirements, then it went even further. Parliament encouraged Americans to move their whaling business to the existing community at Milford in Wales, provided they brought twenty whale ships and their crews, resided in Great Britain for at least three years, and conducted their whaling from there. The owners of these ships were allowed to import whale oil and pay the same duties as if they were British, provided the owner took an oath of allegiance to the king. In addition, the owner would be entitled to any bounties Parliament approved for British subjects.

  Considering how important the whaling business was to Britain, the presence of the Essex in the eastern Pacific created a great deal of anxiety in London, although the prime minister, Lord Liverpool, would never admit it publicly. But whether he did or did not, the potential of the Essex to disrupt Britain’s whaling fleet and to simultaneously obtain a distinct advantage for their American competitors was of grave concern. As soon as word of the American intruder reached London in July 1813 (while the Essex was in the Galapagos), the Admiralty immediately set out to destroy her, reinforcing Admiral Dixon with eleven additional frigates, including the 38-gun Targus (which had specific orders to hunt down the Essex) and the 38-gun Briton.

  Porter for his part was focused on doing maximum damage to the British whalers before any warships could reach him. At the same time, however, he was actively looking to engage an enemy frigate and win a great victory as Hull, Bainbridge, and Decatur had, and by doing so, he was making the Admiralty’s task of finding him much easier.

  HOOD ISLAND IS THE SOUTHERNMOST OF THE LARGER GALAPAGOS. On April 17 at seven o’clock in the evening Porter found good anchorage (twelve fathoms of water and a clear, white-sandy bottom) and dropped anchor in what is now Gardner Bay on the island’s northwest side. Wood was easily obtained there, and he saw large numbers of wondrous land tortoises, ranging in size from three to four hundred pounds. Whalers were accustomed to capturing these creatures by the dozens, often storing up to two hundred aboard their ships. These amazing animals were known to remain alive for as long as a year and a half in a ship’s hold without being given water or food, and to be every bit as good to eat as when they were first taken; in fact, aging seemed to improve them.

  Porter expected to go into action against enemy whalers the minute he arrived. His men were prepared for battle, in fact, panting for it, thinking of the easy prize money waiting to be had. They did not expect any trouble from whalers, armed or not. The crew’s health was exceptionally strong, as it had been since the Essex left Delaware Bay. Immediately after setting his hook, Porter dispatched Lieutenant Downes in a whaleboat (purchased from Captain Randall of the Barclay) with a dozen well-armed men to scout Gardner Bay. If Downes spotted an enemy whaler, he was to signal, and Porter would unleash his attack boats.

  An hour passed in silence, as the Essex men waited impatiently for a signal. Then another hour passed, and another. No sign came. Downes eventually returned at ten o’clock empty-handed. The crew was, to say the least, disappointed. Porter had been convinced that at least one, and more likely two, enemy vessels were in Gardner Bay. He returned to Chatham Island and lay to for the rest of the night, utterly frustrated.

  The following morning, April 18, Porter weighed anchor and sailed west with an easterly wind for Charles (Floreana) Island. It was famous for its post office—a roughhewn stake driven deep into hard sand with a primitive box nailed to it. A weather-beaten black sign was tacked over the box, on which was painted “Hathaway’s Post Office.” The box was reputed to be a place where sailors of all nations deposited letters and notices that, they hoped, would eventually be carried home.

  Around two in the afternoon, the Essex dropped anchor in the harbor at Charles. No other ships were about. Porter sent Downes to the post office, situated near a small beach in the middle of the bay. It rained hard the whole time Downes was pulling for shore. When he finally reached the post office, he found near it articles for distressed seamen—clothes, a tinder box, a barrel of bread, and a cask of water, indicating that little or no water was to be had on the island. The rain simply ran off into the ocean. Downes returned to the Essex in three hours with a few papers and some letters confirming that British whalers did indeed frequent these waters.

  Porter suspected that finding water would be difficult, if not impossible, on any of the islands, which meant that whalers could not remain for long. He was not expecting to find any humans on Charles or in the entire archipelago. All the islands looked uninhabitable to him. To illustrate just how difficult life was for humans, he recounted a story he had heard of a particular British sailor named Patrick Watkins, an Irishman who deserted his ship and took up residence on Charles. He built a pathetic hut on two acres of ground about a mile from the landing place, where he raised vegetables and exchanged them for rum, or sold them for cash. Watkins’s appearance was frightful. He looked like a wild man, and, in fact, he was.

  Not long after deserting, Watkins acquired a musket, powder, and ball. Soon after, he captured a few unlucky mariners, whom he used to procure a boat and sail it to Guayaquil in the Viceroyalty of Peru, arriving alone, having killed the others to save the small amount of water aboard. He made his way to Paita, where he hoped to fit in and make a life for himself. Given his appearance, however, the authorities were suspicious the minute they saw him, and the police put him in jail, where he still was when the Essex arrived in the Galapagos.

  With Watkins’s departure, the Galapagos became literally unpopulated. In the succeeding years, that changed. By the time Charles Darwin appeared eighteen years later in HMS Beagle to explore the islands, Peruvian merchants had established a tiny, forlorn colony to service whalers.

  The difficulty humans found li
ving on the islands gave rise to tales of pirates using them as hideouts and burying treasure. Stories of seamen finding pieces of eight sticking up on sandy beaches were particularly titillating. Captain Colnett contributed to the legend when he wrote in his journal that James Island appeared “to be a favorite place of the buccaneers, as we found not only seats, which had been made by them of earth and stone, but a considerable number of broken jars scattered about, and some entirely whole, in which the Peruvian wine and liquors of that country are preserved. We also found some old daggers, nails, and other implements.”

  In spite of Colnett’s speculations, accounts of buccaneers in the Galapagos were greatly exaggerated. The golden age of piracy occurred during the early years of the eighteenth century, from 1700 to 1726. Action was concentrated in the Caribbean, the Bahamas, and the Spanish Main, not in the eastern Pacific. Doubling Cape Horn was simply too difficult for pirates, compared to the easy pickings available in the West Indies.

  AFTER BEING DISAPPOINTED AT CHARLES ISLAND, PORTER SET sail with a fine easterly breeze for Albemarle (Isabela), forty-five miles to the northwest. Eighty miles long, with an irregular shape that resembled a giant seahorse, Albemarle was the largest of the Galapagos. Porter was convinced that Banks Bay off the northwestern part of the island—known as the principal rendezvous of whalers—would yield results. Before noon on April 19, the Essex drew within eight miles of the big island, at which point the wind died suddenly, and Porter lowered a boat to explore. As he rowed toward shore, the water was alive with seals, exotic birds, lizards with red heads, odd-looking crabs, and other unusual species.

  Two hours after leaving the ship he came across an inviting bay, where he landed and saw an amazing sight—myriads of enormous iguanas of the most hideous appearance imaginable. The grotesque creatures were everywhere, taking up large tracts of ground. In places they completely covered the land. The fearsome beasts kept a close eye on the wary, slow-moving visitors. Porter and his party, their guns and clubs handy, inched toward the animals, but they did not stir. Soon the Essex men were among them, but found, to their relief, that their fears were groundless. The ferocious-looking monsters turned out to be the most timid creatures. The Essex men clubbed several to death, intending to take them back to the ship, where they might have a feast. When eventually they tasted the meat, it turned out to be delicious. Porter thought it was better than the excellent tortoises.

  As they rowed back to the ship, Porter saw innumerable rocks covered with seals, penguins, iguanas, and pelicans, and in the water, hundreds of green turtles. Huge, ferocious sharks were around as well, circling the boat, their black fins sticking ominously above the surface. Sharks were not known to attack boats, but these snapped at the oars, while the men thrust boarding pikes at them. One giant bumped hard against the side of Porter’s boat, but then disappeared.

  Immediately after reaching the Essex, Porter hauled in his anchors and explored the coast of Albemarle a bit more. He then sailed to the much smaller island of Narborough (Fernandina), lying just to the west. The waters between Narborough and Albemarle formed two bays—Banks in the north and Elizabeth in the south. A thirty-five-mile-wide passage connected them. Between March and July these waters attracted huge numbers of whales in search of squid or cuttlefish. Porter was certain he would eventually find whalers here, and he dispatched Downes in a whaleboat to reconnoiter Narborough. As darkness fell, signals flashed continuously from the Essex to guide Downes back. He returned at one o’clock in the morning with more depressing news—he had seen nothing.

  The Essex remained on alert. During the day, seamen and officers manned the yards, searching for prey. Suddenly, on April 23, a cry of “Sail Ho!” electrified everyone. It seemed as if all their hopes were about to be realized. On closer examination, however, the white sails turned out to be objects on shore. The crew became more dejected than ever.

  In spite of all the gloom, Porter remained convinced that enemy whalers would soon appear. While waiting, he anchored in Bason cove close to Albermarle in the passage between the two bays, where he found good anchorage and restocked the ship. The men worked hard gathering wood and animals, but they found no water. They did come across an abandoned hut made of stones with no roof. Porter heard later that a marooned English sailor had built the shelter. The poor fellow had been put ashore with nothing but the clothes on his back as punishment for using insulting language to his captain. Being determined and resourceful the sailor built a shelter and survived for a year, eating tortoises and iguanas and other wildlife. He found water dripping down from nearby rocks. When no one came to rescue him, he fashioned a float from seal skins and put out into Banks Bay, hoping a cruising whaler might find him. Sharks circled and bumped against his float, but he kept them off with his paddle. After a harrowing day and night, he happened on an American ship. It was early morning; her crew did not know what to make of the creature that had suddenly appeared alongside. Clothed entirely in seal skin, with a scraggly beard that came down to his chest, an emaciated face, and long, matted hair, the man looked half human and half seal. Fortunately for the marooned sailor, his appearance did not put off the captain, who took him aboard, revived him, and made him a member of his crew.

  After restocking the Essex, Porter continued exploring the waters around Albemarle. He stopped at one point in an inviting place and set down boats to fish. The men dropped lines, and even without bait, hauled in a large catch. Hooks were no sooner in the water than hundreds of fish came for them. In a short time all their boats were filled with black, red, and yellow grouper, sheepshead, and other varieties they could not identify.

  Fishing did not take the crew’s mind off British whalers, however. As each barren day passed, morale sank lower. By April 28 patience was running out. The men grew increasingly restless and irritable, thinking they would never find the enemy. Many were convinced that they had been given bad advice. Attitudes changed abruptly, however, when at daybreak on the 29th, the cry of “Sail ho! Sail ho!” rang out from aloft. In a flash all hands were on deck and at their stations. The stranger was a good-sized ship, and Porter sped after her. An hour later he spotted two more vessels in the distance—both large. He was certain they were British whale ships.

  With British colors flying, the Essex pulled alongside the first vessel at nine in the morning. She was the British whale ship Montezuma, under Captain David Baxter, a Nantucket man. Porter invited him on board for a chat in his cabin. Thinking he was on a British frigate, Baxter revealed that the other two ships were armed whalers, the Georgiana, carrying six 18-pounders, and the Policy, with ten 6-pounders. He also revealed that his ship had 1,400 barrels of sperm oil aboard. The Montezuma, which had a British register, belonged to William Rotch’s son, Benjamin Rotch, an American from Nantucket, now residing in Milford, England.

  While Porter and Baxter talked, Lieutenant Downes moved the Montezuma’s men to the Essex and replaced them with an American officer and crew. Porter then tore after the other two whale ships, both of which had every sail up, trying to escape. They could not shake the Essex, however, and she continued to draw closer. The whalers were given a slight reprieve, when, as often happened in these waters, the wind died. The Essex was within eight miles. Porter quickly ordered out the small boats for an attack. Haze was growing thicker, however, and he worried that the enemy might yet slip away.

  The attack boats were divided into two divisions with Downes in overall command. He was in the lead boat of the first division with Midshipman Farragut. The three other boats of this division were close behind. Lieutenant McKnight and his men were in the Essex’s third cutter; sailing master Cowell and crew were in the jolly boat; and Midshipmen George Isaacs and William Feltus with their men were in the second cutter. Lieutenant Wilmer led the second division in the pinnace. Lieutenant Wilson followed with the first cutter, and marine Lieutenant Gamble managed the captain’s gig.

  Downes’s entire party consisted of fifty men, armed with muskets, pistols, boarding
axes, and cutlasses. As the boats rowed, the faster ones slowed their rate of speed in order to keep the group together. At two o’clock in the afternoon they were a mile from the enemy, which hoisted British colors and fired a cannon several times, creating a commotion, but nothing more. Inexperienced gunners were obviously manning the guns. Their shots splashed harmlessly in the water far from their marks

  The two Essex divisions now came together and rapidly approached the first ship, the larger of the two. Just before boarding, Downes displayed American colors from a pike in the bow and shouted for the whaler to surrender. To his astonishment, he heard cries of “We are all Americans” coming from the ship, and saw her colors being hauled down.

  Downes lost no time boarding the whaler and putting an officer and crew aboard. He then raced after the second, smaller ship, which surrendered as easily as the first. The captured vessels turned out to be the former East Indiaman Georgiana of 280 tons and the Policy of 275 tons. The Georgiana had a crew of thirty-five, while the Policy had twenty-six men. To Downes’s amazement, the greater part of the crews of both ships were pressed Americans, and many of them were eager to sign on to the Essex.

  Capturing the ships was so easy, despite their armament, that the Essex men could scarcely believe their good luck. Porter estimated the three prizes were worth half a million dollars. All doubts the men harbored about achieving their dreams were now forgotten.