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The Shining Sea

Page 19

by George C. Daughan


  After they left, he strengthened the Seringapatam by putting twenty-two guns on her. He wanted a spare warship in case some dreadful event in these uncharted waters destroyed the Essex. If that happened, he could carry on with the Seringapatam as his flagship.

  When work on the Seringapatam was completed, Porter, on July 25, dispatched the heavily laden Georgiana to the United States. He wanted to get rid of Captain Stavers, whom he considered a potential threat, and he wanted to allow Lieutenant James Wilson, the officer with the severe drinking problem, a second chance by giving him command of the Georgiana. Wilson’s seamanship was never in question, and he had performed well in the battle between the Greenwich and the Seringapatam.

  It was a popular decision; Wilson was well liked. The other officers wanted him afforded an opportunity to redeem himself. Porter estimated that it would take five months to reach the northern coast of the United States, which meant that Wilson and the Georgiana would be arriving in winter when the British blockade was least effective. Porter estimated her cargo would fetch at least $100,000. He used this occasion to offer some of his men the option of going home. The time of enlistment for many was nearing completion, and he announced that those who qualified could sail back to America with Wilson. None elected to go. Success against the whalers, confidence in Porter, and the prospect of leave on a Polynesian island (which at this point had not been officially announced but was widely anticipated), inspired every man to remain. Needless to say, Porter was gratified.

  As the Georgiana prepared to depart, the Essex gave her a smart salute and three cheers. Everyone hoped that Wilson would have a swift, safe passage. Unfortunately, before he reached the United States, the British frigate HMS Barrosa (William H. Shirreff) captured the Georgiana, her crew, and all her oil.

  At noon on the day that Wilson left, Porter found that his squadron had drifted to the west and was now in longitude 91° 15” west and latitude 1° 8’ 25” north. Three days later, at seven o’clock on the morning of July 28, lookouts spotted a strange sail that Porter assumed was a British whaler. He ran up to the main topgallant yard with his glass to get a good look at her and saw that she was close on a wind and had fresh breezes while the Essex was practically becalmed with a strong current taking her toward Rodondo Island. Nonetheless, Porter attempted to give chase, but the current nearly ran the Essex aground on Rodondo. Only a smart breeze springing up at a critical moment and a quick use of drags saved the ship from crashing into the rocky, perpendicular cliffs on the inaccessible side of the island.

  With the Essex out of danger, Porter continued the chase, certain she was a British whaler. It was not until 7:30 the following morning, however, that the stranger was seen again from the main masthead. Porter kept after her. In two hours he was only seven miles away, and then, with the mightiest exertion, he approached to within four miles, when his prey lost the wind. It looked as if she was done for. Her captain did not give up, however. He got her boats out, and they towed her. Porter sent two boats after her, the gig and a whaleboat, but cannon shot from the stranger’s forecastle kept them at bay.

  At four o’clock, both ships were still becalmed. Porter was close enough to see that the stranger had only ten guns and probably a crew of thirty. He did not think there was any possibility that she’d escape. He hoisted out his seven boats, and they went after her. She fired on them ineffectually, while her boats continued towing. The Essex’s attack boats kept closing. But just when it appeared that the stranger would be easily overpowered, a breeze sprang up from the east, and she got up every piece of canvas she had and sailed to the northward, while the Essex was still becalmed. Porter watched in frustration as his prey moved farther and farther away. By sunset she was hull down, and during the night she completed her escape. Porter thought she was probably either the whale ship Indispensable or the whale ship Comet. He consoled himself by noting that she was the first enemy who had escaped his clutches. “Such is our nature,” he reflected, “that we could not help blaming fortune for thus jilting us, and for this freak of hers forgot for a moment all the favors she had hitherto lavished on us.”

  On August 4, Porter anchored his ships (now reduced to four: Essex, Greenwich, New Zealander, and Seringapatam) in what is now James Bay on James (Santiago) Island. There he spent several days repairing—fixing sails, rigging, and boats, and doing various other jobs that could not be done conveniently at sea. He made a new main topsail for the Essex, and wove new cordage from old rope, broke up her hold, cleansed and re-stowed it, and scrapped the ship’s bottom, removing a thick accumulation of barnacles and grass. He changed the appearance of the Essex as well, and painted the Seringapatam to look exactly like her from a distance. And he gave the Greenwich the appearance of a sloop of war. He also took all the Essex’s gunpowder ashore, sunning and sifting it. He discovered that water had spoiled a third of it by entering the magazine—probably during the passage around Cape Horn or when the rudder coat was damaged off Patagonia. To make up for the loss, he took most of the powder from the Seringapatam.

  Later, he explored parts of James Island. He noticed for the first time how different the tortoises on this island were compared to those on either Hood or Charles. Charles Darwin would later remark, after it was pointed out to him, that, in fact, tortoises, and many other species of plants and animals, were different on each of the islands, something that would later appear to him to be of great significance as he developed his grand theory of the origin of species.

  While the Essex was anchored in the bay off James, four of the ship’s goats, one male and three females, were allowed to graze on shore. Each day, when the Essex men returned to work on the island, they found the goats grazing peacefully, but one day they disappeared, and all efforts to find them failed. Porter assumed they had instinctively searched for the water he believed was in the interior of the island, where the tortoises undoubtedly found theirs. He speculated what effect this might have on the future and came to the conclusion that the animals would thrive and multiply and offer seamen who landed in the future an excellent resource.

  The goats did indeed make a difference on the island, but it was not beneficial. By the year 2000 the descendants of Porter’s goats had taken over the island (now known as Santiago). Almost no tortoises were left. The goats had monopolized the water and made it almost impossible for the unique reptiles to survive. In order to save the few tortoises that remained, the government of Ecuador spent huge sums reducing the goat population to zero.

  SUDDENLY ONE MORNING IN THE MIDDLE OF AUGUST, PORTER was taken aback by shocking news that gave him incredible pain. His officers reported that twenty-one-year-old Acting Lieutenant John S. Cowan, one of his particular favorites, had been killed in a duel. Porter could not believe it, and he was furious. He could ill afford to lose a good officer, and having it happen in the manner it did was excruciating. Cowan had begun the voyage as a midshipman, and Porter had advanced him because of his leadership abilities. So far as Porter was concerned, dueling was a practice that disgraced human nature.

  The duel had taken place on shore at daylight, and Cowan had been killed not on the first round of firing, nor even on the second, but on the third. As angry as Porter was, however, he did nothing to punish the victor; he even attempted to keep his name a secret. But it was generally supposed, although never verified, that marine Lieutenant John Gamble killed Cowan.

  Dueling was a tradition in the navy, and setting aside his own strong feelings, Porter felt he had to respect it. A naval officer could not remain in the service for any length of time without participating in a duel. Although Porter had never been a principal himself, he had taken part on more than one occasion as a second. In fact, when Lieutenant Stephen Decatur McKnight’s father, Marine Captain James McKnight, had been killed in a duel on October 4, 1802, Porter had been one of his seconds. Navy Lieutenant Richard H. L. Lawson had shot McKnight. Both were serving on the Constellation, which was anchored off Leghorn, Italy, with most of the Mediterr
anean squadron. Porter had been serving aboard the Chesapeake at the time.

  Porter had had no inkling there was bad blood between Cowan and Gamble. Although living in the closest proximity to both men, he had no suspicion of what was afoot. Because of the psychological distance he felt was necessary to maintain from his officers in the interests of discipline, he lost an able leader who was vital to the success of his difficult mission. The much-esteemed Cowan was buried the same day he was shot, in the spot where he fell near the beach in James Bay. The unnecessary, idiotic manner of his death weighed heavily on the minds of his brother officers and their captain.

  CHAPTER

  14

  THE HUNT FOR THE ESSEX

  WHILE WAITING FOR DOWNES TO RETURN FROM VALPARAISO, Porter decided to explore more of the islands. Before departing, he left a carefully concealed letter for Downes in a bottle buried at the head of Lieutenant Cowan’s grave and a duplicate at the foot of a finger-post that pointed out the grave. Porter left another note in a bottle suspended conspicuously at the finger-post for any British ships that might happen by, giving misleading information. It spoke of how desperate the Essex’s condition was. The crew was sick, it said, many had died; the frigate was in terrible condition, and the captured prizes had been either burned or given up to prisoners.

  Although Porter was anxious for Downes to return, he did not intend to wait for him indefinitely. He planned to leave for the Marquesas Islands, come what may, no later than October 2. Porter was desperate for intelligence of British movements against him, and he was certain that Downes would provide it, but he thought they could just as well meet up in the Marquesas.

  Porter planned to explore the Galapagos unencumbered by the slow-sailing Greenwich, Seringapatam, and New Zealand. He hid them in a small, obscure cove off Narborough Island while he went on a three-week cruise. He got underway from James Bay on August 20, and by August 22 he had the prizes in place. He put Lieutenant Gamble, commander of the Greenwich, in overall charge of the group, with strict orders to keep a sharp eye out for enemy ships from the highest point on the island, and not to attract attention. Fires were prohibited, and guns were to be silent. Porter also ordered Gamble not, under any circumstances, to let the ships fall into British hands. He was to destroy them if he had to and escape to the island in small boats. Of course, this was to be done only if there was no alternative. Porter expected Gamble to fight any attempt to take the ships, and only flee if absolutely necessary.

  With all this in place, Porter left his charges on August 24. Fighting sudden shifts of wind and rapid currents, he traveled down the sound between Banks Bay and Elizabeth Bay, then attempted to weather the southern head of Albemarle. But a strong westward current stymied him. He was still there fighting the current on August 29, when finally, the wind shifted to the southward, and he was able to get around and reach Charles Island on August 31, where he dropped anchor.

  During the next two weeks, he explored the waters around Charles, Chatham, and Hood islands. On September 14, he was back off the southern tip of Albermarle, where he intended to patrol for a few days. Around midnight, he hove to thirty miles off the island. At daybreak men at the main masthead saw a strange sail to the south. Porter grabbed a telescope and flew up the ratlines to have a look. As he focused, there was no doubt that she was a British whaler engaged in cutting up and processing a whale. She was to windward and drifting toward the Essex. Porter let her drift, and as she came toward him he did all he could to give the Essex the appearance of a merchantman. He struck down the fore and main royal yards and housed the masts. All the gun ports were shut tight, and he hoisted whalemen’s signals that he had obtained from the New Zealander. The ruse appeared to be working, until the stranger drew to within four miles and suddenly cut loose her whale carcass, put on sail, and made a desperate attempt to escape. Porter was right after her, and as soon as he was within gunshot range, he blasted away with eight cannon, forcing the whaler to strike her colors. She turned out to be the Sir Andrew Hammond, carrying twelve guns, although pierced for twenty. She had a crew of thirty-six, under Captain William Porter, who came aboard the Essex and swore that he was certain the Essex was a whaler until she was nearly upon him.

  The Sir Andrew Hammond was loaded with fresh provisions and an abundance of strong Jamaica rum, which Porter distributed liberally to the Essex’s crew. The men had not had any since their July 4th celebration. They joyfully swilled all they were allowed. Porter had misjudged how potent the rum was, however, and before long, he had a ship full of drunks. He managed to keep matters under control, however, and passed it all off as harmless, except for one man who got completely out of control—James Rynard, a quartermaster who had been a clever troublemaker for some time.

  Porter saw Rynard as a potential leader of a mutiny. When complaints were made, Rynard was habitually in the forefront. The Essex was filled with men whose terms of enlistment had expired, or were nearing that point, and Porter had given no evidence that he planned to return to America any time soon. It was conceivable that Rynard might use this to stir up discontent. Porter felt that he needed to make an example of him. To begin with, he confined Rynard in irons and then discharged him, having the purser make out his accounts. He then put him on the Seringapatam until they reached a place where he could be put on shore. Treating Rynard in this manner had the virtue of getting rid of a potential mutineer while giving pause to any like-minded hands.

  Rynard did not go away so easily, however. He wrote a penitent letter to Porter begging him to overlook his past conduct and asking to be reinstated in the Essex. Porter refused, but Lieutenant Downes (after his return from Valparaiso) agreed to accept Rynard in the capacity of a seaman in Essex Junior, provided he behaved himself and gave no further cause for complaint. Rynard happily agreed, and the matter was settled.

  PORTER EXPECTED DOWNES TO ARRIVE ANY DAY NOW; HE WAS anxious to hear the news he would bring. Lookouts were posted on the high ground north of the port on Narborough. A flagstaff was erected on the hill, and signals were arranged so that Essex Junior could see them from either Elizabeth Bay or Banks Bay. As anxious as Porter was to see Downes, however, he was still determined to stand out for the Marquesas no later than October 2.

  While Porter waited, he brought the New Zealander and Sir Andrew Hammond into Port Rendezvous on Albermarle, where he could make repairs and otherwise put the ships in good order. Time passed slowly. Lookouts kept a sharp watch, and then, at noon on September 30 a ship appeared in Elizabeth Bay. A signal shot up to the top of the new flagpole. Porter felt certain that this was Essex Junior. His guess was soon confirmed, and by three in the afternoon she was anchored beside the Essex. When Downes came aboard with the prize masters and officers who had accompanied him to Valparaiso (including David Farragut), the crew gave a rousing cheer. Needless to say, Porter was overjoyed to see them, and more anxious than anyone to hear the news they brought.

  Downes reported that he had sent the Policy and her load of sperm oil to the United States because of the low prices in Valparaiso. (Unfortunately, before Policy could reach America the British privateer Loire captured her.) So far as the Montezuma, Hector, and Catharine were concerned, Downes moored them in Valparaiso, waiting for either a better market or for Porter to decide where to send them. According to Downes, the Chileans had been as friendly and cooperative as they had been before, even though the country was embroiled in a deadly fight with Peru.

  The rest of the news from Downes was far more exciting. President Madison had been reelected, and Downes confirmed what Porter had learned earlier, that the American navy, in the first seven months of the war, had indeed won a string of amazing victories (including the Essex’s over the Alert) in one-on-one battles with the British navy. As encouraging as this news was, Porter was even more interested in the intelligence provided by the American consul at Buenos Aires. The consul informed him that on July 5, 1813, the 36-gun British frigate Phoebe (Captain James Hillyar), accompanied by the 24-g
un Cherub (Captain Thomas Tucker), the 26-gun Racoon (Captain William Black), and the 20-gun storeship Isaac Todd, had departed Rio de Janeiro with orders, it was rumored, to sail around Cape Horn and into the Pacific. Porter assumed they were coming after him, and nothing could have pleased him more.

  In fact, in March 1813, the Admiralty, which had not yet heard of Porter’s rampage in the Pacific, had sent Hillyar and the Phoebe on a secret mission to what is now Oregon. There they were to capture Astoria, John Jacob Astor’s trading post at the mouth of the Columbia River. Hillyar’s orders were “to destroy, and if possible totally annihilate any settlements which the Americans may have formed on the Columbia River or on the neighboring Coasts.” The Canadian Northwest Company, operating from their base in Montreal, wanted to eliminate Astor’s settlement and set up their own base. The prime minister, Lord Liverpool, had much greater ambitions, however. He was laying the groundwork for a major expansion of British territory in the Pacific Northwest. He wanted to secure Britain’s claims to this vast area, claims that were originally established by the exploratory voyages of Cook and Vancouver, and by the remarkable overland explorations of Alexander Mackenzie when he reached the Pacific in 1793, ten years before Lewis and Clark. The large storeship Isaac Todd, which belonged to the Northwest Company, accompanied the Phoebe. She was to carry on trade with China after Hillyar seized Astor’s settlement.

  Liverpool had chosen for the mission one of the Royal Navy’s premier captains. James Hillyar was an experienced officer with a distinguished fighting record. Born in 1769, he had served in the Royal Navy since the age of ten. He had been on HMS Chatham when she captured a French man-of-war off Boston in 1781. In 1783, when he was only fourteen years old, he was promoted to lieutenant. He remained in the navy, serving in various capacities until Britain’s wars with France began again in February 1793. He was then stationed in the Mediterranean for a long period, becoming a protégé of Britain’s most famous seaman, Admiral Horatio Nelson, who had notably high standards for the officers he favored. Hillyar drew Nelson’s attention during the latter’s famous defeat of the French fleet in Aboukir Bay near Alexandria in 1798, and on September 3, 1800, when Hillyar led boats from the Minotaur and Niger in a daring cutting out of two Spanish corvettes in the well-defended harbor of Barcelona. At the time, thirty-one-year old Commander Hillyar was first officer aboard the 32-gun Niger. He drew Nelson’s attention again in 1803, when he turned down an appointment that would have made him a post captain and guaranteed his future promotion to admiral—if he lived that long. Promotions from post captain to admiral were based strictly on seniority. Hillyar was the sole support of his mother and sisters, and the promotion would have meant an interruption in his pay for an uncertain period of time. After hearing what Hillyar did, Nelson, as a mark of his favor, invited him to dinner, and on January 20, 1804 he wrote to the First Lord of the Admiralty, John Jervis, the 1st Earl of St. Vincent, that “Captain Hillyar is most deserving of all your Lordship can do for him.”

 

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