by James Spurr
Mr. Taylor dutifully noted the obvious, “Sir, we will hand the advantage over to Barclay.”
Perry nodded, convinced Barclay had already claimed it, and replied, “I do not care, to windward or to leeward, we shall fight this day!”
Mr. Taylor turned to approach the binnacle, consulted the compass and made to deliver the new course to the helmsmen on the tiller. The wind wafted for a moment. The sails slatted, the reef points slapped the canvas, the boom of the spanker swung inward, temporarily loose in its jaws. In just moments, the wind returned, perhaps a bit lighter, as sometimes happens when the breeze is already light. But then, even this mere whisper of a breeze absolutely quit.
For some moments, hundreds of men aboard ships in both squadrons looked to their shipmates, then aloft to the pennants. They scanned the horizon and wondered. Perry was as in tune with the subtle manifestations of nature as any that day and wondered, as did many, what the Almighty had in store. Just as the thought crossed his mind of calling for the sweeps, so determined was he to bring Barclay to action that day, the wind returned.
Taylor began to laugh. The men murmured their approval and enthusiasm. Perry smiled, nodded to Mr. Taylor and confirmed quietly, “Belay that order, Mr. Taylor. Proceed to adjust the trim as required.”
The new wind filled in from the Sou’east; a shift of some 90 degrees— at the precise moment as was needed to deliver Perry the coveted weather gauge. The wind was now blowing from the larboard quarter allowing Perry to set the course, establish his line and sail down upon Barclay as his pleasure suggested.
Barclay, some seven miles to the Nor’west, cast a glance aloft and attempted to mask his disappointment. He did not want his officers and men to lose heart. The tables had turned. One of his few options was now lost to him before a gun had yet roared. Without the weather gauge, he no longer had any option but to fight. He smiled slightly and philosophically abandoned his faint hope of skirting east and taking shelter, men and supplies at Long Point. If the Almighty set the wind against him, however, Barclay silently prayed its velocity, at least, would remain minimal. A light wind would allow him time to work his many long guns before Perry could effectively close with his smashers.
Perry attended to his men. With the continuous tacking now abated, men scattered to make the ships ready for action. Powder monkeys scampered below to fill their leather pouches with prepared charges. They filled buckets of water as a precaution against the risk of fire and for spongers amid the gun crew. The men sanded the decks for better traction and to soak up blood as they all knew would soon run like rivulets for the scuppers. Barrels of cutlasses, pikes, axes and other weapons were brought up and positioned on deck so to assist in a boarding operation, or to repel the same as fate would decree.
Amid such frantic activity, conducted with discipline and quiet resolve, Perry stepped forward from the weather rail and removed from the binnacle a folded flag. He let if fall to the deck, revealing amid its blue background with gold letters a call to arms, Don’t give up the Ship! Perry climbed up on a carronade carriage, one foot on its barrel and called out for all to hear, “My brave lads, this flag bears the dying words of the brave Captain Lawrence. Shall I hoist it?”
“Aye! Aye! Let her fly!” and then followed “Huzza!” thrice shouted as the main truck flag halyard brought the banner aloft into the small breeze and it fluttered to leeward. Captain Lee, as did others in the squadron, trained a glass on the pennant, reported it to their men and a resolve spread amid the decks of the American squadron as the sails of the British ships grew larger and brighter in the late morning sun.
After boats were lowered and towed astern to clear the decks and minimize targets for deadly splinters, gear was stowed or secured and the midday meal was served early. The British sails grew closer still, revealing details: a marine in the tops, reef points now distinguishable, the shape of gun muzzles now clear.
Perry whispered to the purser, Mr. Hambleton, “Serve each man a ration of grog and have the drums and fifes strike up. All hands, all hands to Quarters.” Tiffany took the cue, stowed his fiddle in Captain Perry’s cabin and found a pistol, resuming his station.
Hundreds of men, under different flags, waited still, all attending to similar personal duties. The slight wind and faint wake trailing from the sterns turned the ancient ritual of awaiting battle into sheer torture for brave men with nerves, nonetheless, like any other. Some made promises, some preparations. There were families for which to provide. Perry noticed these activities and dashed down to his quarters. He placed his wife’s letters in a lead filled bag of other ship’s papers. Their love would, he resolved, forever remain sacred and intimate, no matter his fate.
Perry then took the deck and strolled, hands behind him, greeting the men, joking and commenting upon their good work and preparations. He approached James and Jesse and other crew from Constitution and inquired for many to overhear, “Well, boys, are you ready?”
James and Jesse answered in unison, “All ready, Sir!”
“I need not say anything more to you,” he allowed and then emphasized, “You know how to beat those fellows!” Others laughed and cheered.
Then, coming up to his old crew from the Newport gunboats, “Ah, here are the Newport boys.” Again, confirming his confidence in all of them, Perry assured, “They will do their duty, I warrant.”
Perry would have well understood, had he known, that at that precise moment, not so distant from Lawrence, his counterpart, Captain Barclay, did much the same by intoning Nelson, the beloved hero for all Royal Navy tars. Barclay encouraged the same sentiment as expressed by Nelson at Trafalgar, assuring his men, “You will, without doubt, do your duty. And if all we can manage is to close with and engage the enemy, you will all account for yourselves, very well, in my eyes!”
After the wind shift, both squadrons converged gradually; Perry sailing two points north of west toward West Sister Island, Barclay sailing due west. All could see as the distance between the lines closed that soon enough the ships at the head of the line would be in range of each other. Perry learned, however, to his surprise, Barclay had lined his vessels differently than he expected. Detroit led the line, with General Hunter second and Queen Charlotte third.
Perry ordered the signal to be made, “Niagara, change positions with Lawrence.” Elliott was crestfallen. He had gone from the van, the position of honor, as his prior combat experience seemed, at least to him, to justify, to third in line behind Caledonia. The new arrangement allowed Lawrence to line up against Detroit, as was always Perry’s intent, but Caledonia and Niagara were soon mismatched as Queen Charlotte traded places with General Hunter.
The move in the British line was purposeful and strategic. Detroit had long guns, Queen Charlotte, carronades. Allowing each to support the other made perfect sense and allowed Barclay to lead with his strength.
Dunlap thought the new arrangement in the American line most curious, but was not overly alarmed. He commented to his First Officer, “While the twin brig is much more deadly then we, at this angle of approach, I am certain her commander will move ahead in the line and square off against Queen Charlotte long before his carronades are in range of us.”
Little did Dunlap know that as Elliott skulked, he recalled Perry’s signal to remain in line behind the ship as first ordered. Niagara remained astern of the slower sailing Caledonia, who could not keep up with Lawrence, and Perry’s line would soon begin to appear disorderly and confused.
Barclay noted the curious arrangement and offered to his First Officer, “Very odd indeed. We could, I suppose, attempt to break the line.” Rightly, his First Officer counseled, “Much too close to the wind, Sir! Queen Charlotte would only luff in the attempt and be raked. The Americans may be baiting us!” Barclay nodded and maintained his more conservative tactic, keeping Queen Charlotte close to Detroit. He understood, if the Americans did not adjust, the present situation may well allow something that he never would have thought possible – both of his
largest ships pouncing upon just one of the American brigs.
Still, Lawrence came on in the light wind without regard for her consorts. Just past seven bells in the forenoon watch, Barclay ordered his band to play “Rule Britannia” and after a rousing cheer from British tars faded, a bugle blew and a ranging shot erupted from a long 24 pounder aboard Detroit. The shot fell short, but just minutes later, it was followed by a broadside that found the mark. Perry took his first hit and blood began to flow aboard Lawrence well before her carronades were in range.
Perry responded with all he could at that moment summon, knowing any response, however feeble, was better for morale than silence. “Signal Scorpion to open fire!”
Captain Lee on Scoripion and forward of Lawrence, guarding the front of the line from any attempt to cross, read the signal and called to Trove, “Give her the pivot gun!” The long 32 pounder roared, Trove having already carefully ranged the shot. The concussion and recoil shook her timbers, the smoke engulfed the waist and nearly clouded entirely the fact that the shot struck the larboard bow of Detroit. Captain Lee noted that he had just fired the first American shot to retake not only Lake Erie, Detroit and the Old Northwest, but what he hoped by the end of the day would also include at least one sloop: his Friends Good Will.
At the opposite end of the line, Fleet watched in horror as the broadsides began in earnest. The smoke was thick, and the destruction from shot, splinters, rigging, blocks and gear was apparent no more than minutes into the battle. Little Belt had not fired a shot and he knew it may be some time before such was possible, given her position in line and the angle of approach. But Thomas noted, with some restrained glee, that the ‘Little Admiral’, while transfixed by the scene, had suddenly gone an ashen shade of pale.
Within a glass, the gateway to hell opened fully and the battle reached new heights. Lawrence was slugging it out, now in range with both Detroit and Queen Charlotte. Perry was able to close, it was true, but found himself outgunned and unsupported. Aboard Lawrence, Perry swelled with pride at the manner in which his men served the guns, stood to their duty, ignored the mayhem and slipped almost into a trance of training and discipline.
The 32 pound carronades began their grim work of destroying all their iron shot could reach. Surgeon’s Mate Parsons aboard Lawrence, even before the cabin was yet fully occupied with wounded and before the first limb was removed, commented sadly to one of his assistants, “God help us. The dogs of war are let loose from their leash. It seems as heaven and earth are at loggerheads.”
Through the carnage, Perry encouraged and advised his men, “Take good aim my boys, don’t waste your shot!” Captain Lee had for weeks conducted live fire drills with the men and it began to show. James and the experienced gunners from Constitution showed the way. While the broadsides grew more ragged, the rate of fire was faster than their British foes, the gunnery more accurate and the damage they caused, though outgunned, was just as shocking. Perry sensed Lawrence was giving as good as she got. The question, Perry knew, was how long could they keep at it. Most naval engagements were but an hour or less. Certainly, from the intensity, Perry thought, the battle could not last nearly so long.
In a rare, random and all too brief interlude, James looked about and was shocked. The deck of Lawrence was in appalling condition. Blood and gore were smeared, it seemed, on every surface. Guns began to upend, the wounded could barely be evacuated as soon as they fell. There was no time to dispose of the dead, not as yet. Jesse witnessed seaman Bunnel struggle to wipe the brains of another from his face so to regain his own eyesight and assess whether he had been hit before the next round then just fired would require he sponge his piece. Another crewman down the bulwark had both legs shot off, still another was crying out from large splinters driven into his chest. Tiffany wept as Marine Lieutenant Brooks pleaded with Perry “They have done for me, Sir. Finish me, please!” after a round shot had carried away a part of his hip. Perry insisted “No, we shall carry you below!” where the real horror was unfolding.
Lawrence was a shallow draft vessel. Unlike ocean going ships, the surgeon worked above the waterline. While the dysentery had left several trained surgeons utterly disabled, surgeon’s mate Parsons sawed off limbs and tried to stop bleeding even as balls crashed through planking, sending more splinters and death through the only area of the ship that could possibly, in the best of conditions, offer only faint hope for a life of dismemberment.
Falling blocks, rigging and spars swinging wildly were very soon adding to the risks on the main deck. Purser Hambleton worked a carronade and stood to his duty despite grievous wounds. The smoke was blessed as it masked the horror. The deafening roar of the guns were soon almost welcome, so to carry over the shrieks and cries of the wounded and dying.
The chaos lent to bizarre scenes of desperation. Even the animals fell victim to the politics of nations. A pig aboard Lawrence escaped the paddock, a consequence of damage below the deck. Scurrying about after spilled peas intended for dinner, it seemed to care little at having lost both its hind legs as it lapped up what it viewed as an unexpected opportunity and gift.
Despite the horror, some men retained their humor. An old tar, well versed in the rigging, attempted to repair a main stay with a stopper while aloft. Even as the hasty repair was nearing completion, another British shot parted the stay beneath him, sending the old rigger crashing into the mainmast. Brought to blaspheme, he called out to his enemy, for many to hear over the din, “Damn you! If you must have it, take it!”
Gradually, the effects began to tell. Fewer guns were available. Fewer men could be found to man those yet in service. The fatigue set in, the work became numbing, both physically and emotionally. Only then did both Perry and his men aboard Lawrence, through the smoke, less thick then before, begin to realize they had for well more than an hour fought without any assistance from Niagara. Still, with little choice and yet some capability among them, the able, supported by many near dead, fought on.
Perry was consoled with that which his men also suspected. Conditions aboard Detroit and Queen Charlotte did not appear significantly better. Barclay himself took a splinter in his thigh, went below but was able to return. The junior officer now in command of Queen Charlotte had little experience and was well beyond his abilities.
Still, conditions aboard Lawrence approached desperate. Seaman Bunnell, fighting at a fever pitch, found his gun had run out of shot. He looked over to James, seized a crowbar lying on the deck, gave a wicked grin and sent it down the barrel. Moments later, it flew over in a wild arc, spinning along, and severed three shrouds aboard Detroit. Both he and James cheered. Emboldened, Bunnel next tried a small swivel gun and jammed it in the mouth of the carronade. It was also coughed up so to fly over and land aboard their adversary. James reminded himself, this was life aboard the inland seas—improvisation and initiative often turning challenges into opportunities.
Soon after 2:30, Perry noted, more than two hours after beginning the fight, only one carronade was in service with Lawrence utterly unmanageable, a mere floating hulk. “Come, James,” he called, “gather Jesse, some gunners and let us cross over to Niagara. Bring my flag!”
James hauled down the field of blue and was conscious of a British cheer. The tars mistakenly thought Perry was surrendering. But Perry had his battle flag lowered, not his nation’s ensign. He turned to Lieutenant Yarnell, wounded three times, and conferred upon him command of the Lawrence. A small cutter was brought up alongside and while waiting, James asked, with disappointment in his voice, “Sir, must we flee?”
Perry looked at him curiously, “Why no, lad. We do not flee. We are withdrawing to a stronger position so to continue the fight and win the day. It is the smart move, upholding our honor and underscoring our courage.” Perry then looked out over the leeward bow to Scorpion, a mere schooner, coming in closer to Detroit, guns blazing so to give cover and assistance, “There is Captain Lee, stalwart as any! No fear has the Master of Scorpion of any British ful
l rigged ship!”
As James stepped into the cutter, others expressed disdain for the absent Captain Elliott and their twin brig, Niagara. James thought of his father’s departure from Friends Good Will the summer before and his later attempt to explain to James the merits of withdrawing to fight another day, just now as had Captain Perry. James then thought about Elliott, whom he had once admired. James then considered Perry, very much like his father, having just praised his father, and heard Perry conclude, “If a victory is to be gained, I will gain it!”
James took up the oars and leaned into the work with a will. He must, he resolved, somehow survive this day. He had to speak with his father and prayed God would deliver him from the carnage he had never, until two hours before and despite his service aboard Constitution, imagined as could unfold.
As the cutter sliced through the calm sea scattered with debris, half hidden from its enemies from low hanging smoke, Perry recalled he was now for a second time that season setting off in a small boat in the midst of battle to better direct the fight.
The British cheer was premature. Barclay, through his glass, understood Perry’s purpose and directed that Perry’s cutter was a new, primary target. But it was a small target and Perry soon boarded Niagara unscathed and was met by Captain Elliott. Perry suspected from the surprise showing on Elliott’s face that he had assumed from the destruction aboard Lawrence, now drifting to leeward from the line, its guns silent, that Perry was dead or no longer able. Perry’s emergence from Niagara’s entry port proved well the contrary.
Perry had studied the British line from the small boat and knew instantly what must be done. “Captain Elliott, make all fighting sail and steer,” pointing to indicate, “to break the British line.”