by Hughes, Ben;
In Downes’ absence, Porter had Edward Lawson and the nine other poison plotters detained. Lawson was flogged for stealing the rum and one other man was whipped for using ‘improper language’. All were put in irons, with heavy bar shot attached and sent ashore on punishment drill to build a stone wall around the perimeter of the village. Six hundred yards long and five feet high, it was an arduous undertaking which would take the prisoners four weeks. Porter and Gamble proved harsh taskmasters. ‘We had men to attend us with whips’, Lawson recalled, ‘[and were not] allowed to carry [the bar] shot under our arm, but [were] made to drag it after us.’ The only respite was the kind treatment they received at the hands of Lieutenant Downes. The thirty-year-old proved himself ‘a generous fellow and did as much as he could to ‘alleviate … the distresses of the prisoners’ who ‘spoke of him in very high terms’.29
On 19 November Porter took it upon himself to begin the American colonisation of the Pacific. Before a crowd of bemused natives the Star-Spangled Banner was raised from the fort’s flag post as Porter read the official declaration aloud. ‘It is hereby made known to the world’, he began, ‘that I, David Porter … have, on the part of the … United States, taken possession of the island called by the natives Nooaheevah … Our rights[,] … being founded on priority of discovery, conquest and possession, cannot be disputed … the natives … have requested to be admitted into the great American family, whose pure republican policy approaches so near their own.’ The document was witnessed by several officers from the Essex and Albatross, Nuka Hiva was rechristened Madison’s Island and Port Anna Maria was dubbed Massachusett’s Bay. A seventeen-gun salute was fired from the fort and returned by the Essex Junior and the declaration was buried in a bottle beneath the flag pole whereupon the ceremonials were brought to a close with a toast drunk to ‘the prosperity of [the] … newly acquired land’.30
The next week passed quietly. The Essexes stowed the frigate’s hold with dried and salted provisions and water, tribute came in from the islanders and Captain Smith of the Albatross completed his cargo of sandal wood. Before leaving, Smith purchased four cannon from Porter which he mounted on his ship to afford some protection from the British letters of marque lurking off Canton. Smith also agreed to take Porter’s dispatches and several private letters which were sealed in a lead packet which could be thrown overboard should the Albatross be captured. One of his men, Benjamin Clapp, decided to stay behind and was later added to the Essex’s muster as an acting midshipman and on 24 November the Albatross upped anchor and set sail for Canton.31
At the end of November Porter turned his attention to the Typees. Not only had they refused to offer tribute, but they had also begun to mock the other tribes for doing so. The amount of goods arriving had diminished as a consequence prompting Porter to realise he would have to take action to remain in control. At 4 p.m. on 27 November, after arranging for a number of native warriors to trek overland to the Typee valley via the mountain passes, Downes took the Essex Junior to Comptroller’s Bay. Gamble, Doctor Hoffman, Purser Shaw and Gattanewa, Mouina and two Taeeh ambassadors, one of whom was related to the Typees by marriage, were on board. At 3 a.m. the following morning Porter and twenty other Americans followed in four ship’s boats accompanied by ten Taeeh war canoes. Kept together by frequent soundings of the warriors’ conch horns, the canoes arrived at the Typee landing at sunrise on 29 November where they were joined by the Essex Junior and ten Happah canoes. With ‘the tops of … the neighbouring mountains … covered with the Taeeh and Happah warriors’ who had travelled overland, the allied force amounted to 5,000 men. The Typees were nowhere to be seen.
Beyond the beach was a plain extending a quarter of a mile to a swampy thicket. Following a solitary path which led to the Typee village, the Taeeh ambassador advanced under a flag of truce, only to come running back, having been threatened with death if he advanced further. Porter took this as a signal that hostilities had commenced and advanced with thirty-five Americans and a number of warriors led by Mouina. ‘We entered the bushes’, Porter recalled, ‘and were at every instant assailed by spears and stones.’ Keeping up a scattered fire at fleeting targets spotted through the undergrowth, the Americans emerged at a small clearing on the bank of a river without loss. A withering hail of missiles was launched from the bushes on the far side. Downes’ leg was broken by a sling stone and the Taeehs and Happahs began to desert in droves. Sending Downes back to the boats with Purser Shaw and four men, Porter pushed on. A volley and bayonet charge forced the passage of a steep-sided ford, beyond which the Typees had built a seven foot high barricade from palm trunks flanked by impenetrable thorn bushes. Taking cover behind a fallen log, Porter, Gamble and Hoffman picked off several of the enemy with their muskets, but soon realised they were hopelessly outnumbered and were beginning to run low on ammunition. Gamble and four men were sent to collect more cartridges from the Essex Junior while the others kept the enemy at bay. Three more Americans were wounded before Mouina, the only tribesman remaining, begged Porter to retreat. The Bostonian reluctantly agreed. Falling back to the treeline, the Americans turned just as the Typees rushed after them, killed two with a close range volley then pulled back to the beach, boarding their boats as a second wave emerged from the trees.32
On his return to Massachusetts’ Bay, Porter began planning a second raid. He was determined the Typees would not get the better of him and suspected the Happahs were on the point of changing sides. This time Porter would march across the mountains and attack by land. One hundred and fifty-five Americans set off at 6 p.m. on 29 November led by Taeeh guides. ‘We had a fine moonlight night’, Porter recalled. Passing by a Happah village, the Bostonian urged his men to stay quiet and ‘not a whisper was heard from one end of the line to the other’. Although technically still allied to the Happahs, Porter was worried they might alert the Typees if they learned of his plans. The three-hour trek to the summit was gruelling. ‘Our guides marched in front and we followed … up and down the steep sides of rocks and mountains, through rivulets, thickets and reed brakes and by the sides of precipices which … caused us to shudder.’ Several dropped out en route, but by midnight the lights of the Typee villages were visible beneath them and the sound of drums and singing wafted up through the night air. The Typees ‘were celebrating the victory they had obtained’, Porter recalled, ‘and [were] calling on their gods to give them rain, in order that it might render our bouhies [guns] useless.’ At a narrow ridgeline, Porter gave the order to halt for the night, but no sooner had he drifted off into a restless sleep than the rain poured down in torrents. ‘Never … did I spend a more anxious or disagreeable night’, Porter recalled. ‘A cold and piercing wind accompanied the deluge ….and chilled us to the heart … Without room to keep ourselves warm by moving … we … anxiously looked for morning.’
At dawn Porter decided to return to the Happah village he had passed the previous evening and rest before pressing home his attack. His men were exhausted and their ammunition needed to be laid out to dry. At first the Happahs proved unfriendly. Food had to be taken by force and the women were nowhere to be seen, but once Gattenawa and Mouina had berated them, the Happah chiefs ordered hogs roasted in covered pits, the women reappeared and the Americans passed the day recuperating their strength. Early the next morning, joined by large numbers of Taeehs and Happahs motivated by the prospect of plunder, Porter pushed on to the ridgeline where he paused to take in the view.
The upper part [of the Typee valley] was bounded by a precipice of many hundred feet in height, from the top of which a handsome sheet of water was precipitated and formed a beautiful river, which ran meandering through the valley and discharged itself at the beach. Villages were scattered here and there, the bread-fruit and cocoa-nut trees flourished … plantations laid out in good order, enclosed with stone walls, were in a high state of cultivation and everything bespoke industry, abundance and happiness … Never … did I witness a more delightful scene, or experience more repug
nancy than I now felt, for the necessity which compelled me to make war against this happy and heroic people.
Descending the mountain, Porter halted where the river met the lower slopes. The Typees shot sling stones over the water, forcing the Americans to shelter behind a series of stone walls, but once Porter had reformed he took the first fortified village with ease. A leading Typee warrior was killed by a musket volley and several others were wounded. The survivors retreated to a series of stone walls on high ground, where they kept up a heavy fire of spear and sling stones. ‘Three of my men were wounded’, Porter recalled, ‘and many of the Typees killed before we dislodged them.’ Splitting his force, Porter took several more villages with the main body while ‘scouting parties’ captured periphery positions before the whole regrouped to advance on the Typee capital. ‘The beauty and regularity of this place was such, as to strike every spectator with astonishment’, Porter recalled, ‘and their grand site or public square, was far superior to any other we had met with.’ Smashing the idols with their musket butts, the Americans put the town to the torch, while their Taeeh and Happah allies plundered the houses and hacked down the breadfruit plantations. His work done, Porter pulled back to the beach, destroying several other villages en route, before returning over the mountains.33
The Americans arrived at Massachusetts Bay three days and two nights after they had set out. A Happah messenger arrived shortly afterwards to reassert his tribe’s loyalty and a humbled Typee delegation appeared the next day. Seated on a throne he had had built in his cabin, Porter received them as a tribal king and demanded 400 hogs as reparations. Over the next few days tribute came in with alacrity. Soon there were too many animals to keep inside the walls. Dozens were hoisted on board the ships, while others, having had their ears marked, were allowed to run free, and the men feasted on pork for days. Meanwhile, Downes and the three wounded sailors recovered. Several others came down with fever induced by their exertions and on 4 December Corporal Andrew Mahon of the marines died. At 11 a.m. the next morning he was buried on shore. All of the Essexes and several natives attended, a flag was lowered over his coffin and a musket volley fired over his grave.34
The remainder of Porter’s stay at Nuka Hiva was largely without incident. While a division finished the repairs and refitting of the Essex, another loaded the whale oil from the Seringapatam, Greenwich and Sir Andrew Hammond onto the New Zealander and Porter made several excursions into different parts of the valley. One day he visited a sacred site which stank of the rotting flesh of sacrificed animals and the corpses of enemy warriors. On another occasion, Porter presented several chiefs with breeding pairs of ‘superior’ English pigs and goats and planted melon, pumpkin, orange, peach and lime seeds as well as setting up pea and bean plantations and sowing several fields of wheat. The latter was particularly valued by the natives, who had acquired a taste for fresh bread. ‘They would swim off to the ships, about meal times’, Porter recalled, ‘in large shoals and wait for the sailors to throw them pieces … A string of beads, highly as they were valued, could be purchased for a loaf; and chiefs, after walking many miles over mountains to bring us presents of fruit and hogs, would return well satisfied, if I gave them a hot roll from the oven.’35
By the end of the first week of December, Porter had decided on his next move. The Essex would set sail for South America in company with the Essex Junior. The New Zealander would be sent back to the United Sates, her hold full of whale oil, while the Greenwich, Seringapatam and Sir Andrew Hammond would remain under the guns of Fort Madison at Massachusetts’s Bay. Twenty-three ‘volunteers’ would be left to watch the ships and guard six of the most problematic prisoners from the Sir Andrew Hammond. Amongst the former were at least seven British sailors of dubious loyalty, including Boatswain’s Mate Thomas Belcher, whom Porter later described as a ‘consummate villain’. Several deserters would also remain, including Isaac Coffin, the ‘lazy negro’ who had joined the Essex at Tumbez. The unhappy task of commanding this motley crew fell to Lieutenant Gamble. Unafraid of using force to maintain discipline, the New Yorker was not a man to be trifled with, as Lieutenant Cowan had learnt to his cost. Gamble was to be seconded by Midshipman Feltus and Acting Midshipman Clapp. They would be responsible for gathering provisions and preparing the ships for sea. If Porter failed to return within five and half months Gamble was ordered to make for the United States as best he could.36
While Gamble commanded at Nuka Hiva, Porter planned to cruise off the central Chilean coast between Mocha Island and Valparaiso as long as his supplies held out. Both were popular spots with British whalers, but what the Bostonian was really seeking was a run-in with an enemy man-of-war. Even though the Essex was poorly armed compared to the ‘super-frigates’ which had humbled their foes and single ship combat failed to further the war aims of his country, Porter was desperate to emulate Captains Hull, Decatur and Bainbridge by taking a frigate of his own. HMS Phoebe’s arrival in the Pacific appeared to offer the perfect opportunity. In his pursuit of the Essex, Captain Hillyar was sure to call in at Valparaiso. When he did, Porter would be waiting for him.37
By 9 December the Essex was nearly ready for sea. Copious supplies of ‘provisions, wood and water’ had been loaded, the ‘decks [were] filled with hogs’; coconuts and bananas had been strung from the spars in net bags and the hold was crammed with ‘dried cocoa-nuts … calculated for keeping three or four months’. Porter also found room for a load of sandalwood – its high market value no doubt outweighing the risk of censure for using a state-owned ship for private enterprise. Edward Lawson and his fellow poison plotters were confined below decks while the crew was directed to ‘remain on board and work late and early, to hasten the departure of the ship’. Struggling to adapt to the sudden change of routine, that night three men swam ashore ‘determined to have a parting kiss’. Porter had them put in irons and flogged severely the next morning. The incident increased the rumblings of discontent. The men complained that ‘their situation … was worse than slavery’ and their desperation was fuelled by the native women gathering on the beach each night to entice them ashore.38
The next day Porter set the date of departure for Monday 13 December. The day before, as was customary on Sundays, the men gathered on the Essex Junior. There was more than a whiff of mutiny in the air. The ringleader, Robert White, one of the Essex’s Englishmen, announced that he had come to a resolution to refuse to weigh anchor. If compelled to do so, he assured his fellows, the crew would mutiny on the third day after leaving the island. The news soon reached Porter. ‘I was willing to let them ease their minds by a little grumbling’, he recalled, ‘but a threat of this kind was carrying matters rather too far.’ Calling a general meeting on the Essex the next morning, Porter had the men line up on the larboard side of the deck, ‘took his cutlass in his hand’ and laid it on the capstan. Then, ‘though shaking with rage’, he ‘addressed the crew … with forced composure. “All of you who are in favour of weighing the anchor when I give the order, pass over to the starboard side”’, he commanded. Every man duly obeyed. Porter then assured them that he would ‘put a match to the magazine and blow them all to eternity’ should they ever dare to take his ship, before turning his wrath on White. When the Englishman ‘tremblingly’ denied his accusations, Porter branded him a ‘liar’ and a ‘scoundrel’, took up his cutlass and chased him overboard. Throwing himself into the sea, White was picked up by a passing native canoe and soon disappeared into the jungle.39
By the afternoon of 13 December all was ready. With the four whalers moored close under the guns of Fort Madison, Porter gave the order to weigh. The marines heaved at the capstan, the cable came dripping up from the seabed and a fiddler struck up the sailors’ lament ‘The girl I left behind me’ as the Essex and Essex Junior stood out of the bay. Behind the fort’s ramparts, Gamble, Feltus, Clapp and their men looked on anxiously, while several native women, lining the beach, burst into tears at their beaux’ departure. Somewhere amongst the tre
es, Robert White and Isaac Coffin must also have had mixed emotions as they watched their comrades set sail while Porter, his head full of dreams of adding his name to the list of US naval captains who had humbled the British, was perhaps the only one present not to share their sentiments to some degree.40
Chapter 11
The Valley of the Unknown God: HMS Phoebe, 24 November 1813 – 8 February 1814
In the last week of November 1813 HMS Phoebe and Cherub sailed for Callao. Hillyar ordered his men to paint the ship’s sides, and drill with the great guns and small arms was a daily occurrence. On 29 November ordinary Seaman Robert Phelps, a 26-year-old Londoner, was given twenty-four lashes for contempt. The good weather continued and on 3 December, a day of fresh breezes and thick cloud, the ships covered 150 miles. Land was spotted off the bow at 8 a.m. The sighting raised a spontaneous cheer, the men having been on two-thirds rations of bread and salt meat since 25 October. Later, a strange sail was spotted. Lowering the studding sails, the Phoebe hove to and Hillyar sent a boat to board her. She proved to be yet another Spanish brig running the coastal trade. Learning that Callao was but a few hours’ sail away, Hillyar and Tucker restored full rations and at 3 p.m., as the open roadstead hove into view, pilots were taken on board. The ships worked their way into the harbour, coming to anchor at 6 p.m. in five fathoms half a mile from the shore, their small bowers sunk deep into the muddy bottom.1
Two Spanish sloops-of-war preparing for sea and thirty merchantmen were moored in Callao roads. Most of the latter had previously been employed importing corn and cocoa from Chile, but, with the on-going hostilities, had been laid up for months. Moored tight under the guns of the formidable sea defences were three foreign ships which had also fallen victim to the recent political upheavals. The Hunter and the Hector were British. The Boriska, although US-owned, had been chartered by Lord Strangford at Rio to buy Chilean grain for Wellington’s troops in the Peninsula. All three had been captured by Peruvian privateers and detained for their involvement in the Chilean trade, a highly contentious decision which Hillyar had been asked to look into. Strangford had been particularly put out by the fate of the Boriska: the Viscount had provided her captain with $15,000 only for it to disappear into the pockets of a Peruvian privateer.2