In Pursuit of the Essex

by Hughes, Ben;

  On 27 June Porter discharged his prisoners. A burden in terms of provisioning, they also posed a security risk. On condition that they would not serve against the United States until properly exchanged, the eighty men were provided with three boats to take them to Tumbez. In his journal, Porter made great play of his magnanimity towards his prisoners (‘even to that renegade Wyer and captain Shuttleworth’). Such claims were contradicted by later British reports, however. As well as claiming that Porter frequently had his prisoners whipped or put in irons, they also maintained that they were held in ‘the greatest distress’ and abandoned ‘in danger of being starved to death’.41

  On the 28th and 29th, Porter was joined by two new recruits. Exactly how Ordinary Seaman Isaac Coffin, whom Porter would later describe as ‘a lazy negro’, or John Hughes, a thirteen-year-old ship’s boy from England, came to be at Tumbez is unclear. Judging by the former’s surname, he may well have been a slave or servant of one of the Coffin clan, a prominent whaling family from Nantucket in command of at least three whaling ships (the Fame, the John Jay and the Monticello) then in the Pacific. Perhaps he had deserted, along with Hughes, from his master’s ship at Tumbez. Another possibility is that the new recruits had deserted from the Seringapatam, Charlton or New Zealander, British whalers which had left the bay for the Galapagos just a fortnight before the Americans’ arrival. Porter learnt that their captains had decided to join forces for mutual protection and was keen to set off in pursuit. The Seringapatam would make a particularly fine prize. Teak-built and originally owned by Tippu Sultan of Mysore, at 350 tons and armed with fourteen guns, she was the finest English whaler in the Pacific.42

  The only thing keeping Porter from leaving was the continuing absence of Mr Shaw. Although he had succeeded in buying provisions from the governor, the purser had been unable to procure a boat to bring them downriver. Learning of the cause of the delay, Porter sent for Shaw and decided to cut his losses. At 5 a.m. on 30 June, once the purser had boarded, all nine ships of the flotilla unmoored and stood out of the Bay. Stretching away to the westward they sailed 100 leagues offshore to the easterly Pacific trade winds. Porter sent Carpenter Langley on board the Essex Junior to help build up her defensive breastworks and on 4 July celebrated the thirty-seventh anniversary of the declaration of independence. With a generous issue of spirits, ‘the day was spent in the utmost conviviality’ and the Pacific echoed to the thunder of numerous salutes. By the 9th Carpenter Langley had completed his work and Porter split his forces. Under convoy of the Essex Junior, the Hector, Catherine, Policy, Montezuma and Barclay were to proceed to Valparaiso. Downes was ordered to send the Policy, which he had had filled with whale oil taken out of the other prizes, to the United States, to find buyers for the other ships and to purchase spirits and other supplies with four thousand dollars taken from HMP Nocton, before rendezvousing with the Essex at either Hood’s or Charles’ Island in the Galapagos or the Marquesas, an inhabited archipelago some three thousand miles to the west. At 8 a.m. on 9 July, the two fleets parted company.43

  Chapter 7

  In the Footsteps of Robinson Crusoe: HMS Phoebe, 10 July 1813 – 6 October 1813

  After leaving Rio de Janeiro on 9 July 1813, the Isaac Todd and HMS Phoebe, Cherub and Raccoon made good progress. Sailing before ‘a fine breeze from the N[orth] and the E[ast]’, on Sunday 11 July, while Hillyar performed his customary double divine service, they sailed 150 miles southwest. Spirits were buoyant. The sky was a brilliant blue. Albatrosses and pinladas circled overhead and Gardiner anticipated a quick passage round the Horn. On the 12th, Captain Tucker of the Cherub read the Articles of War. The thirty-six points, instigated by Parliament in 1749, covered all the behaviour the Royal Navy deemed unacceptable, from petty theft, drunkenness and insolence to mutiny, striking a senior officer and desertion. For minor offences, men could be put in irons, have their grog ration stopped or reduced, be assigned to clean the heads or lose their rating; troublesome midshipmen could be suspended from the shrouds or receive an impromptu ‘cobbing’ from their peers. The ultimate punishment was to be hung from the yardarm, but by far the most commonly employed, and the one to which Captain Tucker resorted that morning, was the cat-o-nine-tails. Tied to the grating and stripped of his shirt, Able Seaman Johnathon McCarthy was given thirty-six lashes for drunkenness and insolence.1

  Despite such occurrences, the Cherub was a relatively happy ship and the 38-year-old Tucker a strict yet popular captain. Most of the crew had served under him in the fever-ridden West Indies on his previous command, HMS Epervier, and had requested a transfer to HMS Cherub when Tucker had been reassigned in February 1809. The sloop had seen action at the reduction of Martinique and the capture of Guadeloupe, before returning to Portsmouth yard in September 1812 where the crew had been given a month’s leave of absence while the Cherub had her copper bottom scraped clean. By the time Tucker was ready to depart to join Manley Dixon’s South American station, the entire crew had reported for duty, a circumstance so rare that Port-Admiral Sir Richard Bickerton had written an extraordinary report to the Admiralty.2

  While Tucker was highly professional, several of those who served under him were not. The Cherub had a high percentage of landsmen and many of the more experienced crewmembers had poor disciplinary records. Tucker’s junior lieutenant, John Belcher, was of particular concern. Commissioned by Dixon two months before, Belcher was a beneficiary of the Royal Navy’s most enduring weakness: the habit of promoting undeserving men with ‘interest’ over those with genuine ability and he would prove eminently unsuited to the rigours of life at sea.3

  On the same day McCarthy received his lashes, Captain Hillyar opened his third packet of sealed orders. ‘[I] found I was to proceed to the N[orth] W[est] coast of America, to dispossess the Americans of their settlements on the River Columbia’, Hillyar recalled, ‘and on [my] return … to call at the different ports [of South America] for treasure that might be destined for England, limiting [myself] … to such a quantity of specie as would have [me carry] 12,000l for the freight.’ That afternoon, in accordance with Manley Dixon’s instructions, Mr. John McDonald of the North West Company transferred to the Phoebe from the Isaac Todd. Slinging his cot in the confines of the gun deck, McDonald was joined by his consort, Jane Barnes, six of the Canadian voyageurs and Naukane, a chief from Hawaii who was familiar with the difficulties of crossing the bar of the Columbia River.4

  At 1 p.m. Hillyar signalled for Captains Tucker, Black and Smith to join him in his great cabin. Over dinner, they discussed possible rendezvous points should the ships become separated. The first agreed upon was off the shore of Eastern Patagonia, midway between the South American mainland and the Falkland Islands; the second was the Pacific Island of Juan Fernandez, a Spanish colony 700 miles off the Chilean coast; the third was the Island of Cocos close to the Equator; the fourth was the mouth of the Columbia River. Hillyar stressed the importance of sailing along the routes frequented by British whalers: their protection was second only to the destruction of Fort Astoria in his overall aims and he questioned his fellow captains on the charts and navigational equipment they had on board. The response was disappointing. Aside from a general map of the Pacific which Hillyar had received from the Admiralty, they were bereft of guidance. ‘[We had no charts] of the Falkland Islands, Cape Horn or any port on either side of the continent beyond the Brazil coast’, Hillyar recalled; ‘one sloop [was] absolutely without chart or timekeeper’ and Captain Smith of the Isaac Todd had forgotten to bring written directions regarding the entrance to the Columbia River.5

  That afternoon, Hillyar informed his men that they were heading round the Horn and into the Pacific. As such a long cruise ‘gave opportunities for their improvement’, he announced that he would be holding literacy classes and would organise religious instruction. Sixty of the crew were found to be unable to recite the Lord’s Prayer and the illiterate were taught to form letters out of sand on the deck.6

  On 13 July the weather deteri
orated. The northeasterly breeze that had driven the flotilla south from Rio came round to the west and increased to a hard gale. Hillyar signalled his fellow captains to heave to and the day was spent exercising the great guns while the marines fired at marks suspended from the yards. ‘The second day’, Gardiner recalled, ‘[the gale] moderated, but the weather became very unsettled and we made but little progress.’ The sky clouded over and the convoy covered no more than twelve miles. On the 15th Purser Surflen issued a ration of the tobacco he had purchased at Rio (a commodity on which he was allowed 10 per cent commission). The men chewed it or smoked clay pipes on the forecastle, the only place on the ship where such a potentially hazardous pastime was allowed.7

  July 19th brought strong gales and heavy squalls. The sea ran high and lightning struck the waves as the men secured the booms and boats and lashed the guns to the hull. At 1.30 a.m., while the Isaac Todd veered crazily off to the northwest, a heavy sea stove in one of the Phoebe’s main deck ports, deluging the men in icy water. After daybreak the sprit sail was carried away when the frigate dived into the ocean off the back of a particularly high wave. On 20 July HMS Raccoon’s main staysail was blown to pieces. A new one was rigged but destroyed later that afternoon. The next day the wind moderated and the Isaac Todd re-joined the flotilla, but on the 27th the gales returned. Over the next two days, the Phoebe fired signal guns every hour to keep the convoy together as a thick fog descended and visibility decreased to a few dozen yards. The precautions proved in vain. On the 29th the Isaac Todd disappeared from sight. ‘The next day we stood on under easy sail in expectation of seeing her’, Gardiner recalled, ‘[but] she did not … make her appearance, [and] we made sail [that afternoon] … heartily glad we were rid of such a troublesome companion.’ Writing a report in his great cabin, Hillyar suspected that the Isaac Todd had parted company ‘by design’.8

  By 1 August the albatrosses and pinladas had begun to desert the flotilla and the temperature was dropping daily. Hail fell as the Phoebes sounded in 63 fathoms with fine, grey sand. To protect the watch, Hillyar had ‘a kind of tent shelter’ constructed, the heads were sealed with shutlead and a set of extra gunport covers were lashed securely on top of the half ports to prevent the worst of the rain from penetrating. The 4th saw another round of punishments carried out on HMS Cherub. James Davidson was given a brutal forty-eight lashes for drunkenness, Thomas Pearson received twenty-four for the same and Thomas Greenalgh got twelve for disobedience of orders. On the 10th, during a downpour of rain and hail, Jesse Settition, also of HMS Cherub, was given thirty-six lashes for being drunk on duty and that afternoon the three ships passed to the west of the Falklands and drew within sight of Staten Island. ‘[It] is one uninterrupted mass of rocks and mountains’, Gardiner noted, ‘without the least sign of vegetation and … almost entirely covered in snow.’ Later the man at the masthead thought he had sighted a sail, but it turned out to be an isolated rock formation off the island’s eastern point around which a rapid current occasioned a heavy swell.9

  On 14 August, with the flotilla 250 miles southeast of Cape Horn, the temperature plummeted to minus 16°. Hillyar ordered the watch to be kept constantly moving to avoid frostbite. ‘In a few hours the ship was at the water mark completely encrusted with ice’, Gardiner recalled. ‘Every sea added a new coat, till it became of such thickness as entirely to conceal the figure head. Madam Phoebe I am convinced was never before decked with so white a garb.’ The following day divine service was performed as the ships beat over 100 miles to the southwest. At noon the sun broke through the clouds and the temperature rose to seven degrees. That afternoon Surgeon Christopher O’Brien of HMS Raccoon recorded the travails of one of his patients, Able Seaman Jas Mortens. A former whaler, Mortens had deserted at a Pacific port in South America and made an epic journey overland across the continent before volunteering on board the sloop at Rio de Janeiro. Mortens was suffering from ‘a total loss of appetite, a great dejection of spirits … [and] a growing pain across his abdomen’, a condition O’Brien termed ‘Atrophia’ and attributed to a long residence in a warm climate. Confined to his hammock, Mortens was given opiates to relieve the pain.10

  On 18 August the ships became separated in the fog. Through the firing of signal guns they were reunited the next day and on the morning of the 20th Hillyar exercised the great guns. That afternoon the caulkers worked on the main deck and the next day the lookouts sighted the islands of Diego Ramirez, due south of the Horn. Schoolmaster Philip Brady made two sketches, the first from the southeast eighteen miles from the islands, the second due south from fifteen. On the verge of entering the Pacific, Gardiner felt disappointed that the passage had proved so unremarkable. ‘The doubling of this cape has generally been considered as a tedious and often a dangerous undertaking’, he mused, ‘yet I cannot but think that it has been a little misrepresented. Of the former we had but little reason to complain, of the latter we saw none … That we had an excellent passage I will readily allow, but travellers and voyagers, like poets, have their licences and here I think they have exceeded their bounds.’11

  On 25 August, judging he had made sufficient westing, Hillyar ordered Acting Sailing Master Miller to set a course for Juan Fernandez. With a good breeze filling their sails, the ships made excellent progress, covering well over 100 miles per day. Following a discussion with John McDonald and Naukane, the Hawaiian pilot who had previously sailed the Columbia River, Hillyar reached a decision which would radically alter the course of the Phoebe’s mission. Having learnt that there was unlikely to be sufficient water over the river bar to allow a frigate to pass in mid-winter, he determined to send HMS Raccoon to capture Fort Astoria while the Phoebe and Cherub remained in the Pacific to search for the Essex and protect the South Seas whaling trade. ‘I shall … govern myself as by information I gain’, he noted in his journal, ‘and [patrol on the] track … most likely to find the enemy frigate.’12

  On 6 September the bad weather that Gardiner had expected to meet at Cape Horn caught up with the flotilla. The storm was presaged by fresh breezes and squalls. Building through the afternoon, they prompted the Phoebes to shorten sail, but it wasn’t until the early hours of the next morning that the full fury of the weather was unleashed. At 1.30 a.m. strong gales pounded the ships, breaking the frigate’s main topsail brace. The topmen raced up the rigging to make running repairs, but a second squall tore away the blunt and spilling lines, the sail was split across its length and 100 yards of canvas was blown into the sea. At 3 a.m., with the Cherub and Raccoon lost from sight, the main deck was swamped by a giant wave which washed away the whole of the gangway stations and the foresail was torn from the second reef.13

  The next morning ‘the weather was materially altered’. The deck thermometer recorded 20° and moderate southerly breezes sped the flotilla on its way. At first light on 10 September the island of Más Afuera was sighted and later Juan Fernandez hove into view. Under reefed topsails, the Phoebe, Cherub and Raccoon beat their way around the easternmost point and stood into Cumberland Bay, the anchorage where Commodore Anson’s storm-battered, scurvy-ridden fleet had recuperated seventy-two years before. At 6 p.m. Hillyar ordered two guns fired to call a local pilot and, with several men employed blacking the boats and Sailmaker Millery busy making repairs to present as fine an appearance as possible for the Spaniard who had come on board, the Phoebe tacked into the bay, coming too with the best bower in 57 fathoms at midnight.14

  ‘At daylight the next morning, we were welcomed with a distant view of the spot so celebrated in the romance of Robinson Crusoe’, Gardiner recalled. Framed by craggy mountain tops, the highest of which, Los Innocentes, rose to over 1,524 metres, Juan Fernandez made a spectacular sight. Under the volcanic peaks were high windswept valleys covered in scrub. Beneath grew a forest from which tumbling rivers made their way down to the lower slopes, crowned with three batteries overlooking the island’s only village, a collection of one hundred single-room mud huts situated in a green valley. Th
e thatched roofs put Gardiner in mind of those he had seen at Madagascar in 1811. The only buildings of note were the governor’s house, a chapel built two years before the Phoebe’s arrival and a square fort on the western side of the bay, where eighty poorly-armed soldiers manned fourteen ill-mounted cannon and a mournful-looking gallows stood in a parade ground inside the low walls.15

  All morning the ships continued working their way into the bay. Bedevilled by squalls blowing down from the mountains interspersed by infuriating calms, it wasn’t until late that evening that the Phoebe came to in 47 fathoms in an exposed position two miles off shore. The next day bumboats surrounded the British flotilla. ‘[They sold] junk beef’, McDonald recalled, ‘and some milk tasting and smelling [of] garlic.’ At noon captains Hillyar, Tucker and Black, John McDonald, Purser Surflen and the Phoebe’s surgeon, Jason Smith, were rowed ashore. ‘We were met by two fat priests’, McDonald recounted, ‘who hugged and kissed us … [and] conducted us to Government House.’ On the balcony the British party were presented to the Governor, the 59-year-old Lieutenant Colonel Manuel Santa María de Escobedo Baeza. Also present were his wife and four ‘beautiful daughters’. As Santa María could speak neither English nor French and McDonald’s and the British officers’ Spanish was limited, Ligorio Philips, the Phoebe who had been born in Tenerife, was brought ashore to act as a translator. Santa María then offered everything in his assistance to help his guests. The news that the Essex had left Valparaiso in March was confirmed and more recent reports, brought to Juan Fernandez a few days before by a Spanish brig, stated that the Americans had since taken several prizes, some of which had been spotted cruising off Valparaiso as recently as 23 August. Hillyar also learnt of the insurrections in Chile and the ongoing struggle against Loyalist Peru. Baeza was sympathetic to the patriot cause.16