The Shining Sea

by George C. Daughan

  A seaman named Lawson, formerly a mate on the Sir Andrew Hammond, led them. He planned to get the crew of Essex Junior drunk on rum mixed with the drug laudanum. Prisoners on the beach were to seize canoes, row out to the ship, board, take her, and put to sea. If complete surprise was achieved, no other ship would be ready to pursue them, and the Essex, with no powder aboard, would be helpless to stop them.

  The plan was workable, but Porter knew about it almost from the moment it was hatched. Two sentinels, who were guarding the rum, were helping Lawson, and Porter had discovered their activities. Disturbed by what he found, he punished the sentinels severely. He then put the crews and marines on high alert, and warned the marines that if the next neglect of duty merited death, he would not hesitate to shoot the offender. They knew he meant it.

  The following evening, Porter discovered just such a neglect and reacted angrily. He was in bed (but not asleep) at the time, and did not hear the marine in the bake house call out “all’s well” as he should have. Porter asked why, and the sergeant of the guard, upon investigating, found the marine fast asleep with his musket beside him. Without disturbing the hapless fellow, the sergeant reported back to Porter who grabbed a pistol. With the sergeant and a guard, he strode to the bake house, gripping his weapon. When he arrived, the unfortunate marine was still asleep with the musket by his side. Porter had him seized up and shot him in the fleshy part of the thigh.

  Despite the fracas, Lawson still planned to escape on Sunday night, November 14. But as luck would have it, on the afternoon of the previous day, lookouts had seen an unidentified ship at the mouth of the harbor, and Porter sent Lieutenant Downes in Essex Junior to see who she was. Before Downes left, Porter took Lawson by surprise, seized him and the other conspirators, put them in chains, and set them to work building a wall around Fort Madison.

  On the afternoon of November 15, Downes arrived back and reported that the strange ship was the Albatross, an American trader in search of sandalwood for China. She had on board beads and other trinkets to trade with the Marquesans. The Albatross proceeded into port, anchored, and then purchased a shipload of the precious wood for practically nothing. When her captain, William Smith, had acquired all his ship could hold, he sold his leftover trinkets at exorbitant prices to Porter’s men for cash.

  LAWSON AND HIS MATES WERE A SMALL PROBLEM COMPARED TO another, much larger one. The terms of enlistment of many Essex men had expired or were about to. Of all the difficulties that Porter faced, this one caused him the most uneasiness. He knew the issue would be raised one way or another, and it had the potential to ruin his mission. He was not taken completely by surprise when trouble arose shortly before the Albatross arrived. For example, when the officer of the watch threatened Robert Dunn, a quartermaster, with punishment for neglect of duty, Dunn replied that the time for which he enlisted had expired, and if he was punished he would never do duty in the ship.

  Since most of the crew were in similar circumstances, Porter knew he had to deal with Dunn decisively. Immediately after receiving the report on Dunn’s insolence, Porter summoned all hands, including Dunn, to the quarterdeck. When all had assembled, Porter ordered Dunn to strip to the waist, and warned him that he would be severely punished, after which Porter promised to banish him from the ship and send him on shore permanently, since he would have his discharge. He then gave an impassioned speech to the crew laying out the evils that would befall everyone if they followed Dunn’s example. He acknowledged that many of them were in similar circumstances and could have their discharge on the spot. But if they enlisted again for the cruise, he would give them the usual advance, and on a suitable occasion, three days liberty on shore.

  Before Porter could proceed with Dunn’s punishment, several officers, petty officers, and seamen intervened. They pleaded that Dunn had been drunk when he made his obnoxious statement and should be pardoned. Dunn swore that he had indeed been drunk and had not meant what he said. He begged to be reenlisted. Porter accepted his excuse and pardoned him. Every man from all the ships then reenlisted, except for one. Porter put him aboard the New Zealander, which he intended to send separately to the United States.

  Dealing with the problem of expiring enlistments did not remove all the incentives for mutiny, however, particularly as December 13, the date for departure, neared. Porter may have been ready to leave, but many of the men were not. Separating them from what many considered paradise would not be easy. After experiencing the delightful freedom of Nuku Hiva, going back to living in a small space cheek by jowl with as many men as were crowded into the Essex was an uninviting prospect. There was such general reluctance to leave that Porter believed it was possible, even likely, that a mutiny would occur. The most dangerous time, he thought, would be just before, or immediately after pulling anchor, and he was on alert, ready to stop any uprising before it got started.

  He began preparing the crews for departure by stopping the liberty that hands had been enjoying. They were ordered to remain on board ship and work long hours. The change immediately brought grumbling. The men saw no reason for Porter to push them so hard. And they missed their women. Making matters more difficult, girls lined the beach every day, from morning till night, trying to get the captain to release the men. The young women cried for their lovers, and made every gesture imaginable to entice hands back to shore. While the men watched, their anger grew. They complained of being slaves.

  Unable to resist temptation, three lovesick sailors quietly swam to shore one night. Their absence was soon discovered, however, and Porter immediately dispatched marines who caught them on the beach and brought them back. Without hesitating, he put them in irons, and the next morning had them severely whipped at the gangway. He then put them to work in chains with the prisoners. The severity of the punishment caused more murmurings. Porter heard them but felt his decisive action had prevented more serious problems.

  He was wrong, however. As December 13 drew closer, discontent grew. Porter realized his error and remained on high alert. On December 9, the crisis he was expecting suddenly erupted. Robert White, a sailor aboard the frigate, was heard to say that the men would refuse to weigh anchor, or if compelled to, would seize the ship within three days. White was a member of the Essex’s original crew. Given the level of grumbling on the ship, Porter thought White’s threat was not an idle boast, and he reacted quickly, mustering all hands on the larboard side of the upper deck. Shaking with rage, he grabbed a cutlass and placed it ominously on top of the capstan. He then told the assembled crew that everyone’s liberty had been revoked, not because they had done anything wrong, but in order to hasten the Essex’s departure. This was an obvious lie. Porter had confined the men aboard to prevent happening to the Essex what had happened to the Bounty. He warned that he would not tolerate anyone going ashore without leave, and should they try to take the ship he would put a match to the magazine, without hesitating, and blow them all to eternity. Knowing Porter, the crew must have taken him seriously. He was determined not to become another Bligh—no matter what.

  Porter then declared, “All of you who are in favor of weighing the anchor when I give the order, pass over to the starboard side; you who are of a different determination, stay on the larboard side.” Immediately, the entire crew passed over to the starboard side. He then singled out Robert White, who was trembling. Porter’s tone was severe as he said to White, “How is this? Did you tell them on board the Essex Junior that the crew of this ship would refuse to weigh anchor?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You lie, you scoundrel! Where is the list of the men who visited the Essex Junior Sunday?”

  Porter made them all step forward and questioned each in turn. “Did you hear of this thing on board of the Essex Junior?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied every man.

  Porter then turned to White, “Run you scoundrel for your life.”

  Terrified, White ran to the starboard gangway and jumped. Farragut, who witnessed the whole dramatic s
cene, said he thought the captain was mad enough to kill White with his cutlass if he had not jumped.

  Luckily for White, a passing canoe picked him up, and he disappeared into the island. Porter let him go. That ended the matter, as far as Porter was concerned, and the men went back to work—“cheerfully,” he reported, although that’s hard to believe.

  PORTER THOUGHT THAT HE HAD TO GUARD AGAINST MORE THAN a mutiny during this time; he thought that he had to secure his new American colony after the Essex and Essex Junior left. He gave the assignment to Marine Lieutenant John Gamble. Gamble was to remain at Fort Madison with two officers, eighteen enlisted men, and six prisoners to maintain the colony. The two officers were Midshipman William W. Feltus, who had been a member of the Essex crew from the start of her voyage, and Acting Midshipman Benjamin Clapp, who had been an officer aboard the Albatross and had transferred to the Essex. Porter took him on because of his desperate need for officers. Porter left Gamble with three prizes—the Seringapatam, the Sir Andrew Hammond, and the Greenwich—and moored them near Fort Madison for safety. He also supplied Gamble provisions for nine months.

  Porter instructed Gamble to remain friendly with the natives, and to show them how to produce certain garden vegetables from seeds. Gamble was expected to stay on the island until the Essex returned, or until he received further orders, or until five and a half months had elapsed. In the latter case, he was to man and provision two ships, burn the other, and sail to Valparaiso, where he was to sell one of the ships and proceed with all the men, including the prize crews from the different ships then in port, to the United States.

  Porter was leaving Gamble the fully provisioned prizes so that the Essex and Essex Junior would have the option of returning to the island for supplies and repairs after a fight with the British in Valparaiso—the grand one-on-one frigate battle that Porter had made the supreme object of his cruise.

  Nothing illustrated how far Porter’s hubris had infected his thinking than his orders to Lieutenant Gamble. There was no reason to leave any Americans on Nuku Hiva. The United States had no interest in acquiring the island, but even if she did, the idea that Gamble and a handful of men could secure it against tens of thousands of natives was a cruel delusion.

  And there was no reason to establish a base to succor Porter’s small squadron after a battle in Valparaiso. Such a battle, after all, was manifestly against the best interests of the tiny American navy, which needed to preserve its warships, not throw them away in useless fighting for the glory of individual captains.

  Nonetheless, with no one to respectfully ask Porter to rethink his strategy, he went ahead with his bizarre plans. In preparing for departure, he ordered the remaining 1,950 barrels of sperm oil from the captured ships placed into the New Zealander, and he appointed master’s mate John J. King commander, directing him to proceed to the United States. This was the third shipload of oil Porter was sending home, giving the crew of the Essex further expectations of rich rewards when they finally reached America. John King and the New Zealander left Nuku Hiva on December 28, shortly after Porter did. Unfortunately, as she was approaching the coast of the United States, the British frigate HMS Belvidera captured her.

  CHAPTER

  19

  SHOWDOWN IN VALPARAISO

  THE ESSEX AND ESSEX JUNIOR WERE STUFFED WITH PROVISIONS when they stood out from Nuku Hiva on December 13, 1813. Aboard were an abundance of wood, water, coconuts, bananas, plantains, and hogs. The ships were bound for Valparaiso and a rendezvous with HMS Phoebe and her escorts. Porter insisted that seeking out the British hunters was the best way to fulfill his supreme responsibility to annoy the enemy. Actually, his orders were to engage in commerce-destroying, which implied that he only fight an enemy as powerful as the Phoebe if absolutely necessary. Seeking out a British squadron that was bound to be superior was contrary to the policy of the president, not to mention common sense. In fact, the administration was so fed up with captains seeking single-ship combat that Secretary Jones routinely cautioned them not to. He wrote to one of them on December 22, 1813, “The character of the American navy stands upon a basis not to be shaken, and needs no sacrifices by unequal conflict to sustain its reputation. You will therefore avoid all unnecessary contact with the cruisers of the enemy, even with an equal, unless under circumstances that may ensure your triumph, without defeating the main object of your cruise, or jeopardizing the safety of the vessels under your command.”

  SHORTLY AFTER THEY LEFT NUKU HIVA, AN INCIDENT OCCURRED on the Essex that dismayed everyone. A thoughtless boatswain’s mate struck Tamaha, the Tahitian who had been such a help to Porter when he first arrived in the Marquesas. The blow came as a complete surprise, injuring Tamaha’s pride and heart more than his body. He could not understand why he was beaten; he had done everything in his power to ingratiate himself with the Americans. He felt humiliated and cried at first, but then declared that he would not be struck again.

  The ship was twenty miles from Nuku Hiva, and night was approaching. A wind was blowing and the sea was getting up, when, unseen, Tamaha jumped overboard. A seaman heard a splash, but did not report it. Tamaha’s absence wasn’t noticed until quarters the next morning. Porter hoped that he had taken an oar or something to buoy himself with, but he had no way of knowing if he had, and he feared that he had drowned. Farragut reported many years later that an officer on one of the prizes moored in Taiohae Bay said that Tamaha reached Nuku Hiva in tolerably good health, three days after leaping overboard. Porter did not record how he punished the boatswain’s mate, but it’s certain that he made the man regret his hasty action.

  FOR NINE DAYS AFTER THE ESSEX AND ESSEX JUNIOR LEFT Nuku Hiva, the winds blew chiefly from north-northeast to northwest. After that, they generally blew from the northwest. Porter sailed east, making nine degrees of longitude the first three days. On December 18, the Essex reached longitude 131° west. The rest of the voyage went nearly as well. “Nothing of unusual interest occurred during our passage,” David Farragut reported. Porter continually drilled the men in small arms and boarding, something he had done throughout their odyssey. “Every day the crew were exercised at the great guns, small arms, and single stick,” Farragut remembered.

  As Porter approached the coast of South America, he wrote a letter to Downes, dated January 10, 1814. In it, he revealed why he was hell-bent on going to Valparaiso, and what his strategy would be when they got there. He made it clear that he was determined to engage the British warships that Downes had reported were searching for him—Phoebe, Cherub, and Racoon. Porter did not intend to fight all three at once. If he had the misfortune of falling in with them, he planned “to make my retreat in the best manner I can.”

  Of course, he was hoping that this did not happen, that he would only have to fight two, or, ideally, one—the big frigate Phoebe. “If we fall in with the Phoebe and one sloop of war,” he advised Downes, “you must endeavor to draw the sloop off in chase of you and get her as far to leeward of the frigate as possible, and as soon as you effect this I shall engage the frigate. “If we meet the Phoebe alone and to leeward of us, I shall run along side of her.” In this case, Downes was to remain to windward, out of gunshot range and observe. If the Essex was getting the better of the engagement, Downes was to do nothing, but if the Phoebe was gaining the upper hand, Downes was to intervene and enable the Essex to haul off.

  If the Phoebe was to windward, Porter would attempt to gain the weather gauge (get to windward of her). If he failed, he would try to disable her with his stern guns, so as to obtain an advantage. Otherwise, although he did not say so explicitly, he would do everything possible to avoid giving the Phoebe an opportunity to fire on the Essex with her long guns, if the Essex was unable to respond with her short-range carronades.

  In the event they ran across the Phoebe and a sloop of war while the Essex and Essex Junior were to windward, Downes was to “draw the sloop off . . . and leave this Phoebe to me,” Porter wrote.

  “I wish you to
avoid an engagement with a sloop if possible,” he cautioned Downes, “as your ship is too weak; if, however, you cannot avoid an action endeavor to cut her up so as to prevent her from coming to the assistance of the Phoebe.

  “I shall in all probability run alongside the Phoebe under the Spanish ensign and pendant; should I do so you will show British colors until I hoist the American.

  “It will be advisable for you at all times to keep to windward of us,” he wrote. This was the ideal position, of course, but it might be impossible to achieve, particularly against seasoned British captains.

  Needless to say, instead of planning a grand battle against what would surely be heavy odds, Porter would have been far better off sailing around the Horn with his prizes into the South Atlantic and proceeding home. If he got into a fight along the way, so much the better. At least he would be following a strategy that had some logic to it.

  ON JANUARY 12, A MONTH AFTER LEAVING MASSACHUSETTS BAY, a lookout at the main masthead sighted Mocha Island—normally to windward of Valparaiso. Without stopping, Porter moved slowly north to Santa Maria Island, where he filled his water casks, looked into Concepción, decided not to stop, and proceeded on a leisurely cruise north. On February 3, 1814, he sailed into Valparaiso Bay and anchored off the city.

  After exchanging salutes with the battery on old Fort Viejo, he went ashore to pay his respects to the acting governor, Francisco de Formas. The reception was friendly, and the following day, Porter received the governor, his wife, and entourage aboard the Essex with a salute. The placid atmosphere of the port belied the fact that since Porter left Valparaiso almost a year earlier, Chile had been in turmoil. Royalists, directed by the viceroy of Peru, had been fighting republicans led by the Carrera brothers, Bernardo O’Higgins, and Juan Mackenna, with neither side being able to win a decisive victory. The American consul general, Joel Poinsett, continued to lend his wholehearted support to José Miguel Carrera, even though it was unclear if the Carreras would survive. The viceroy in Peru had initiated the conflict when he simultaneously invaded Argentina and Chile in 1813, seeking to overthrow their republican governments and returning the countries to Spanish rule. The fighting was intense. By March 1814 the royalists had gained the upper hand. They had captured José Miguel Carrera and his brother Luis, and threatened Santiago.