In Pursuit of the Essex

by Hughes, Ben;

  On the evening of 16 April, with the breeze reduced to a murmur, Porter had the Essex’s lower steering sail partially submerged, creating a sheltered pool in which the men were permitted to swim. Despite the high temperatures, which increased as the Essex drew nearer the Equator, spirits remained high. Only two men were on the sick list, one of them Surgeon Miller himself. Besides the advanced liver disease which had been troubling him even before the Essex had left the Delaware, Miller had recently begun to suffer from constipation caused by the bad water shipped at Valparaiso. Consequently, he requested a transfer to the Barclay, where he believed the ‘greater tranquillity’ might aid his recovery. Bored with the doctor’s constant complaints, Porter agreed.2

  At 8 a.m. on 17 April, one of the Essex’s lookouts sighted land. Believing it to be Hood’s Island, a common stopping-place where whalers obtained wood and giant tortoises, Porter had Cowell haul in for a closer look and signalled the Barclay to follow. When the low profile of Hood’s rose to the west, however, Porter realised his mistake: the first landfall was actually Chatham’s Island, the easternmost of the Galapagos. Changing course, Porter arrived abreast of the anchorage off the northwest part of Hood’s, well-sheltered in the lee of an offshore atoll, at 7 p.m. and sent Downes in for a closer look in one of the Barclay’s whaleboats. Made of light half-inch cedar planks, the whaleboats were sleek craft, designed to ride over the waves rather than cut through them and in three hours Downes returned having found the anchorage empty. Disappointed, Porter hauled off into the wind with the Barclay in company and lay to for the night, wary of the offshore reefs marked on Colnett’s charts and the strong north-westward currents.3

  Dawn revealed seven islands in sight. Signalling the Barclay, Porter bore away for Charles’ Island, another stopping point for his quarry, with a pleasant breeze from the east. Flocks of large, black frigate birds whirled overhead. One was caught by a topman precariously balanced on the main royal yard. At noon the Essex hove to off a bay near the northwest point of Charles’ Island marked by a ring of high, black ragged rocks known as the Devil’s Crown. Scanning the anchorage, the American officers gathered expectantly on the quarterdeck. Yet again they were disappointed. ‘We could perceive no vessels’, Porter recalled, ‘but understanding that [visiting whalers] … were in the practice of depositing letters in a box’, Lieutenant Downes was ordered ashore once more.4

  Downes returned three hours later. As well as several pelicans and doves his men had killed with stones and the bloodied body of a large fur seal, the lieutenant brought a number of letters from the post-box. ‘There was none … of a late date’, Porter recalled, ‘but they … confirmed … the practice of vessels … cruising among the … islands for whales.’ Five London and Milford Haven-based whalers – the Charlton, Nimrod, Hector, Atlantic and Cyrus – had called at the island in June 1812 on their way to Banks’ Bay off the Island of Albemarle. All had enjoyed good fortune and the Atlantic, captained by Obadiah Wyer, had nearly filled her casks with whale oil. The letters also revealed that several American whalers had been in the vicinity and that the Perseverance and Sukey had called in. Meanwhile, Captain Randall of the Barclay had sent a boat to a beach a mile to the north where his men caught several green turtles. Two were sent across to the Essex. Porter found them excellent eating, but the atmosphere on the American frigate was beginning to sour. No fresh water had been found and the men had not expected to be disappointed in their hunt for British whalers twice in a row. Consoling himself with the thought that the third time he was sure to be lucky, Porter pushed on to the Island of Albemarle. With a fine breeze from the east, the Essex arrived off the south head early the next morning.5

  At 9 a.m., with the wind having dropped and the frigate still eight miles off the southern point, Porter rowed ashore in his gig with Purser Shaw. The volcanic peaks of Cerro Azul and Cierra Negra, both over 1,000 metres above sea-level, were covered in dark clouds, raising hopes that fresh water might be found. After two hours, the gig reached a small rocky cove with an excellent landing. Splashing ashore, the crew were confronted with hundreds of sunbathing aquatic iguanas ‘of an enormous size and the most hideous appearance’ covering every available patch of open ground. Inland, the island was surprisingly verdant. Waist high grasses, thirty-foot trees and thick underbrush grew out of a thin layer of rich volcanic soil. To Porter’s disappointment, no streams were visible near the shore and the scree sides of the volcano were too steep to climb. With their principal mission confounded, Porter’s men set about the iguanas with their clubs. ‘In a few moments [we had] knocked down hundreds’, he recalled. Some were put on board the gig along with a solitary penguin. The rest, with several seals, nesting seabirds, green turtles and large crabs, were left where they fell.

  Later that morning, the Americans rowed north round the coast for fifteen miles. Cove after cove appeared, but no suitable landing sites were found. The coastline was dominated by ‘craggy rocks, against which the sea broke with inconceivable violence’. Sheer cliffs formed of strata of different coloured stone rose several hundred feet into the sky. Brightly-coloured fish swam round the boat and a number of ‘enormous sharks … snapped at … [the] oars’ and had to be repelled with boarding pikes. Five miles before Albemarle’s western headland, Christopher’s Point, Porter spotted ‘a black gravely beach’ covered with the remains of a whaling ship which had been wrecked two or three years before. ‘She appeared to have gone entirely to pieces … and some of her copper … had been thrown a great distance among the rocks by the violence of the sea.’

  At 2 p.m., despairing of finding another suitable landing spot, Porter made his way back to the frigate. Two hours later the gig was hoisted aboard and all sail made to the northwest while the Barclay, barely visible far astern, struggled to stay in company. After rounding Christopher’s Point, Porter intended to sail north across Elizabeth Bay, round Narborough Island, a circular atoll whose turtle-like profile had just come into view, and tack into Banks’ Bay, a sheltered cove frequented by sperm whales searching for cuttlefish and squid driven in by the prevailing currents. According to the whale captains Porter had spoken to, between March and July as many as fifteen British and American ships could be found there. While the men butchered and ate the iguanas that Porter’s boat crew had killed and the Essex sailed northwards up the barren west coast of Narborough, a sense of anticipation built. The Essexes spoke of the prize money they were soon to make, but the weather turned against them. As the sun sank, the breeze fell away. Having reached the midway point of Narborough under the bulk of La Cumbre, a 1,470-metre high volcano, the Essex and Barclay were becalmed.6

  Dawn revealed the ships had been swept back round into Elizabeth Bay by a strong current setting in from the north. Growing impatient, at 9 a.m. Porter ordered Lieutenant Downes to row ahead in one of the whaleboats. One hour later a light breeze sprung up, briefly raising the Essexes’ spirits, but it proved variable and the frigate made little headway. To the north, Downes was pulling ahead and at noon, as the whaleboat disappeared round the western point of Narborough Island, the wind died away entirely. With no breeze to cool them and not a scrap of cloud to shade them from the sun, the Essexes’ misery was complete when the current returned sweeping the frigate back into Elizabeth Bay. After nightfall, the duty officers of the first and middle watches used cloaked lanterns to flash signals to Downes and at 2 a.m. three guns were fired to attract his attention. Shortly afterwards Downes’ whaleboat was spotted and the lieutenant, sunburnt and exhausted following his seventeen-hour odyssey, clambered aboard. Although he had managed to work his way into Banks’ Bay just before sundown, Downes was unable to say whether any ships had been present: a low haze had been hanging over the water and the bay was fully thirty-five miles across.7

  The next two days proved an exercise in frustration. What little progress the Essexes made beating their way up the coast of Narborough during the day was countered by the southern current at night and it wasn’t until sundown on 23
April that the frigate finally rounded the Turtle’s Nose, the northernmost point of Narborough and tacked into Banks’ Bay. Spreading out along the yards, the men scanned the water for any signs of the enemy. At length a cry of ‘Sail Ho!’ went up. For a moment the Essexes thought all their hard work had been rewarded, but the ‘sails’ proved to be nothing more than white strata in the rock face ahead. For the first time Porter noted ‘murmurings’ of discontent, but refused to give up hope. Five miles to the east, on the western shore of Albemarle, was a sheltered bay known as the Basin. As it was reputed to contain one of the archipelago’s few sources of fresh water, whalers would frequently stop there. Downes was dispatched in a whaleboat without delay. The lieutenant returned at 1 a.m. Although he had seen no vessels and could not be sure of the exact location of the watering place in the darkness, he reported that the Basin would be a good place for the frigate to lay up.8

  Porter, setting out in his gig at daylight, was equally impressed. Surrounded by high cliffs, the Basin measured 600 metres across at its entrance, widening to 1,000 metres at the head, where a small beach and ravine gave access inland. The water, crystal clear and abounding in fish, was three fathoms deep at the rock face and twelve in the centre and a bottom of fine, black, volcanic sand made it the perfect anchorage. ‘We saw … green turtle’, Porter recalled, ‘and on landing found both the sea and land iguanas, lizards, a small grey snake and a variety of birds.’ Large trees grew along the ravine, amongst them a species which produced a small, round, green fruit with ‘a very aromatic smell and taste’. Knowing it would pique the curiosity of his friend, the Harvard graduate Chaplain David Adams, Porter took a sample before continuing his search. Amongst the undergrowth, he found a bag, ‘which, from its appearance, had been there but a very short time; also a fresh turtle shell and bones, as well as those of fish and fresh ashes, where a fire had been kindled’. A few pages of a British political pamphlet were also discovered. Porter’s quarry was not far ahead.

  The watering place was a disappointment. Half a mile from the Basin’s mouth was a crude stone hut surrounded by the skeletons of dozens of giant tortoises. Nearby was a flat rock inscribed with the names of several British and American whaling vessels. On the surface were four small square depressions, seven inches deep, which had been laboriously hacked out with a pickaxe to catch water dripping from the rocks above. When Porter arrived, the holes ‘contained only a little stinking brine … thrown in by the sea’. After waiting an hour, the Bostonian’s disappointment grew. ‘I am persuaded that no water can ever be found here, except after heavy rains and then only in small quantities … The whole island [is] … like a sponge, soak[ing] the moisture from the passing clouds, which serves to keep alive scanty vegetation … but … permit[ing] none of it to escape in springs or streams.’ Having killed an enormous sea-lion and several seals and filled the gig with ‘as many fish as … [she] could conveniently carry’, Porter returned to the Essex.9

  The next morning, as the Barclay was spotted coming into the bay, Porter took four boats on a fishing expedition to a partially-submerged cavern on the southwest point of Albemarle. ‘In less than half an hour we loaded all our boats with as many fish as they could carry’, he recalled. ‘The moment the hook was in the water, hundreds of them were seen rushing towards it … chiefly the black, yellow and red grouper.’ A huge black turtle was hooked along with several shags and penguins and that night the Essexes feasted on turtle soup. Prepared by the officer’s cook, George Hill, the giant turtle fed Porter and the officers of the wardroom, the open cabin in the stern of the berth deck presided over by Lieutenant Downes, as well as providing ‘an abundant meal’ for forty-eight other men.10

  On 26 April the men cleaned and aired the Essex. After Captain Randall had reassured Porter that the absence of British whalers most likely meant that they had been swept north out of the bay by the current, the Bostonian ordered Cowell to plot a course for James Island where the old whaling captain claimed fresh water could be found as well as wood and the giant tortoises the Galapagos were famed for. Capable of reaching weights of over 800lbs, these giants made an excellent portable foodstuff. As well as being ‘wholesome, luscious and delicate’, they contained enough fat of a quality comparable to olive oil so that no extra was required to cook them. Best of all, they carried an internal water supply ‘in a bag at the root of the neck’ and could be left alive in a ship’s hold for eighteen months without suffering any ‘diminution in fatness or excellence’. As many of his men had not disembarked since they had left Chester six months before, Porter also intended to grant the ship’s company some time on shore.

  At 10.30 a.m. the Essex and Barclay stood out of the bay. Rounding the head of Albemarle, a haze descended, the habitual mid-afternoon calm set in and a strong current swept the ships northeast. Shortly afterwards two more phantom sails were spotted. They proved to be nothing more than sandbanks whose appearance had been strangely transformed by the haze. ‘There were few on board … who did not now despair of making any captures about the Gallipagos Islands’, Porter recalled, ‘but … I determined not to leave … as long as there remained a hope of finding a British vessel among them.’ Swept along ‘with great rapidity’ by the current, the men’s frustration grew, their mood worsened by short water rations. The spar deck was so hot it blistered the men’s feet and as the days passed with no change, their murmurings became more pronounced. The wood supply was running low and on the 28th the officers’ noon longitude readings revealed that the Essex and Barclay had been carried 200 miles north of their intended destination.11

  That night Porter lay awake in his cot. Listening to the noises of the ship as the middle watch went about their duties, his thoughts turned to the possibility of mutiny. Twenty-four years earlier, Lieutenant William Bligh of HMS Bounty had been cast adrift in a 23-foot open boat. Stranded in the middle of the South Pacific with barely any provisions or equipment, the fact that Bligh survived was testament to his extraordinary endurance and gift for navigation. The mutineers, led by Master’s Mate Fletcher Christian, had not been heard from since. An even more terrifying precedent was the fate of Captain Hugh Pigot, commander of the frigate HMS Hermione on the Jamaica station. On 20 September 1797, Pigot, a sadistic sociopath who had brutalised his men, had given the fateful order that the last topman down on deck would be flogged. In the scramble that followed, three men fell to their deaths. The next evening the captain and eight of his officers were murdered. The mutineers sailed to the port of La Guaira, nineteen miles northwest of Caracas and handed the frigate to the Spanish, then at war with Britain. In time the Hermione was recaptured and twenty-four of her crew were hanged, but the episode still served as a reminder of the dreadful fate that awaited any captain who pushed his men too far.12

  At daylight Porter was woken by cries of ‘Sail Ho!’ This time there was no false alarm. ‘The stranger proved to be a large ship, bearing west.’ The Essex gave chase and soon left the Barclay trailing behind her. At 6 a.m. two more sail were spotted. Convinced they were British whalers, Porter cleared for action. The men pulled down the partitions on the gun deck and stood ready by the bow chasers and carronades. At 7 a.m. the Essex came up with the first stranger. She proved to be the Montezuma, a dull-sailing, 270-ton whaler captained by David Baxter, a native of Nantucket who had emigrated to Pitt’s colony at Milford Haven with Benjamin Rotch. Originally built in Philadelphia in 1804, the Montezuma had been seized for infringing the British East India Company’s trading rights in Asian waters and condemned in London. Since purchased by Rotch, she had been several months in the Pacific by the time the Essex intercepted her, had filled 1,400 barrels with oil and was about to head for home. Taking Baxter and his men on board, Porter put a prize crew on the Montezuma and continued chasing the other two strangers, both of which were in full flight. Several of the prisoners from the Montezuma were Americans pressed into British service. They revealed that the first stranger was the Georgiana, a square-rigged vessel of 280 ton
s with six 18-pounders, four swivel guns and six large blunderbusses mounted on her main deck. She had a crew of twenty-five men and was commanded by Captain William Pitts. The second was the Policy of 275 tons. Manned by twenty-five sailors, she was commanded by Captain Joseph Bowman and mounted ten 6-pounders. Both were ‘reputed fast sailers’ and had many Americans on board.

  At 11 a.m., with the Policy and Georgiana still hull down over the horizon, a dead calm ensued. Porter had the boats lowered and sent fifty men in chase in two divisions: the whaleboat and the second and third cutter were led by Lieutenant Downes; the pinnace, the first cutter and the gig were commanded by Lieutenant Wilmer. The men were armed with muskets, pistols, knives, axes, boarding pikes, clubs and cutlasses. After an hour, Downes’ men passed through a mass of 100 giant tortoises thrown overboard from the Policy as she had cleared for action. With their necks extended into the air, they bobbed up and down like corks. ‘They were the first we had ever seen’, Farragut recalled, ‘and excited much curiosity.’ By 2 p.m. Downes had got within a mile of his quarry. Becalmed a quarter of a mile from each other, the whalers hoisted British colours and fired two guns to windward to show their intention to fight. Downes responded by forming a single division and pulling for the larger vessel, the Georgiana, then tracking his movements with two guns. A few yards from her stern Downes hove to and raised American colours on a boarding pike. The sight was met with three cheers. Assured by the whalers that they were ‘all Americans’, Downes left a few men to take control before rowing on to the Policy, then under command of First Mate Marcus Johnson as Captain Bowman was confined to his cabin in ill-health. ‘She had one gun run out abaft and 1 in each gangway’, Feltus recalled. ‘[Johnson] hesitated for some time’ as the Americans sat off his stern, but when one cocked his musket, he too struck his colours. The Americans pushed past the men at the gangway and surged on board.