In Pursuit of the Essex

by Hughes, Ben;

  Meanwhile, the eighty Essexes who had abandoned ship were struggling to reach shore. One of the three boats launched had swamped under the frigate’s stern drowning all on board, while the pinnace, ‘in the most deplorable condition’, was intercepted by a British boat. Several dead were lying in the bottom and of the seven survivors, two were seriously wounded. The third boat reached the shore. The swimmers were also ‘struggling’. The officer of a British boat had his crew rescue as many as they could safely take on board and promised to return for the others. ‘When the men in the water expressed their doubts that the promise would be kept, a British sailor jumped … into the water … “I will remain with you,” he promised, “if they forget you they will not forget me.”’ Nine swimmers were rescued. Thirty-one others drowned. With the muster roll destroyed and Porter unwilling to provide details, estimates of those who reached the shore vary. Hillyar believed that thirty to forty men made it. Those that were uninjured, such as John Swayne, the twenty-year-old Scot who had served on the Seringapatam, disappeared into the scrub-covered hills. The rest were carried to the Hacienda de la Viña del Mar, where they were treated by Antonio Carrera’s nine daughters. With ‘scarcely a square inch of his body which had not been burned’, William Kingsbury was amongst the fortunate recipients of their charity.

  At 7 p.m. Porter was rowed on board the Phoebe with a number of his officers and crew while a boat sent by Captain Tucker took several others to the Cherub. Porter was in tears as he surrendered his sword and told Hillyar of the ‘brave fellows’ killed after he had struck. The British captain countered by stating that the men who had fled the Essex at the moment of her surrender should have been his prisoners. Porter insisted he had been forced to give the order to save them from the fire on the gundeck and Hillyar decided not to press the point further. In the Phoebe’s cockpit, Surgeon Smith cared for the wounded. Eight men awaited his attention, the most pressing case being Lieutenant Ingram. The 27-year-old remained unconscious and little hope was held out for his recovery.

  On the Essex the prize crew were already making repairs. The shot holes below the waterline were plugged, cables were bent to the anchors and a jury mast rigged. In the cockpit, the grim work of Doctors Hoffman and Montgomery went on. Splinters were pulled from sucking flesh wounds; cuts bandaged; burns doused with ointment. Forty-four limbs were amputated with knives and bone saws and thrown through the ports. The stumps were cauterized in the fire and bound. Farragut grew ‘faint and sick’ at the sight. Collecting himself, the twelve-year-old asked after the shipmates he had seen fall. Quartermaster Francis Bland had bled to death for want of a tourniquet, while Acting Lieutenant Cowell ‘had lost a leg just below the knee’. Doctor Hoffman had wanted to amputate as soon as he had been bought in, but Cowell had insisted on waiting his turn. ‘One man’s life is as dear as another’s’, the father of two from Marblehead, Massachusetts had explained. ‘I would not cheat any poor fellow out of his turn.’

  At 8 p.m. Farragut was rowed to the Phoebe: ‘I went on board … and was ushered into the steerage … [and] was so mortified at my capture, that … I laid down and gave vent to my tears.’ In the cockpit, Ingram was close to the end. At midnight, as the baffling winds that had marked the day settled to a dead calm and a thick fog descended, the frigate let go her stream anchor in 34 fathoms and the 27-year-old ‘was … happily released from his pain’.4

  Chapter 14

  The Aftermath, 29 March 1814 – 25 December 1814

  At 6 a.m. on 29 March 1814 the fog lifted and the Phoebe, Cherub and Essex stood in for Valparaiso Roads. An hour later Hillyar, whose conduct towards his prisoners had been ‘delicate and respectful’ from the start, invited Porter and Farragut to join him for breakfast. The former accepted, but Farragut declined, saying his ‘heart was too full’ to eat. ‘Never mind my little fellow,’ Hillyar replied, ‘it will be your turn next perhaps.’ ‘I told him I hoped so’, Farragut recalled, ‘and left the cabin to keep from crying in his presence.’ At 9 a.m. the ships sailed into the bay. While the Cherub stood off and on, watching the Essex Junior lingering off shore, the Phoebe and Essex came to in the roads.1

  That morning the American officers were allowed to go into town on parole. Porter hired a ‘comfortable’ room as a hospital and had his wounded transferred ashore. The Cherubs spent the morning making repairs, while Hillyar enquired about more permanent accommodation for his prisoners. While they remained on board, the Americans posed a security risk as well as preventing repairs being carried out to the lower decks. The Sacramento, an old Spanish merchantman, was hired and that afternoon all ninety-three unwounded prisoners were sent on board. Gardiner was given a detachment of Royal Marines to guard them. Afterwards, Captain Tucker, having recovered somewhat from his contusion, returned to his station, beating up and down in the bay watching the Essex Junior, while the Phoebes sent a sheet anchor and cable to the Essex to allow her to be moored.2

  At 10 a.m. the next morning, Ingram’s body was carried ashore. With the Phoebe firing minute guns in his honour, a detachment of marines escorted his coffin to the Governor’s castle where his funeral took place. All the surviving American officers and a number of the Essex’s crew were present as well as ‘the greater part of the [Phoebe’s] company’. Hillyar performed a service, many ‘manly tears’ were shed and Gardiner composed a poem to mark the occasion.3

  That afternoon, Hillyar wrote to Secretary Croker informing the Admiralty of his success, while Farragut attended to the American wounded. ‘I volunteered my services to the Surgeon, as an assistant’, the twelve-year-old recalled, ‘and was given charge of all such patients as required plastering and rubbing. These consisted of those burnt and bruised.’ William Kingsbury remained ‘deranged for some days’ but would ultimately recover, while Acting Lieutenant Cowell was less fortunate. Having insisted on waiting his turn before going under the knife, he had lost so much blood that his condition was deteriorating daily. Farragut found the job exhausting: ‘I rose at day light and spread a bolt of linen into plasters, by 8 o’clock got my breakfast and then went to work on my patients [for the rest of the day].’ The doctors were also assisted by the ‘ladies of Valparaiso … Without their aid’, Porter opined, ‘many [more] would have died.’4

  Over the next few days, many of the combatants began to reflect on the battle. Honour gained and lost was assessed and blame apportioned. Porter, blind to his own responsibility, believed Hillyar had acted dishonourably on two counts. First, by attacking him within gun shot of the shore and second, by engaging while the Essex was at a disadvantage. These, from Porter’s point of view, were compounded by the fact that the English captain had consistently refused an ‘honourable’ single-ship duel in the weeks beforehand. ‘The blood of the slain must be on … [Hillyar’s] head’, Porter judged, ‘and he has yet to reconcile his conduct to heaven, to his conscience and to the world.’ Gardiner noted that ‘what little honour … [the Phoebe] may have gained … will no doubt be detracted’ by the fact that the Cherub was also present, even though Tucker had ‘only had an opportunity of giving … one broadside’, while Hillyar, predictably, attributed his victory to the ‘providence’ of ‘the Almighty disposer of events’. Samuel Thornton Junior felt the Phoebes had done their ‘business very well’ and dubbed his superior Sir James, ‘in anticipation of the Baronetage’ he felt sure Hillyar would be granted.5

  Farragut provided the most detailed post-mortem: ‘I consider that our original and greatest error was in attempting to regain the anchorage [after the main topmast had gone by the board off the Point of Angels]’, he opined.

  Being greatly superior to the enemy in sailing qualities, I think we should have borne up and run before the wind. If we had come into contact with the Phoebe, we should have carried her by boarding, if she avoided us, as she might have done by her greater ability to manoeuvre, then we could have taken her fire and passed on, leaving both vessels behind, until we replaced our topmast, by which time they would have been separat
ed … the Cherub being a dull sailer. Secondly, when it was apparent to everybody that we had no chance of success [in the battle beyond Point Piedra], the ship should have been run ashore, throwing her broadside to the beach, to prevent raking and fought as long as was consistent with humanity and then set on fire. But, having determined on anchoring we should have bent a spring to the ring of the anchor, instead of the cable, where it was exposed and could be shot away as fast as put on. This … would have given us, in my opinion, a better opportunity of injuring our opponents.6

  As March turned to April, with the Essex Junior and Cherub continuing to eye each other off shore, the Phoebe underwent repair. Her main yard was overhauled, the mainmast was fished and the rigging, fore and aft, was re-spliced and knotted where the Essex’s shot had cut through. The caulkers resealed the hull and in early April the guns were shifted to one side and the frigate careened, allowing the carpenter and his crew to plug the eight 32-pounder shot holes between wind and water and the single 12-pounder one below the waterline. The starboard billboards and bolsters and three chain plates and dead eyes were replaced, a new slide was made for the damaged carronade in the tops and the hammock boards, quarter galley and lashes were repaired. On 18 April, the Phoebe received a fresh coat of paint while the gunner fixed the transom and transom bolt on the damaged 18-pounder and repaired the axletree of one of the long 9s.7

  The Essex also underwent repairs. On 4 April the Cherub’s carpenters went aboard to speed up the process. Their first job was to clear the hull of roundshot. According to Carpenter Langley’s report ‘[they] were planted so thick … they could not be well counted, but [were] supposed to [number] … upwards of 200 … through the larbrd. side below the spar deck’. The head had been shot away, the bulwarks on the larboard side of the forecastle destroyed, the stern ‘much shattered’, the pumps had been rendered useless, the bowsprit was ‘much damaged’, seven of the ship’s structural knees had been cut in two and the booms, spars and masts had been ‘crippled’. Thirteen guns on the larboard side had been disabled. Several had had their carriages shattered; others had their barrels or muzzles split or had lost their fighting bolts, britchings, eye bolts, blocks, ring bolts or tackles. Two starboard guns needed repair and the sails and rigging were shredded.8

  On 5 April the Essex Junior surrendered. Hillyar, Porter and Downes agreed that the sloop should be disarmed and serve as a prisoner cartel to take the Americans home on parole on condition they would be exchanged for British prisoners of equal rank. The deal suited both sides. Porter was desperate to get back to the United States and acquire a new command, and Hillyar wanted to get his ships and specie back to Britain safely. Once she had come to anchor, English and American ensigns were hoisted on the Essex Junior and over the next few days the guns and stores were hoisted out. The Cherub also anchored and Hillyar persuaded Tucker to rest for a few days in town. ‘His wounds though not dangerous confine him to his cabin’, he explained in a letter written to Croker that afternoon, ‘and quiet is necessary for his restoration to health.’9

  The Essex Junior’s surrender brought an end to the saga of the poison plotters of Nuka Hiva. The former Sir Andrew Hammonds were released in exchange for eleven American seamen as well as Lieutenant McKnight, Midshipman Lyman and Chaplain Adams, whom Hillyar agreed to transport to England or any intermediate point in between. Edward Lawson and the others signed up to serve on the Phoebe and their stories of Porter’s tyrannical conduct soon spread. Three other Britons also signed up that afternoon. All may well have been former crewmembers of the Essex who had swum ashore and hidden in the aftermath of the battle, but only one, the Scot John Swayne, was foolish enough to give his real name. Admitting his recent service with the enemy, Swayne insisted he had only served under duress and had taken the first opportunity of running.10

  By the end of the first week of April, all Hillyar’s immediate concerns had been taken care of. ‘Our wounded are doing well’, he informed Croker, ‘and our damages will soon be repaired. We have much reason to be grateful to Divine Providence for this and many other proofs of goodness manifested to us.’ Hillyar’s anxieties as to the completion of his original mission had also been eased: Porter had informed him that the ‘fort’ belonging to the American Pacific Fur Company at the mouth of the Columbia River was a purely civilian concern and its capture would pose no problem whatsoever to a man-of-war. By 7 April Hillyar directed all his energies to preparing his ships for sea. The Cherub’s boats swept the bay for the anchor that Porter had slipped on the day of the battle and thirteen locals were employed to help resupply the ships. Water and provisions were taken on board, including 392lbs of fresh cheese. Shore duty brought the risk of desertion and on 11 April Thomas Banks, who had joined the Phoebe at Lima on 5 December, ran from the launch and was not heard of again.11

  On 13 April HMS Tagus arrived. One of ten 36-gun Fifth Rates ordered by the Admiralty in 1812 in response to the threat posed by the US, the Tagus had been laid down in August and launched within the year. Her captain, Philip Pippon, had sailed from Falmouth with a convoy for Brazil on 7 December 1813 with orders to proceed to the Pacific in search of the Essex. Aside from being pine-built, a policy which traded structural strength for rapid construction, the Tagus was also one of the first British warships to be fitted with iron water tanks, thus not only saving time in provisioning, but also improving the crew’s health. Pippon’s arrival and the news that HMS Raccoon was unlikely to face any difficulties at the River Columbia, freed Hillyar of any further responsibilities in the Pacific. As his commission pre-dated Pippon’s, he ordered the Tagus to cruise the Sandwich Islands in search of American merchantmen. The Cherub would be dispatched to hunt down Lieutenant Gamble’s detachment at Nuka Hiva and the Phoebe would return home.12

  Once news of Hillyar’s decision spread his officers began to enjoy their time on shore. Midshipman Thornton of the Phoebe and Chaplain Adams of the Essex took up the friendship that had been interrupted by the recent hostilities, others went hunting for black swans which bred around a lagoon ten miles to the southeast, while Gardiner explored Valparaiso. ‘The town is a poor shabby place’, he opined, ‘[and] built without any degree of regularity.’ The male inhabitants were ‘hospitable’ yet ‘indolent’, the women ‘pretty’ and with a happy predilection for Englishmen, despite the disapproval of their ever-present chaperones. Gardiner admired the fertility of the land, the quality of the local bread and the beauty of the sunsets, whose fading rays lit up the distant Andes ‘cover[ing] their hoary heads with a mantle of gold’.13

  Hillyar had more serious business to attend to. As well as attempting to secure compensation for the British merchants whose ships and cargoes were languishing in Valparaiso Roads, the English captain had to fulfil his promise to Viceroy Abascal. On 15 April, leaving the Phoebe in charge of Lieutenant Pearson, he set out for Santiago accompanied by several servants, a numerous mule train and John Barnard, the Emily’s teenage supercargo and pioneer of Anglo-Chilean trade who would serve as the captain’s guide and translator. Packed amongst Hillyar’s baggage were several of Andrew Blest’s Protestant bibles which Hillyar intended to distribute on his travels. The journey to the capital took two days. The party crossed the fertile plains of the Chilean breadbasket, before ascending the 609m-high Cuesta de Zapata. At Santiago Supreme Director Lastra asked Hillyar to travel to the south to negotiate peace between the opposing generals at ‘the seat of [the] war’. Borne by a four-horse carriage and escorted by a troop of cavalry, Hillyar was welcomed at General Bernardo O’Higgins’ headquarters near the town of Talca on 26 April with an artillery salute. The entire patriot army had been formed up to receive him.

  Since the fall of Talca, the situation had stabilised. Both the Patriots and Loyalists had exhausted their men and materiel in a series of skirmishes. With Gainza unable to move further north and O’Higgins incapable of forcing his retreat, a stalemate had ensued and the need for some sort of accommodation between the armies was evident. ‘T
he Spaniards, naturally jealous, & suspicious, were fearful’, Gardiner explained, ‘lest some other power should take a part in their quarrel & thus in some measure weaken their interest in this part of the world, while the revolutionists … were continually dunn’d with the [allied] successes [against the French] in old Spain, from whence they soon expected their enemies would receive … reinforcement.’ After presenting Abascal’s terms to O’Higgins, Hillyar visited the Loyalist camp. A series of negotiations between Gainza and O’Higgins followed, with Hillyar ever-present, culminating in the signing of the Treaty of Lircay on 3 May. While allowing a degree of Chilean autonomy, it stipulated that the colony would remain within the Spanish Empire and have to sacrifice the national flag. In return, the Peruvians would withdraw and Chile would be permitted to open its ports to international trade. Hillyar relished his role in the process. ‘I cannot give a just idea of my personal feelings on this very interesting termination of my effort’, he wrote to Croker on 11 May, ‘they were the most heart elating I ever experienced.’14