The Shining Sea
Page 20
Appointed to the Phoebe in 1809, Hillyar assisted in the successful British invasion of the Indian Ocean island of Mauritius in December 1810. France had held Mauritius since 1715, calling it Île de France. Success, in fact, had marked Hillyar’s entire career. He arrived in Rio on June 10, 1813, much annoyed at the slow sailing of the cumbersome Isaac Todd. Admiral Dixon already knew the Phoebe was coming. The merchant brig John had spoken the Phoebe during her passage to Rio and reported to Dixon that she was en route. Dixon welcomed this news since he was about to dispatch one of his scarce warships, the Cherub, to guard a convoy of merchantmen sailing to England.
At the last minute, Dixon held the Cherub back and waited for the arrival of the Phoebe. Embarrassed by Porter’s unopposed attacks, Dixon thought he could now send the Cherub and the Racoon to accompany the Phoebe and hunt down the Essex. Until this point, he had been utterly frustrated at not being able to go after her—and particularly so since the Admiralty on February 12, 1813, had sent him a message, which he received on April 29, to send at least one warship into the eastern Pacific to protect British commerce, and particularly the whale fishery. At the time, Whitehall did not know about the rampaging Essex. Instead the Admiralty was focused on the general collapse of Spanish power in the eastern Pacific and the resultant threat to British ships, as well as the opportunity to expand British interests.
When their Lordships found out about the Essex, they did not understand why Dixon had not sent the Cherub and Racoon after the American frigate long before now. Dixon for his part felt that he did not have enough warships to both go after Porter and continue to protect Britain’s burgeoning trade along the east coast of South America.
Needless to say, Dixon was very happy to see Hillyar and the Phoebe. He was not privy to Hillyar’s secret orders, directing him to seize the American trading post at Astoria. Dixon would have to wait and see what Hillyar’s orders were before making a final decision about sending him after the Essex. And Hillyar for his part would have to decide whether or not to show his orders to Dixon, since they were so sensitive. At length, he had to disclose them, because stopping the Essex had become such a high priority.
Dixon did not know Porter’s exact whereabouts. He did know that Porter had been to Valparaiso and had left, and that he had seized at least one Peruvian vessel, but he did not know where Porter had gone after that. He was told that the Essex might have headed west with the intent of sailing into the Indian Ocean and joining other American warships like the Constitution and the Hornet. He was also told that the Essex might be sailing back around the Horn, touch at the mouth of the River Plate, and then go home. The Galapagos were also a possibility. Dixon thought it was possible, even likely, that Porter would continue in the eastern Pacific for a time, and be back in Valparaiso sooner or later for supplies and recreation. Neither Dixon nor any of his captains thought the Essex would make for the Marquesas Islands.
When Hillyar arrived in Rio on June 10, widespread discontent aboard the Isaac Todd was reported to Dixon. Hillyar had had to punish some of her crew during the voyage. Immediately on entering port, two mates had left her and seven seamen deserted, stealing one of her boats and disappearing during a dark night. Dixon found that the ship was badly stowed, had heavy masts and rigging, and far too many guns on her deck. Many crewmembers, including most of her officers, thought the Isaac Todd was not safe to sail in, especially around the Horn. None of this fazed Dixon; he got right to work fixing her, and had her repaired and ready to go in short order.
Nearly a month went by, however, before Hillyar and the Phoebe departed Rio on July 6, accompanied by the Cherub, Racoon, and Isaac Todd. Although aware of the importance of destroying the Essex, Hillyar intended to follow his secret orders and capture Astor’s settlement on the Columbia River first. The passage around Cape Horn was predictably difficult. The struggling Isaac Todd failed to keep up and got separated from the others. Hillyar thought she had foundered. Nonetheless, after doubling the Horn, he waited a decent amount of time for her, and when she failed to appear, he moved on, setting a course north for the Columbia River. When he was at latitude 4° 33’ south and longitude 82° 20’ west, he received news from a passing British vessel that the Essex had captured the Isaac Todd, which, of course, was not true, but he decided at that point to depart from his orders and send the Racoon to the Columbia River alone, while he took the Phoebe and the Cherub and went after the Essex. He was supported in this decision by John McDonald, the representative of the Northwest Company on the Phoebe. Hillyar did not anticipate that it would take long to find the Essex. (The Isaac Todd in fact had not foundered, as Hillyar thought, or been captured. It had doubled the Horn and eventually made it all the way to the mouth of the Columbia River, where, after extensive repairs, she began trading Indian furs with China for the Northwest Company.)
Hillyar’s expectations about finding the Essex quickly turned out to be unfounded. His search for her went on week after anxious week along the coasts of Chile and Peru with no result. Porter had seemingly vanished. Hillyar was frustrated, but no more so than Admiral Dixon and their Lordships at the Admiralty who were hearing alarming reports of all the prizes Porter was taking, and his devastating impact on the British whale fishery. Wherever the Essex was, however, Hillyar was confident that she would eventually return to Valparaiso.
Meanwhile, Captain Black sailed the Racoon to the Columbia River, arriving on November 30, 1813. There he found, to his great surprise, that the Northwest Company had already taken possession of Astoria, had renamed the fort Fort George, and now flew the British flag over the outpost. No Americans were there. As far as he could tell, their party was completely broken up; they had no settlement on the river or on the coast. He reported that while his provisions lasted, he would endeavor to find what remained of their party and destroy them.
The Pacific Northwest had been of great interest to Britain since the last part of the eighteenth century when Captain Cook had visited there. Spain had a strong interest as well, dating back to the sixteenth century, and so did Russia. The European rivalry nearly resulted in a war between Britain and Spain in 1789 over competing claims to Nootka Island and what became known as Vancouver Island. The United States had a strong interest as well. In May 1792 an American captain, Robert Gray, had been the first outsider to venture into the Columbia River in his ship Columbia. At the time, the famous British explorer George Vancouver was in the area, and he and Gray had met and talked about the difficulty of exploring the river. Vancouver decided that it was impossible because of the tricky entrance, but Gray attempted it and succeeded, thus establishing an American claim to the river, the country surrounding it, and, indeed, the entire Northwest. America’s interest was heightened significantly after Jefferson sent Lewis and Clark on their famous expedition. Neither the European countries nor the United States thought the Native Americans who abounded in the area would be an obstacle to expansion.
John Jacob Astor, the fur trader, became interested in establishing a trading post at the mouth of the Columbia in 1811–1812. He wanted to trade the bountiful furs of the American Indians in China, and he succeeded in establishing his Pacific Fur Company at the mouth of the river, naming the settlement Astoria. It was this settlement that Captain William Black was sent to destroy. Before he arrived, however, the Pacific Fur Company heard that the British were coming to seize it and decided to sell to the Northwest Company before the Royal Navy arrived and simply took it.
PORTER LEFT THE GALAPAGOS ISLANDS, AS PLANNED, ON October 2, 1813. His performance during the time he was there and that of Lieutenant Downes and the rest of the Essex men had been spectacular. Their seamanship had been continuously tested. They had no reliable navigation charts, and the prevalence of fog, strong, tricky currents, and erratic winds made sailing at all times dangerous. That they survived with no major mishaps was a testament to their luck, certainly, but also to their extraordinary courage and skill.
Porter enumerated in his journal
all he had accomplished:
We have completely broken up [the British] whale fishery off the coast of Chile and Peru. . . . we have deprived the enemy of property to the amount of two and a half millions of dollars, and of the services of 360 seamen. . . . We have effectually prevented them from doing any injury to our own whale ships. . . . The expense of employing the frigate Phoebe, the sloops of war Racoon and Cherub [also had to be taken into account].
Porter estimated that the cost of sending three warships after the Essex was $250,000. He claimed that by adding the actual captures he made to the value of the American whale ships who were not captured because of his presence, to the cost of sending warships after the Essex, less the expenses of the Essex for a year ($80,000), his activities cost the British $5,170,000. Whether this fanciful figure bore any relation to reality was of little importance. What mattered was that, without a doubt, Porter had had a significant impact on Britain’s whale fishery, as well as on America’s. And he did it at a negligible cost to his government.
As much as Porter had accomplished, however, and as fine as his ship and crew had performed, they needed a secure place to refresh. The Essex, having been at sea almost continuously for eleven months, required a major overhaul, and her crew, although still in remarkably good health, needed time ashore. The Marquesas Islands were the perfect place for both.
PORTER LEFT THE GALAPAGOS IN THE NICK OF TIME. CAPTAIN Hillyar arrived there three weeks later, on October 23, with the Phoebe and the Cherub, and stayed for weeks. To begin with, he searched everywhere among the islands for the Essex. It took him several weeks, and when he could not find her, he remained for an additional time, hoping she would return. Porter had no intention of going back, however, and Hillyar remained frustrated and anxious. He knew how badly the Admiralty wanted the Essex destroyed. When he finally gave up and left the islands, he returned to the South American coast and began again a thorough search there, which consumed even more time. He must have wondered if he would ever find the Essex. Porter may have simply gone home, either sailing around Cape Horn or traveling west across the Pacific to the Indian Ocean and around the Cape of Good Hope. It’s unlikely that Hillyar ever considered that Porter might be seeking him out as much as he was seeking the Essex. The idea would have struck Hillyar as preposterous.
Captain David Porter
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL ACADEMY MUSEUM)
The USS Essex
(COURTESY OF THE PEABODY ESSEX MUSEUM)
David Glasgow Farragut at age thirty-eight
(COURTESY OF THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY)
Lieutenant John Downes
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
The burning of the Philadelphia
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
Commodore William Bainbridge
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
Evelina Anderson Porter and her daughter
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
The Essex capturing the Alert
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
Thomas Truxtun
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
Marine Lt. John M. Gamble, painted later in life when he was a Lieutenant Colonel
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
Joel R. Poinsett
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
Commodore Edward Preble
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
John G. Cowell
(COURTESY OF THE MARBLEHEAD, MASSACHUSETTS, HISTORICAL SOCIETY)
Captain Porter’s drawing of the Essex and her prizes
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
Captain Porter’s drawing of a woman on Nuku Hiva
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
Captain Porter’s drawing of Mouina, Chief Warrior of the Taiohae
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
Captain James Hillyar
(COURTESY OF THE NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS)
Capture of USS Essex by HMS Phoebe and HMS Cherub
(COURTESY OF THE PEABODY ESSEX MUSEUM)
CHAPTER
15
THE MARQUESAS ISLANDS
“IN VALES OF EDEN”
WHEN PORTER STOOD OUT FROM THE GALAPAGOS WITH A light land breeze on the morning of October 2, he shaped a course due west, hoping to make some new discoveries. Although this route would take him north of the Marquesas, he thought it would add to his luster if he rediscovered some little-frequented islands the Spaniards had visited in the sixteenth century but had ignored (along with the rest of the world) since. Heavy weather, accompanied by a cross sea caused him to revise his plan, however, and he changed course, standing south until he reached latitude 9° south, and then sailed with the prevailing winds west along this parallel, a course that would take him to the Marquesas, 2,500 miles southwest of the Galapagos and 930 miles northeast of Tahiti.
With a powerful enemy squadron now searching for him, Porter’s decision to go to the Marquesas made good sense. He knew the British were sure to search the Galapagos, and, of course, Valparaiso and the other Chilean ports. He would have to travel far off the beaten path to find a suitable harbor to fix the Essex and give her crew some relaxation. It was extremely unlikely that the British hunters would search for him in the Marquesas.
The list of repairs for the Essex was long. Barnacles had to be scraped from the hull; the copper bottom, which in places was coming off, had to be cleaned and repaired. The standing and running rigging needed overhauling, and the ship required a thorough smoking to kill the hundreds of rats that had infested her and had become an intolerable nuisance. The rats were destroying provisions, chewing through water casks, destroying cartridges in the magazine, and eating their way through just about every part of the ship, including clothing, flags, and sails. Smoking the ship was the only way to get rid of them, and it would require removing everything.
The men were as much in need of refreshment as the ship, and the Marquesas, as Porter imagined them, would be an ideal place for accomplishing that as well. Nothing engrossed sailors as much as thoughts of Polynesian women. When, in the late nineteenth century, Robert Louis Stevenson first contemplated making the long journey to the islands, his thoughts were of “undraped womanhood, bedecked with flowers, frisking in vales of Eden.” The imaginations of the Essex’s crew—and of the captain—were undoubtedly filled with the same vision.
Visiting the Marquesas had its dangers, of course, and Porter was alive to them. The islands were beguiling. Once there, even for a short time, the men might refuse to leave. Mutiny was a real possibility, regardless of the goodwill that currently existed between Porter and his crew. “No part of the world exerts the same attractive power upon the visitor,” Stevenson wrote. “The first experience can never be repeated. The first love, the first sunrise, the first South Sea island, are memories apart and touched a virgin sense.”
Porter had a high appreciation of the power that Polynesian islands could exert from having studied the uprising aboard HMS Bounty in 1789—the Royal Navy’s most famous mutiny. After five months on Tahiti, many of the Bounty’s tars had become so enamored with Polynesian life that getting them to leave proved impossible, especially when it meant returning to their hard lives in England. The ship’s captain, Lieutenant William Bligh, had allowed them unusual liberties, and Tahiti had mesmerized them. Of course, there were other reasons for their reluctance to return home. Sailing under Bligh for months in a tiny ship was unappealing. His faults loomed large in their minds—sudden, unpredictable bursts of temper, flying into a rage over trivial or imagined offenses, and his repeated use of abusive, demeaning language to castigate officers and crew. The men who were the objects of his wrath, particularly officers, found his foul mouth intolerable.
It is likely that Bligh’s abrasive, insensitive personality was not, in the end, the main cause of the mutiny, however. It was life on the islands that exerted the mo
st powerful influence. Bligh was convinced that the men’s attachment to the women and the easy life on Tahiti were the root causes of his problems. “I can only conjecture,” he wrote in his notebook, “that they had ideally assured themselves of a more happy life among the Otaheitans [Tahitians] than they could possibly have in England, which joined to some female connections has most likely been the leading cause of the whole business.”
Bligh was undoubtedly right about the source of his woes, but he remained unaware of his own failings. He was so out of touch with, and indeed indifferent to, the feelings of his men that when the Bounty left Tahiti on April 5, 1789, he did not have the slightest idea that a mutiny was brewing. He thought the mood aboard ship was buoyant. He fancied that the men were turning their thoughts to home, as he was. When in the early morning of April 28 Fletcher Christian and three others awakened Bligh in his cabin, pressed bayonets to his chest, and warned him not to make a sound, he was taken completely by surprise—utterly flabbergasted. The leaders of the rebellion, like Christian, were men he thought he had favored and promoted and were loyal to him. “I have been run down by my own dogs,” he wrote to his beloved wife, Betsy.