In Pursuit of the Essex

by Hughes, Ben;

  To the south of the anchorage were two barren islands providing some protection from the southerly swell. To the east, the flat, open shoreline was framed by the snow-capped heights of the Cordillera de los Andes. Gardiner thought the town ‘small, miserable’, ‘ill-built’ and barely worth description. Prior to 1747, when Callao had been devastated by a major earthquake, it had been relatively grand. The ruins of several churches and colonial offices were still visible, but by 1813 the population had fallen to 700 and the town consisted of little more than a line of low mud houses, interspersed with shore defences. To the south stood a square fort named San Felipe. Twin towers rose above four bastions surrounded by a dry ditch. It mounted 120 guns and a half-moon redoubt with twelve cannon was built to the north. Beyond, a series of arid, scrub-covered hills cut by a single road winding northeast, led six miles to the capital of Lima. Its spires were just visible through the evening haze.3

  On 4 December, the ships’ boats went ashore for water and provisions. Hillyar learnt that the report he had heard at Tumbez about the Essex’s movements had been ‘entirely false. She had been seen off this port about five months ago’, Gardiner explained, ‘but had sailed from Valparaiso with all her prizes (19 in number) some time since.’ The news, the latest in a series of fabrications, rumours and half-truths that the Phoebes had been hearing ever since their arrival in the Pacific, garnered a mixed response on board. As well as being put out that the Americans appeared to have eluded them, the British officers could not help but afford their opponents grudging respect. ‘No expedition could have been better planned [than the Essex’s]’, Gardiner opined, ‘or have been crowned with greater success. She came into these seas before the intelligence of the war arrived, captured the greater part of our southseamen and warned all her own off the coast. Had we been here but two months sooner we might probably have put a stop to the whole, but we now gave up all hope of meeting her.’4

  In early December fourteen British sailors were added to the ships’ muster rolls. Four were taken on board HMS Cherub from the Mercurio, one of the Spanish sloops of war. Jeremiah Ryan, a 22-year-old from Ireland, had been captured on the Greenwich on 29 May 1813. Paroled by Porter at Tumbez one month later, he had volunteered on the Mercurio, whose captain now allowed him to transfer to Tucker’s command. The other three were most likely sailors from one of the three American and British ships detained in port. With no pay or provisions, many had volunteered on passing vessels to avoid starvation. On Sunday 5 December, after Hillyar’s customary morning service, seven men signed up on board HMS Phoebe. Four were former crewmembers of HMP Nocton who had been paroled at Valparaiso nine months before. Two had served on the Montezuma and Atlantic. The recruits were more than welcome. Although the chances of encountering the Essex seemed to be becoming slimmer, Hillyar had made up his mind to return to England via Valparaiso. He would need all the hands he could muster going back round the Horn.5

  On 6 December, Joseph Hobbart, a 24-year-old Phoebe from Greenock in Scotland, deserted from the boats. The next day, three men ran from the Cherub. All had volunteered at Rio back in June. To make matters worse, it was apparent that the supplies Hillyar had hoped to take on would not be easily procured. While fresh fruit and meat were abundant, the limited supplies of salt meat and biscuit were all needed for the Spanish sloops. Over the next five days the pursers of the Phoebe and Cherub purchased what they could: water, firewood, limes, oranges and vegetables were stowed and sheep tethered on deck. On a diet of mutton broth, a classic Georgian restorative, most of the men who had fallen ill during the prolonged cruise from the Galapagos ‘rapidly recovered’, but Bryan Murphy, a 24-year-old landsman from Dublin, was to remain in Surgeon Smith’s sick berth under the forecastle for ten days. Meanwhile, the Phoebe’s bowsprit was repaired, her decks scrubbed and her rigging blacked and experiments were conducted in preserving the fresh meat. The voyage to England could take months and as the Phoebe only had six weeks’ supplies of salt provisions remaining, it was vital that more was procured. All attempts to salt the meat failed, however, leading Captain Tucker to adopt a local solution. Cut into thin strips, the meat was hung from the rigging and left to dry in the sun. Once ‘as hard as wood’, the strips were packed between layers of matting and stored on the main deck about the booms.6

  By the 9th Hillyar’s enquiries had turned up several details about the fate of the detained ships. The Boriska had been taken in Chilean waters by a Peruvian vessel named the Vulture. Her captain, Don Domingo Amezaga, had treated his prisoners in ‘a most brutal manner, plundering the captain … of all his clothes … [and] nautical instruments … and expressing his abhorrence and contempt for the English, their flag & government’. The Hunters, having also fallen victim to Don Amezaga, had been ‘kick[ed] … about’ after capture and nine had been forced to join the Vulture against their will, while the Hector, taken by a privateer operating out of Callao named the Santa Teresa, had been stripped ‘of nearly all her provisions, water, [and] sails, &c … and given up in such a deplorable state as to be unfit for her voyage [home]’. Writing to Viceroy Abascal, Hillyar requested ‘a resolution of the ship[s] and dollars’ and insisted that ‘an enquiry … be made into the conduct of … Captain … Amezaga’. The viceroy’s reply was evasive: ‘Neither in the condemnation of the … Boriska, nor in that of the Hunter … have I had or can I have the last interference’, he explained. ‘It is an affair which corresponds exclusively to the Marine Department of Callao.’7

  On 13 December Hillyar had the opportunity of continuing the discussion face-to-face. That afternoon Abascal visited the Phoebe to the thunder of four royal salutes accompanied by several attendants and his daughter, María Ramona, ‘a pretty young girl, [of] about sixteen’. After dinner the ladies danced with the British officers for two hours in Hillyar’s Great Cabin. Gardiner thought the Spaniards ‘seemed … very much entertained’. With the equatorial light streaming in through the windows, Maria Ramona made a particularly strong impression. Meanwhile, Hillyar and Abascal, ‘a fine venerable looking old man’ of seventy-one years of age, got down to business. Although Abascal was perfectly polite, he refused to accept responsibility for the detained ships and could only promise to forward Hillyar’s requests to the minister of marine. At 5.30 p.m., having invited the British officers to attend a dance at the palace in Lima in a week’s time, the Spaniards departed.8

  The next morning Ordinary Seaman Bryan Murphy was found dead in his hammock, having fallen victim to an unnamed disease. As a Catholic, Murphy was buried ashore in consecrated ground, a dignity normally denied to Protestants visiting Spanish shores. The next week passed routinely. Each morning the ships’ boats went ashore. While a party of marines stood guard at the dockside storehouses, they made several runs to the ships with fresh water and supplies. The rest of the men were employed painting the guns and the slides of the carronades and whitewashing the main deck. On 17 December Hillyar received a reply to his enquiries from the Minister of Marine, Don Joshua Pasqual de Vivero. ‘The cases [of the Boriska, Hunter and Hector] have been forwarded … to the Supreme Government of our Nation [in Cadiz]’, Vivero explained, ‘where the two Governments [of Britain and Spain] reciprocally may reclaim or give satisfaction to one another, without compromising the statues, rights or … respects of each nation … in case of any faults being imputed to their respective chiefs they will correct it … from this reason … there is not the least opening for the discussion … of these affairs.’9

  With that, one part of Hillyar’s mission was brought to a close. Another, however, soon presented itself. Abascal’s campaign against the Chilean patriots had had mixed results. While the Peruvian privateers had humbled the fledgling Chilean navy at Valparaiso in May and Brigadier Pareja’s expeditionary force had initially gained ground in southern Chile, the war had since ground to a stalemate. The royalists were ensconced in the fortified town of Chillán, while the patriots, split between a weakening pro-Carrera faction and those who supported a p
romising young commander, the bastard son of a former Peruvian viceroy of Irish-Chilean parentage named Bernardo O’Higgins, were unable to dislodge them. With no possibility of help from Spain, Abascal was considering a negotiated settlement with the Chileans and thought Hillyar, a respectable representative of a country with economic interests on both sides, would make the perfect mediator. Once Hillyar agreed and had been furnished with the necessary letters of introduction, Abascal had twelve Chilean patriot officers taken prisoner from La Perla at Valparaiso in May put on board the Phoebe. Hillyar was instructed to release them on arrival at Valparaiso as a token of the viceroy’s pacific intent.10

  On 20 December a punishment parade was held on board the Phoebe. Private Oliver Hardy was given forty-eight lashes for theft and his accomplices, Thomas Brodie and Evan Jones, received twelve each for the same crime, while Able Seaman William James and Thomas Kilby got twenty-four and twelve respectively for disobedience of orders. That afternoon, the men scrubbed their hammocks and washed their clothes while Gardiner and several other officers were rowed ashore to attend the viceroy’s party. The young midshipman hired horses and took the road from Callao. After they had passed the pre-Inca ruins of Rimac and the remains of the temple of the Sun, the road grew busy with negro slaves, Indians dressed in ponchos pushing barrows to the market and uniformed dispatch riders who raced past mule-trains laden with fruit, vegetables and poultry, while small two-wheeled carriages known as ‘valencins’, rattled along the cobblestones carrying hooded female passengers. The road terminated in a Gothic archway set into Lima’s walls which led to the grid of city streets. ‘Such an entrance’, Gardiner recalled, ‘agreed with the ideas we had formed of the magnificence of this place.’ Lima itself proved a disappointment.11

  Founded in 1535 by Francisco Pizarro, ‘the City of Kings’ had been in decline since the mid-eighteenth century due to the growing economic competition from Buenos Ayres and the mining centre of Potosi. Nevertheless, by the time of the Phoebes’ visit it was still the largest city on the continent with a population of 50,000 Spaniards, Creoles, blacks, Indians, mulattoes, mestizos, quarteroons, quinteroons, zambos and chinos. Gardiner thought ‘the low, square houses in the outer districts had a ‘mean … shabby appearance’. Their whitewashed walls were peeling. Faded, green balconies jutted over the streets busy with pulperias or grog shops, where crowds of half-dressed, drunken negro slaves danced to African rhythms. At the centre of a regular grid of fifty-five streets, the Plaza Real was the largest in South America. The cathedral, whose corner stone had been laid by Pizarro himself, stood to the east alongside the Archbishop’s residence. The interior walls were draped with velvet and adorned with giant paintings depicting the sufferings of Christ. To the north was the viceroy’s palace, ‘a shabby building without ornament’ whose ground floor housed several cobblers’ shops. To the west were the Cablido and prison. To the south a covered stone walkway boasted the city’s principal stores and in the centre of the square was a three-tiered fountain. Built in 1650, it was decorated with lions and griffins and surmounted by a five-foot high statue of Fame.

  Shortly after midday the British officers arrived at the viceroy’s palace for dinner. Gardiner thought ‘the apartments … ill-furnished’, but the lack ‘of pomp and magnificence, was more than compensated by the friendly and cordial reception.’ After a meal made noteworthy by the Spaniards’ poor table manners, the party attended a bullfight in the southern suburb of Rimac. En route they crossed the river of the same name via a stone bridge before passing through ‘a grove of large and spreading trees watered on each side by rapid rivulets’. The streets were heaving and there was a great press at each gate. Built of brick with a diameter of 400 feet, the bullring could house up to 10,000 spectators. Five rows of boxes accommodated the most important. The viceroy himself was attended by a strong guard. Gardiner was sickened by what followed: ‘The … [bullfighters] do not dispatch the … [bulls] immediately … but to heighten the sport, irritate them almost to madness’, he recalled. ‘Not contented with seeing … [the bull] run through and through with spears and swords, panting for breath and covered with blood … they hamstring him … then exultingly get upon his back and … oblige him to carry them about for several minutes, till by loss of blood he is rendered so weak, as to no longer afford … any amusement, when they put an end to his existence.’12

  On the afternoon of 22 December the Indespensible, a British South Sea whaler, arrived at Callao. Her captain, William Bickle, boasted that he was the only British ship to have escaped the Essex on the entire coast of Peru. On the Phoebe, preparations to put to sea continued. Sailmaker Millery stowed the spare sails in his store room, apples and limes were brought on board and John King, a 28-year-old whaler from Cambridgeshire captured by Porter and released at Tumbez, was added to the frigate’s muster roll, bringing her complement to over 300 men. On the 28th Gardiner and several of his fellow officers attended a ball at the viceroy’s palace. Refreshed by a range of ‘elegant’ ices, they did not return to the Phoebe until 3 a.m.13

  On New Year’s Eve the viceroy and his entourage were invited to a ball on the Phoebe. The frigate was decked up with British and Spanish bunting, candles were lit, an awning rigged across the main deck and Thomas Staines, the trumpeter and the rest of the ship’s band, dressed up in their finest clothes. ‘After dancing for some time’, the British officers were invited to a second ball in Lima. The party proved ‘very pleasant’ and the revellers ‘kept it up till about 5 o’clock in the morning, having according to custom danced out the old year and danced in the new’. ‘After breakfast’, Gardiner recalled, ‘we took a ride in the country and in the evening returned on board.’ The men spent the day exercising the frigate’s great guns and small arms while Schoolmaster Patrick Brady made a pencil sketch of Callao Bay. Firing practice punctuated the week that followed. Putting his faith in ‘Divine Providence’, Hilllyar had grown more optimistic about his chances of a run-in with the Americans. Over the course of the next month he would raise his men to a new height of combat readiness.14

  On 7 January 1814 Francisco Juan, one of the Cherub’s dwindling band of Brazilian volunteers, deserted from a boat party. Meanwhile, Gardiner visited the ruins of the mines of Cajamarquilla la Vieja and that evening, as news arrived of the defeat of a patriot army in Upper Peru, Hillyar announced his intention to sail for Valparaiso on the 11th. The next day Ordinary Seamen James Mcafferty, Peter Forsythe and Joseph Clarke ran while assigned to shore duty. A petty officer and a party of marines were ordered to search for them, but no trace was found. The same day two new recruits signed up. Thomas Howard, a 24-year-old from London, and Isaac Scott, a 22-year-old from Newcastle, were rated as able seamen. Both had served on the Atlantic until her capture by Porter seven months before. The twelve Chilean prisoners that Abascal had entrusted to Hillyar’s care were also admitted as supernumeries, along with two llamas which the viceroy had sent as a gift. The latter proved bad-tempered shipmates and had a habit of hawking mouthfuls of saliva at any crewmember who got too close. Another passenger taken on board was Thomas N. Crompton. A British merchant and supercargo for the armed Portuguese merchantman Fama, Crompton loaded large quantities of specie in the Phoebe’s hold. Although transporting currency was an added responsibility, it was also a profitable one. In wartime, captains were entitled to a negotiable commission of roughly 3 per cent.15

  Gardiner spent his last full day in Peru bidding farewell to his friends: ‘on the 10th I dined at the palace and in the evening accompanied some of the party to a bull fight’. William Ingram also said his farewells. ‘A tall, handsome man’, the Phoebe’s First Lieutenant had formed an especially close relationship with one of the black-mantled ladies of Lima. Before he departed the couple became engaged. At 5 a.m. on 11 January Hillyar gave the order to weigh. The Phoebe unmoored and sailed in company with the Cherub and the Indespensible, Captain Bickle having taken up the offer of an armed escort to Valparaiso.16

  Chapter 12


  The Standoff, 13 December 1813 – 28 March 1814

  On the evening of 13 December 1813, the Essex and Essex Junior left Nuka Hiva behind. While cutting through a choppy passage between Fatu Uka and Hiva ‘Oa en route to the South American mainland, Tameoy, the Essex’s Tahitian crewmember, had a ‘minor altercation’ with one of the boatswain’s mates. ‘This he could not brook’, Farragut explained, ‘and so jumped overboard.’ Although one of the night watch later recalled hearing a loud splash, Tameoy’s disappearance went unnoticed until roll call the following morning. ‘Whether he took with him an oar or small spar, to buoy himself up; whether he hoped to reach the shore; or whether he determined to put an end to his existence’, Porter could not ‘pretend to say … The distance, however, was so great and the sea so rough, that I [could not] … entertain a hope of his surviving.’ Farragut also ‘thought he had drowned … As he was a general favourite … it gave’ the crew ‘great regret’.1

  The remainder of the voyage was routine. With the Essex Junior matching the speed of the frigate, the ships remained in sight of one another throughout and at midday on 18 December had reached 131° West. The men, now numbering 300, ‘were exercised at the great guns, small arms and single stick’ every day. The practice paid dividends. Years later, with a wealth of combat experience behind him, Farragut maintained that he had ‘never been in a ship where the crew of the old Essex was represented, but that I found them to be the best swordsmen on board. They had been so thoroughly trained … that every man was prepared for such an emergency, with his cutlass as sharp as a razor, a dirk made by the ship’s armourer from a file and a pistol’ thrust in his belt.2