The Shining Sea

by George C. Daughan

  Hillyar moved deftly to take advantage of the military situation and the general war-weariness in Chile. He persuaded the viceroy of Peru and the politically malleable Supreme Director of the State of Chile, Don Francisco de la Lastra, to sign the Treaty of Lircay on May 3, 1814, whereby Lastra pledged allegiance to the King of Spain, Ferdinand VII, making Chile a Spanish colony again. Hillyar insisted that he was acting in the interests of the “respected ally of my nation respecting its colonies,” and indeed, he was.

  Given the new political situation, the American consul general Joel Poinsett was compelled to leave Chile. He asked Hillyar for permission to sail with Porter on Essex Junior on April 27, but since Poinsett had been notorious in his support of Carrera, he was persona non grata to the Lastra regime, and Hillyar refused. Poinsett could not get away until the middle of June. He was forced to travel overland to Buenos Aires, and did not reach the United States until July 1815.

  The peace that Hillyar arranged between Chile and Peru did not last long. Republicans and royalists were back at each others’ throats soon enough. José Miguel Carrera overthrew Supreme Director Lastra, and the civil war resumed. By October 1814, after some intense fighting, the royalists won a decisive victory, restoring Spanish rule once more. The patriots, led by the Carreras and O’Higgins, retreated all the way to Mendoza on the eastern side of the Andes in present-day Argentina, where the governor of the province of Cuyo, José de San Martín, welcomed them.

  José Miguel Carrera soon traveled to the United States to seek aid, while O’Higgins and San Martín (the Carreras’ rivals) prepared to resume the fight for Chilean independence. The new Spanish viceroy in Santiago, General Mariano Osorio, aided them immeasurably. Following the policy of the restored King of Spain, Osorio instituted a brutally repressive regime that alienated the great majority of Chileans. Taking advantage of Spain’s unpopularity, O’Higgins and San Martín in January 1817 led a republican army across the Andes from Mendoza and on February 12 decisively defeated Osorio’s royalist force at Chacabuco. General Osorio retreated south, regrouped, and marched on Santiago, but General San Martín met him at the River Maipu near Santiago and totally demolished the royalist army. Half of it was killed and the other half captured, effectively liberating Chile from Spain. A year later, on February 12, 1818, Chilean independence was formally proclaimed.

  CHAPTER

  21

  THE HEROES COME HOME

  DAVID FARRAGUT REPORTED THAT THE PASSAGE HOME ON Essex Junior was swift and uneventful. “We had, as a general thing, very good weather on our homeward voyage,” he remembered, “passing Cape Horn under topgallant studding sails.” The weather in early May at these latitudes was still cold, but it did not slow them down. On June 14, 1814, they crossed the Equator. Farragut busied himself tending the wounded. With generally favorable winds, they arrived off New York without incident on July 5—Farragut’s thirteenth birthday.

  Porter intended to get ashore quickly and request a squadron with orders to rush to the English Channel in hopes of intercepting the Phoebe and the Essex. A more unrealistic scheme would be hard to imagine. Porter was forced back to reality on July 5 by the 58-gun British razee Saturn (Captain James Nash), which brought Essex Junior to off Long Island. Porter anticipated that something like this might happen, but he did not expect to be detained for long. He thought that once Nash examined Hillyar’s safe-conduct pass, he’d release Essex Junior. Nash was the commander of the British blockading squadron off New York, and he treated Porter with the utmost civility at first, furnishing him with newspapers and oranges, which Porter took as a sign that all was well.

  Shortly, the Saturn’s boarding officer came aboard to examine Hillyar’s passport. After a perfunctory review he permitted Porter to proceed. But two hours later, the Saturn again brought Essex Junior to. A second boarding officer came on board with a party of men and examined Hillyar’s safe-conduct pass once more, along with the ship’s hold. Porter was bewildered and annoyed. His anger grew when the officer informed him that Hillyar had had no right to issue the passport, and that Essex Junior would be detained. Porter immediately objected, telling the officer that this was a gross violation of his contract with Hillyar. He then offered his sword, announcing indignantly that he was no longer bound by the contract made with Hillyar, and would considered himself Captain Nash’s prisoner, which meant that he was no longer on parole and would act accordingly. The officer declined to accept the sword and directed that Essex Junior spend the night under Saturn’s lee.

  At seven the next morning, July 6, the Saturn and Essex Junior were forty miles off Eastern Long Island and about a hundred feet apart with a light wind from the south. Porter was still fuming; he believed that Nash had no intention of liberating Essex Junior. Feeling a great sense of urgency, Porter planned an escape. The best time to effect one was immediately after capture. It would be difficult, of course. Essex Junior was only a short distance from the Saturn, but Porter was determined to risk it.

  Before noon, he had a whaleboat lowered, filled it with armed men, and pushed off. Downes was left to accept the consequences, a situation that apparently did not bother Porter. To make matters worse for Downes, before Porter left, he told Downes to inform Captain Nash that British officers were not only personally destitute of honor but had no regard for the honor of each other. After pulling away, Porter kept Essex Junior between him and the Saturn, hiding the whaleboat.

  His departure went unnoticed. He was nearly a mile away before a lookout at the Saturn’s main masthead spotted him. Just then, a fresh breeze sprang up, and the Saturn crowded on sail, wore ship, and tore after the whaleboat. Before Saturn had gotten very far, however, a thick fog miraculously appeared, enveloping Porter’s boat, Essex Junior, and the Saturn. Farragut could hear orders being shouted on the razee, but he could not see her. Porter took immediate advantage, changed course, and made good his escape. As he did, he heard cannon fire from the Saturn, but the wild shots never came close to hitting the whaleboat.

  Meanwhile, the redoubtable Downes tried to use the commotion over Porter’s flight to make an escape of his own. When the providential fog appeared, Downes put on all the sail Essex Junior could carry and made for Sandy Hook. Within minutes she was making an impressive nine knots. The fog soon lifted, however, and a lookout on the Saturn spotted her to windward. He shouted down to the quarterdeck from a royal masthead. Forgetting about Porter, the Saturn fired a gun to leeward and ran after Essex Junior. With all the speed Downes was able to achieve, it took the Saturn three hours of hard sailing to catch her. Finally, when the Saturn pulled to within cannon range, Downes was forced to put his main topsail to the mast and heave to. A boat from the razee was then lowered, and an officer, who had not been on Essex Junior before, rowed across to the ship.

  He stepped aboard and said sarcastically to Downes, “You drift quite fast. We have been going nine knots for the last three hours, and yet we find you abeam with your main topsail to the mast.”

  Downes looked at him with a steady eye and said, “Yes.”

  “And that was Captain Porter who left the ship in a boat, I suppose?”

  “It was,” said Downes.

  “Then by God, you will soon be leaving too, if we don’t take your boats from you.”

  “You had better try that.”

  “I would, if I had my way.”

  Downes glared at him. “You impertinent puppy,” he said, “if you have any business to do here, do it, but if you dare to insult me again I shall throw you overboard.”

  Without answering, the young man got into his boat and returned to the Saturn. A short time later, another officer, the same one who had first boarded Essex Junior the day before, arrived and offered Captain Nash’s apologies for the ungentlemanly behavior of the previous officer.

  The crew of Essex Junior was then mustered, and each man examined in turn to check his name against Hillyar’s passport, and for deserters from the Royal Navy. After completing the last interview,
the officer turned to one of his own seamen and asked, “Which is the man you spoke of as being an Englishman?”

  Suddenly, anxiety gripped every American until the British tar answered boldly, “I never said he was an Englishman.”

  “But you said you had sailed with him.”

  “True enough, but it was out of New York.”

  The officer apologized and returned to the Saturn, where Captain Nash countersigned Hillyar’s passport. Downes was now free to proceed for Sandy Hook and New York. About sunset, however, he fell in with another British frigate, HMS Narcissus, which subjected the entire crew to another examination before countersigning the passport a second time. Downes then continued on. He reached Sandy Hook at 8 P.M.

  The night was dark and squally. Downes could not procure a pilot to conduct him into New York, but he proceeded anyway, using a chart for a guide. In the Horseshoe, he hoisted his colors with lanterns and sent a boat on shore with a light. But the light went out and a small battery on shore started firing on Essex Junior. It did not stop until the boat returned with another light. In the meantime, not a single shot found its mark.

  It was now too late to proceed, and Downes, having convinced the battery that Essex Junior was an American ship, furled his sails and anchored for the night. The following morning, July 7, he stood into New York Harbor under full sail with colors flying, only to be fired on by another battery. Its accuracy was no better than the first one, however, and Essex Junior sailed on, coming to anchor off New York.

  WHILE DOWNES WAS MAKING HIS WAY TO NEW YORK, PORTER was doing the same. But he was delayed. When he set out for Long Island in his whaleboat, he did not know quite where he was. After rowing and sailing sixty long, difficult miles during the night, he finally came within sight of the beach at Babylon early in the morning. The surf was running high, but he managed, with great difficulty, to run the whaleboat up on hard sand. Townspeople assumed he was a British officer, and militiamen quickly assembled. They pointed their muskets at him and took the whole strange boatload prisoner, believing they were British. The militiamen found Porter’s story so extraordinary it defied belief. But when he showed his commission, their doubts vanished. They lowered their muskets and gave three cheers. They even saluted their visitors with a one-pound swivel gun. They also gave Porter a large wagon to haul his men to New York.

  By four o’clock, Porter was in Brooklyn, where he crossed the East River in the steamboat ferry Nassau. When he arrived in Manhattan, Lieutenant Downes was already there. Porter was relieved. He was also exhilarated, as cheering citizens unhitched the horses from the wagon, and with Porter and his men in it, drew it up to City Hall, where a grand celebration commenced. When it was over, Porter was taken to his lodging in Greenwich Street with crowds cheering him along the way. If he had had any remaining doubts about how a defeated captain who had lost his ship and had dozens of men killed and wounded would be received, this reception removed them. The Boston Gazette spoke for most of the country when it declared: “The American Navy loses nothing of its justly acquired renown by this loss [of the Essex].”

  Although Porter and Downes were reunited, they had little time together. Both naturally wanted to get home. When the celebration was over, Porter headed for Chester, and Downes for Canton, Massachusetts. On the way to Chester, Porter stopped in Philadelphia, where he received another rousing welcome. On entering the city the horses were again unhitched from his carriage, and a crowd drew him in triumph to the Mansion House Hotel amidst loud cheering. When he arrived at the hotel, he was carried on shoulders to the reception room, where he received the accolades of the city.

  He was still anxious to get home, of course. He remained in Philadelphia only a few hours before moving on to Chester and a reunion with Evelina and his family, which now included a new member, David Dixon Porter, whom Evelina had been pregnant with when David left way back in October 1812.

  Porter was overjoyed to see his family, and by the reception he was getting everywhere he went. He later wrote, “On my arrival by land at New York, the reception given me by the inhabitants, as well as those of every other place through which I passed, it becomes me not to record. It is sufficient to say, it has made an impression on my mind, never to be effaced.” Adding to his pleasure was the reception he received at the White House. At the end of July, Secretary Jones brought him there for dinner with President Madison, who made it clear that he, like Jones, had a high appreciation of the heroic efforts of Porter and his men—despite their defeat in Valparaiso.

  ALTHOUGH PORTER AND HIS CREW WERE ENORMOUSLY GRATEFUL for the applause of their countrymen, they also had an urgent need for money owed them for their service. It had not been forthcoming when they landed in New York, and so they had to borrow to acquire food and lodging. The British had stripped them of everything they had, except for the clothes on their backs. On July 20 six members of the crew wrote respectfully to Porter complaining that “We have now been ten days onshore without one cent in our pockets.” He relayed their plea for help to Secretary Jones, who was furious with the Republican politicians in Congress who had voted for the war, but had not properly funded it, leaving the country practically bankrupt. Jones was often without funds for the ordinary expenses of the department such as seamen’s wages. On July 25 he provided Porter with $30,000 to pay his crew. Jones also made sure that the navy bought Essex Junior for $25,000, which gave the crew and the captain money they badly needed.

  GIVEN THE COUNTRY’S WIDESPREAD APPRECIATION OF HIS efforts, Porter was more anxious than ever to have a court of inquiry convened so that he could be officially exonerated for the loss of the Essex and so many of her men. On August 11, 1814, Secretary Jones ordered Commodore Stephen Decatur to convene a court of inquiry aboard the frigate President in New York harbor. But on August 19 Jones directed Decatur to suspend the court so that Porter and what remained of the Essex’s crew could participate in the defense of Baltimore and Washington, where President Madison thought the British would soon attack. They did—Washington on August 24 and Baltimore on September 13.

  Porter arrived too late to help with the defense of Washington, but he did participate in a belated attempt to prevent a potent British squadron, under Commodore James Gordon, from sailing back down the Potomac River and joining a much larger fleet, under Vice Admiral Alexander Cochrane, for the attack on Baltimore. Gordon had failed to reach Washington in time to participate in the capture and burning of the capital, but he did sit off Alexandria and force the city, under the threat of destruction, to pay an exorbitant tribute. Gordon then began descending back down the Potomac to join the larger British fleet in Chesapeake Bay. Secretary Jones hoped that Porter, along with Commodores John Rodgers and Oliver Hazard Perry, working separately, could prevent Gordon from getting back to the Chesapeake. If they could, Admiral Cochrane might cancel his planned assault on Baltimore.

  Porter and his colleagues made a mighty effort with pitifully inadequate resources, but they could not stop Gordon. They did hold him back long enough, however, to give Baltimore’s defenders additional time to prepare. It made a significant difference. The strength of Baltimore’s defenses forced Admiral Cochrane’s invaders to withdraw after an ineffective bombardment. His humiliating withdrawal, along with the unexpected defeat of British forces at Fort Erie on August 11-12 and at Plattsburgh, New York, on September 11, played an important part in convincing the prime minister, Lord Liverpool, and his cabinet to end the war. Porter and his men, thus, played a not insignificant role in ending the War of 1812 on far better terms than anyone at the time thought possible.

  With the war over and Porter an even bigger hero than ever, Decatur’s court of inquiry into the loss of the Essex appeared pointless and was suspended indefinitely.

  CHAPTER

  22

  LIEUTENANT GAMBLE AT NUKU HIVA

  TEMPORARILY FORGOTTEN AMID THE HORRENDOUS EVENTS in Valparaiso was twenty-three-year-old Lieutenant John Gamble and his tiny crew at Nuku Hiva. They had be
en trying to maintain control of Porter’s pathetic caricature of a colony with a wholly inadequate force. Not surprisingly, the moment the Essex and Essex Junior departed, the Taiohae tested Gamble. “The frigate had scarcely got clear of the Marquesas before we discovered a hostile disposition on the part of the natives,” he reported many months later to Secretary of the Navy Benjamin Crowninshield, who had replaced William Jones.

  Porter had assumed that the Taiohae were thoroughly cowed and would be the least likely tribe to cause trouble. Actually, Gamble had difficulties with them right from the start. A few days after Porter left, the Taiohae became so insolent that Gamble “found it absolutely necessary, not only for the security of the ships [Seringapatam, Greenwich, and Sir Andrew Hammond], and property on shore [Fort Madison], but for our personal safety, to land my men and regain by force of arms, the many things they had, in the most daring manner, stolen from the encampment; and what was of still greater importance, to prevent, if possible, their putting threats into execution, which might have been attended with the most serious consequences on our part from duty requiring my men to be so much separated.”

  To underscore his determination not to be run over, Gamble captured two chieftains and put them aboard the Greenwich until all swine stolen from Fort Madison were returned. His fast action checked the Taiohae for the moment, but a series of subsequent events kept Gamble on edge, prepared for the worst. To begin with, discipline was breaking down among his men, particularly the British prisoners, something that Porter should have foreseen. On January 20 the crew on the Seringapatam brought girls on board, which was forbidden. Gamble had issued strict orders not to permit any natives on the ships. He did not want the Taiohae finding out just how undermanned he was. The girls were sent ashore, and the men flogged, but the blatant disregarding of orders was unsettling.