The Shining Sea

by George C. Daughan

  In this tense atmosphere, Colonel Francisco de la Lastra rose to power. He had been governor of Valparaiso when Porter first arrived in March 1813. A year later, in Santiago (while Porter was again in Valparaiso), he became supreme director of Chile with dictatorial powers. Lastra had been nominally a republican, but, as Porter had sensed the year before, Lastra was ready to align himself with whichever side won. He had no problem pledging allegiance to Ferdinand VII, the Spanish king whom the British were about to restore to his throne. Ferdinand’s policy, although unknown in Chile at the time, was to turn back the clock to a time before the American and French Revolutions and make Chile a royalist colony again ruled from Madrid as she had been for centuries.

  Communications were so poor in Chile that when Porter arrived in Valparaiso in February, the state of the war between the royalist and republican armies was unknown. No one suspected that in just a few weeks the royalists would gain a significant advantage.

  Soon after Porter’s arrival in February, he learned of the uncertain political and military situation, which had to be a factor in his thinking, but the British hunters were foremost in his mind. He sent Essex Junior to take up a position offshore, where Downes could intercept enemy merchantmen and whalers, while keeping an eye out for hostile warships. Porter was convinced that at least the Phoebe and the Cherub would appear, and perhaps the Racoon. Other warships might be on the way as well. But that might not be the case. He would just have to wait and see. In the meantime, Essex and Essex Junior were in a high state of readiness.

  On February 7, Porter repaid the kindness of the governor and the people of Valparaiso by throwing a party aboard the Essex. Lieutenant Downes was invited. He was to anchor the Essex Junior in a place that would afford a full view of the sea. As was the normal routine on the Essex, one-third of the crew was on shore leave. Dancing continued until midnight, after which Lieutenant Downes returned to his ship and put to sea, taking up his normal station. His crew resumed their regular routine, but there was to be nothing routine about this night. The Essex’s crew were in the midst of taking down awnings and flags and generally cleaning up after the party, when Essex Junior made a signal—two enemy ships in sight.

  George O’Brien, skipper of the English merchantman Emily, which was anchored in the harbor, received a signal as well. He leaped into a boat with some men and rowed out to the largest British warship he saw, HMS Phoebe, and warned Captain James Hillyar that the Essex was in Valparaiso. Hillyar was ecstatic; he had finally found what he had been after all these many months. O’Brien volunteered to help. He had once been a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, but had been broken for misconduct and joined the merchant service. He held no grudges, however, and offered every assistance to Hillyar, even telling him that the entire crew of the Emily would volunteer to fight aboard the Phoebe.

  While O’Brien conferred with Hillyar, a gun sounded on the Essex and a signal shot up for all men and boats to return. Within a remarkably short time, every sailor was aboard the Essex preparing for battle. Only one appeared drunk.

  Porter rowed out to Essex Junior to have a look for himself. What he saw—two large British warships, probably a frigate and a sloop of war—was both sobering and exhilarating. He immediately ordered Downes to run the Essex Junior into port and take up a position where Essex Junior and Essex could support each other. When Porter returned to the Essex at half past seven in the morning, he found the ship fully prepared for action. At eight o’clock the two British ships entered the harbor, also ready for battle. The larger one, the powerful 36-gun Phoebe, kept coming right at the Essex, approaching to within a few yards. Her crew was at battle stations.

  All was in readiness on the Essex as well, the men filled with anticipation. Guns were boused out. Boarders gripped their cutlasses and checked their small arms. Every officer and man had a weapon, standing by for the order to board. The Phoebe drew even closer. Just then, the one tipsy youth imagined that he saw a British sailor making faces at him. He shouted that he’d stop the man from making fun of him and went to apply slow-match to his cannon. Before he could, Lieutenant McKnight punched him and sent him sprawling. If the seaman had succeeded in firing, a fierce battle would have ensued, in which Porter and the Essex would have had a decided advantage because of the power of their 32-pound carronades, and undoubtedly would have smashed the Phoebe into submission.

  The British captain was now clearly visible on his quarterdeck in a pea jacket. He was close enough to yell to Porter through a trumpet, “Captain Hillyar’s compliments to Captain Porter and hopes all is well.”

  As men on the Essex stood tensely by their weapons, Porter shouted back through his trumpet, “Very well, I thank you, but I hope you will not come too near, for fear some accident might take place which would be disagreeable to you,” and with a wave of his trumpet the kedge anchors went up to the yardarms, ready to grapple the enemy.

  Playing on the fact that Valparaiso was a neutral harbor, Hillyar had approached the Essex close enough to see that she had not been taken by surprise, as he had hoped. She had a full complement of men aboard. George O’Brien’s report that a large part of Porter’s crew were on shore turned out to be inaccurate, and Hillyar had to quickly adjust his thinking. His gambit had failed. Instead of being unprepared, the Essex was ready. Her deadly carronades were close enough to devastate the Phoebe. Seeing this, Hillyar suddenly braced back his yards while crying out that if he did fall aboard the Essex it would be entirely by accident.

  Porter yelled back, “You have no business where you are. If you touch a rope-yarn of this ship, I shall board instantly.” At the same time, he signaled Downes on Essex Junior to be ready to repel the enemy.

  “O, sir,” Hillyar shouted to Porter, in a careless and indifferent manner, “I have no intention of getting on board of you.”

  Hillyar was no stranger to Porter. They had become well acquainted in 1807 when both were serving in the Mediterranean. As Porter recalled, “While [Hillyar’s] family resided at Gibraltar, I was in the habit of visiting them frequently, and had spent many happy hours in their company. . . . For Captain Hillyar and his family I entertained the highest respect; and among the American officers generally, no officer of the British navy was so great a favorite as Captain Hillyar.”

  Nonetheless, Porter was leery of Hillyar’s intentions. Hillyar had a well-deserved reputation for ignoring neutrality when it suited his purposes. An experienced commander who had seen plenty of action, Hillyar had demonstrated more than once what few scruples he had when victory demanded that he ignore neutral rights. In 1800, in the port of Barcelona, for instance, he had used a neutral Swedish vessel to sneak boatloads of men into the harbor, past a Spanish battery to attack an unsuspecting enemy in the harbor.

  In trying to extricate himself from a potentially disastrous situation, Hillyar luffed up so as to cause the Phoebe to take aback, but in so doing, her jib-boom swept across the Essex’s forecastle. Porter shouted to all hands to be alert, ready to board if the hulls touched. “At this moment,” Porter recalled, “not a gun from the Phoebe could be brought to bear on either the Essex or Essex Junior, while her bow was exposed to the raking fire of the one, and her stern to that of the other. Her consort . . . was too far off to leeward to afford any assistance.”

  “The Phoebe was . . . completely at my mercy,” Porter wrote. “I could have destroyed her in fifteen minutes.” He wasn’t exaggerating; he could have poured two or three raking broadsides into her, tearing her guts out from stem to stern, with no trouble. Powder monkeys held slow matches by the guns. Had Porter given the order, and the Essex let go her rounds, her massed boarders could have easily overwhelmed Hillyar.

  But the Phoebe never touched the Essex, and Porter—choosing to observe the rules of neutrality—never fired on him, letting Hillyar off the hook. Oddly, Porter allowed himself to be disarmed by Hillyar’s assurances, even though Hillyar’s record was well known to Porter. Nonetheless, he allowed the Phoebe to extricate hersel
f and move to a less vulnerable position, which Hillyar proceeded to do. He anchored about a half mile astern, beyond the reach of Porter’s carronades, but within range of the Phoebe’s long 18-pounders.

  As soon as the Phoebe was in place, Captain Tucker brought the Cherub to anchor within pistol shot of the Essex. Whereupon, Porter ordered Essex Junior to take up a position that placed the Cherub between the fire of the two American ships. He wasn’t taking any chances.

  Porter insisted that respect for Chilean neutrality was his guiding principle. He would never attack Hillyar in the port. If the Phoebe had made the first move, he would have been obliged to retaliate, but he would not initiate the action under any circumstances. He liked to point out that since the Essex was the inferior ship in point of firepower, his government would not countenance him looking for a fight, but if one came his way, he would eagerly grasp it. Not only would he jump at the opportunity, but the chance of a battle was the reason he had returned to Valparaiso in the first place. He did not need to be there. No military purpose was being served. He was there to have a fight. He might not initiate an engagement, but he would do everything he could to provoke one.

  On the following morning, Hillyar noticed that the Essex was flying a large banner emblazoned with the words “FREE TRADE AND SAILORS RIGHTS.” The message stuck in his craw. He saw it as an “insidious effort to shake the loyalty of thoughtless British seamen.” Like most of Britain’s upper classes, Hillyar blamed the massive desertions from British warships on American shenanigans, rather than on the tyrannical practices of officers aboard their own men-of-war. With his ire up, Hillyar hoisted an ensign declaring “GOD AND COUNTRY; BRITISH SAILORS BEST RIGHTS; TRAITORS OFFEND BOTH.” On seeing this, the Essex men swarmed over their rigging and gave a full-throated jeer. Hillyar’s crew responded in kind, after which, his little band played “God Save the King.” Porter replied with another banner, bearing the motto “GOD, OUR COUNTRY, AND LIBERTY—TYRANTS OFFEND BOTH.” This tit-for-tat went on the entire time the two ships were anchored close to each other. The hoisting of rival banners was followed by insults shouted across the water. Songs, and even poetry, were employed to abuse each other, as well as small flags carrying pointed inscriptions.

  There was another side to this relationship, however, and it softened the rivalry. On the same day the battle of the banners began, February 9, Captains Hillyar and Tucker paid a visit to Porter at the home of Mr. Blanco, the American deputy vice consul in Valparaiso, where Porter usually stayed while on shore. The meeting went well, and others followed. “A friendly intimacy [was] established,” Porter reported, “not only between the commanders . . . but the officers and boats’ crews of the respective ships. No one, to have judged from appearances, would have supposed us to have been at war, our conduct toward each other bore so much the appearance of a friendly alliance.” During their first meeting, Porter asked Hillyar if he intended to respect the neutrality of the port, and Hillyar replied in convincing fashion, “You have paid so much respect to the neutrality of the port, that I feel myself bound in honor to respect it.” Porter was satisfied that Hillyar meant what he said.

  During their later meetings, Porter made it clear that he wanted a one-on-one duel between the Essex and the Phoebe, in effect, asking Hillyar to give up his advantages. But Hillyar had no reason to. His responsibility was to remove the Essex as a menace to Britain’s whalers and commerce. He was a forty-four-year-old veteran who had won enough laurels to feel secure about his reputation. He did not need another victory to prove himself. The Admiralty would judge him on whether or not he got rid of the Essex, not on how he did it. His orders from Admiral Dixon required him to destroy a menace to British interests, not to engage in a one-on-one frigate duel. Dixon would not quibble about Hillyar’s methods, nor would the Admiralty. But they certainly would if Hillyar relinquished his advantages in order to accommodate Porter. And, of course, if he lost a single-ship duel under these circumstances, he would be subject to severe penalties.

  Hillyar could afford to wait. He already had a superior force, and more frigates were on the way. In fact, the Admiralty had already dispatched the powerful 38-gun frigates Briton (Sir Thomas Staines) and Targus (Captain Philip Pipon) to destroy the Essex. To be sure, the Phoebe was more powerful on paper than the Essex and could take her on with a reasonable chance of success, but naval actions turn on many variables—a lucky shot cracking a vital mast or spar, a cannonball smashing the steering—any number of things could even the odds in the Essex’s favor. So Hillyar had every reason to bide his time and blockade Essex and Essex Junior until he judged he had an overwhelming advantage.

  The Phoebe and the Cherub remained close by Essex and Essex Junior until their provisioning was complete on February 14. The following day they pulled their hooks, sailed out of the harbor, and began patrolling off Valparaiso Bay, staying to windward, close to the Point of Angels.

  Porter for his part continued trying to provoke a single-ship duel. On the afternoon of February 26, when the sea was calm, he towed one of his prizes, the Hector, out to sea, hoping the Phoebe alone would chase him. Instead, both British ships came after him, standing toward the bay while he was coming out. Not wanting to get far beyond the protection of the neutral harbor, Porter burned the Hector and retreated. The British ships continued after him, but he managed to get safely back to his former anchorage.

  The following afternoon, February 27, Hillyar tried to turn the tables and lure Porter into uneven combat. He steered the Phoebe into the harbor alone—much to Porter’s surprise and delight, leaving the Cherub to leeward. At five o’clock Hillyar hove to a short distance from the Essex, shortened sail, fired a gun to windward, and hoisted a familiar ensign: “GOD AND COUNTRY; BRITISH SAILORS BEST RIGHTS; TRAITORS OFFEND BOTH.”

  Believing this to be a challenge for the single-ship duel he yearned for, Porter hoisted his own pennant: “GOD, OUR COUNTRY, AND LIBERTY—TYRANTS OFFEND THEM.” At the same time he ordered sixty men from Essex Junior to join the Essex crew, making her numbers 315—more equal to the Phoebe’s 320. Porter then fired a gun and got underway, anticipating a deadly fight. In response, the Phoebe stood out of the harbor to give the combatants some fighting room—or so Porter thought. He followed, getting closer to her as he went. Suddenly, to Porter’s complete surprise, the Phoebe bore up before the wind and ran down for her consort.

  It was a sensible maneuver, designed to capture the Essex at the least possible risk. But Porter was indignant, feeling he had been cheated out of what he most wanted. He fired two guns at the Phoebe in a vain effort to bring her to. When that failed, he hauled his wind, and returned to the protection of the port. The Phoebe, in company with the Cherub, came after him. They entered the harbor, but did not commence an attack. Porter assumed it was because Hillyar respected the neutrality of the port.

  Hillyar sent his chivalrous first lieutenant, William Ingram, to the Essex under a flag of truce to explain that Captain Hillyar had not issued a challenge. Firing a gun and hoisting a flag, Ingram said, was intended merely as a signal to the Cherub. Porter did not believe him. He accused Hillyar of being “cowardly and dishonorable.”

  During this set-to, the Phoebe showed herself once again to be a slow sailor. The Essex was obviously the faster ship, and that speed could make a big difference in a one-on-one fight. It could also allow Porter to escape, if it came to that.

  Some days later, Porter decided he would make a night attack on the Phoebe using the small boats he had employed so successfully in the Galapagos Islands. Given the constant training his men had received in hand-to-hand combat, he was confident they were superior to any British crew, which was probably true. On the night of March 12, all the Essex’s boats were filled with armed men, and with muffled oars, they rowed toward the Phoebe. Porter was in the lead boat with Farragut. They pulled close enough to hear conversation on the forecastle, which led Porter to believe that Hillyar was waiting for him, whereupon he aborted the mission and rowed ba
ck to the harbor.

  In fact, Hillyar was unaware of Porter’s presence, and the Essex men got back to their ship without difficulty. Porter never mentioned the incident in any letter or in his journal. David Farragut gave the details much later. Porter was evidently too embarrassed to mention the non-event. He must have realized later that he had taken Hillyar by surprise after all, and had retreated when he did not have to. Hillyar was informed of what happened sometime later.

  On March 14, Porter began a paper war with Hillyar, hoping to prod him into abandoning his caution. He accused Hillyar of trying to encourage men on the Essex to desert. Hillyar denied doing so, although, of course, he would welcome any American seaman who left his ship. That Porter thought his transparent gambit would succeed with Hillyar is a tribute to his inflamed imagination.

  At length, Porter concluded that Hillyar was never going to fight him one-on-one, and he looked for an opportunity to escape. His sense of urgency increased when word arrived overland from Buenos Aires that the 38-gun Targus was on the way, and possibly two other frigates, along with the Racoon—back from the Columbia River. In fact, the Targus arrived off Valparaiso on April 13.