“Oliver, you are quite right! I have never before experienced such a thrilling adventure! And the outcome was so much more desirable than when Philadelphia encountered the enemy.” He smiled ruefully, recalling that dreadful day which began his nearly two years of captivity in the bashaw’s prison.
Then he continued. “But before I tell you of our most lively battle, I must tell you of our narrow escape from an entire squadron—the New York squadron, we assumed—off the coast of New Jersey. In July, it was, and we were just underway from Annapolis and heading for New York. Hull’s plan was to meet up with Rodgers’ squadron and add our guns to those you already had with you.
“Well, we got ourselves tied up in a southerly current and were making only very slow progress toward our destination. Cap’n Hull offered one night at table that he hoped you gentlemen had managed to get yourselves out of New York and might be heading south to find us.
“The very next evening, just at the start of the first dogwatch, we spotted a sail to the Northeast and, from the masthead, we could see the ship was under all sail, and in shore of her, we spotted four more, also under a press of canvas. They all continued that way until sundown, but even the closest was still too far in the offing to recognize any signals we might show. We continued on, still in the grip of the southerly current and suffering from a failing breeze.
“At about ten that night, we were near enough to the first vessel, now clearly distinguishable as a warship, to make the night recognition signal, which we did. Hull kept it up for a full hour and, receiving no response, he concluded that they must belong to the enemy. With such a large force against us, the cap’n wisely decided to haul his wind and we bore away to the south and east, crowding on all the sail we might manage.” He paused in his narrative and took a long swallow from his tankard.
I followed suit and waited impatiently for him to finish his tale and get on to the one I really wanted to hear, about smashing the British frigate into matchwood.
“The enemy gave chase, signaling with lights aloft to her consorts. Soon we had the whole squadron after us. The daylight, when it came, showed us a frigate belonging to the enemy some five or six miles astern and behind him, a line-of-battle ship, another frigate, and brig and a schooner, all dashing after us in a decent breeze. The breeze where we were, unfortunately, had about quit and we realized they would be on us sooner than later. Two ships under our lee seemed to be making good progress and showing weatherliness quite beyond our own grasp.
“Instantly, Hull ordered the boats hoisted out and, as the ship’s head had drifted around in the calm, had them pull us back toward the seaward. By now, the enemy had also suffered the absence of any breeze, and followed our lead by hoisting out their own boats.
“And at us they came! With the last remnants of the breeze and the boats towing, they came up very fast and Hull ordered a fo’c’sle gun brought aft along with a long twenty-four-pounder from the gundeck. We also dragged two of the twenty-fours aft to Hull’s own sleeping cabin, poking them through the portlights in the gallery. We cleared for action, sending all the hands to their quarters station, but did not shorten to battle sail. Those men in the boats were kept there, pulling for their lives.
“We fired one of the stern guns—I thought the range might be a bit far—but Hull wanted to see if we might reach them. The shot fell short and he ceased firing as a waste of shot and powder. And the enemy had put six or eight boats to the task of pulling. With their sails furled to the yards to reduce their drag, they were fast gaining on us.
“Lieutenant Morris—I think you may have met him during that business with the corsairs, Charles Morris?—discovered we were in only twenty-four fathoms of water and Hull instantly brought up two anchors along with three or four hundred fathoms of rope and thought to warp us ahead with the boats. He mentioned it would be faster than simply pulling the ship with the boats. A look astern at the enemy making ground on us was all the inspiration we needed and all hands turned to with a will to get the anchors rigged and into the two boats.
“Each time the boats ran out the cables and dropped the anchors, the hands would heave around on the capstan and haul the ship ahead. It proved to be faster by half than rowing the ship and with a dozen and more such maneuvers, we pulled well ahead of our pursuers.”
He stopped again to swallow more ale and, when I picked up my own, I realized I had been holding my breath, so in thrall with his story was I.
“I would imagine you escaped, Edward, as you’re here, sharing out this tale with you little brother rather than languishing in a British prison somewhere.” I still wanted the other story.
“Patience, little brother! I will get to the end quickly, but first, I must see about another tankard. Are you ready for more?” Without waiting for an answer, he picked up my pewter and pushed through the crowd of onlookers to refresh our drinks.
“Now, where was I?” He sat down, pushed mine to me, and took a drink from his own. “Oh yes, we were kedging Constitution away from the enemy. Well, let me tell you; those Brits didn’t miss a trick! They saw what we were doing, and at once followed suit. That brought them some closer and they thought, apparently, they might be in range and opened a lively fire with their bow chasers.
“Hull, of course, fired back, and with not just the quarterdeck guns, but with the twenty-fours in the Cabin as well. Not a single British shot came aboard of us, but I believe (and so do the others) that at least some of our shots found their mark, as we were unable to observe splashes from many. Later that morning, one of the frigates had managed to haul himself under our lee and offered us his entire broadside; not a shot found us; they were still a bit too far for their eighteen-pounders.
“We continued to kedge the ship, quite eagerly, I thought, and we were then blessed with a light breeze from the west which helped keep us ahead of our pursuers. The line-of-battle ship broke off the chase, sending all her boats to aid with towing the frigate closest to us, but as they were towing to wind’ard and still had their sails furled, they were unable to take advantage of the breeze we had found. Or rather, had found us! But still we kept the boats working to aid the breeze.
“By dark, the wind had picked up a bit more, and the boats could no longer keep ahead of us so we picked them up. You have never seen a more exhausted pair of boats crews, Oliver. Those lads were quite spent, but an extra ration of spirits brought them around quick as ever you please!
“During the night, those determined souls chasing us lost not a bit of interest in the game and kept right on us, never in range, but threatening all the time. Of course, they had hoisted in their own boats and set their sails too.
“By morning, our fickle breeze had again died to barely a whisper, and Hull order the hands to wet down all our canvas from the royals down. Buckets and the fire engine did the job well and we soon found ourselves pulling well ahead of our enemy. They finally gave off the chase, perhaps in the realization that they would be unlikely to catch us that day or the next. It was quite tense for those days, I assure you, Brother, and few of us slept more than a bare wink at a time!” He stopped, smiled, and rewarded himself with a long pull on the pewter.
“I reckon Cap’n Hull had given over any thought of meeting Rodgers’ squadron by that time, right, Edward? We had left and were well at sea in chase of a large convoy of merchants heading for England.” I offered. “We did encounter a Royal Navy frigate, but she escaped us in a bit of nasty weather, so we were unable to engage. And speaking of engaging, how about the tale that brought you all this fame and celebrity?” I swallowed some ale, watching him over the rim of my tankard for some indication he might be ready to share out the story I wanted so desperately to hear.
“Oh! Yes, our second cruise, the one out of Boston. That’s where we went after that harrowing experience with half the Royal Navy chasing us, you know. Not to New York. Hull must have known Rodgers’ lads had already departed, assuming you made it through the British blockade stationed off… th’ port
.” He looked at me, his eyes a bit bleary from the surfeit of ale he had consumed in the telling of his tale.
I nodded, absently.
“Hull had waited in Boston for some word, either from the Secretary or Rodgers, giving him instructions on where to cruise. Unfortunately, either those lads di’n’t know where we were or somethin’ else happened, but none found us and the cap’n determined to sail eastward toward Georges Bank and work the water between there and Cape Sable and on to Newfoundland with the hope of intercepting some small convoys we had heard were makin’ up to leave Halifax for England.” He was slurring more of his words and, as he paused, he took another long pull on his tankard.
“We had been out about ten days—we did take a small naval brig and the merchant under her care early on—when we espied a single sail to our southeast. From the distance between us, we could make out no details of the vessel and Hull ordered all sail and make chase.
“As we drew nearer, we saw she was a warship, a frigate, under easy sail and as we drew closer, he showed his colors and backed his maintops’l, clearly waiting for us and with the intention of engaging.
“We took in all our light sails, sent down the royal yards and poles, and reefed our tops’ls. A bit… later, when we were a bit closer, we hauled up our main and fores’l and cleared for action. When Hull announced his intentions to the crew, they gave three cheers and asked to be laid alongside the chase so they might board and take her without a shot fired! Hull rewarded their spirit with some spirits,” he laughed at his drunken play on words, smiling at his cleverness and waiting for me to join in. He took another deep drought of his ale.
Finally, he went on. “Of course, Hull was not about to board staight-away, but instead, bore down on her weather quarter. Our quarry put an English ensign in the mizzen shrouds, in addition to the one at his gaff. Then we watched him add a Jack to his foretop and yet another at his mizzentop. He wanted to make sure, I reckon, that his flag would not be struck by any of our shot.
“Then he offered us his broadside—not a shot had the range—and wore around to fire the other. Two of these struck our side, but with no injury. All the while the Brits were firing at us, Cap’n Hull was having our own colors raised up to the mizzen t’gallant masthead, the mizzen peak, and the fore t’gallant. We had discovered that we had found HMS Guerriere, the ver’ same ship Rodgers had been sent out to find when he shot up that little frigate back a year and more ago.
“Guerriere started maneuvering, trying to get the wind on us, but he could not. Finally, he managed to get himself across our bow and fire into us. Except for a couple of bowchasers, we were unable to return the fire, so Hull ordered the main t’gallant set to get a bit of speed from his ship and told the helm to run up alongside her. Which we did.” He stopped again, looked around the room, which had become darker as the filtered light of the sun showing through the dirty windows waned, and took another drink.
I could not contain myself. “Edward,” I said. “You must go on. I have to hear the whole tale. Don’t torment me with any more interruptions.”
I wanted to suggest he stop the ale until he finished, but, recognizing that he was my elder, held my tongue.
“Be patient, Brother. I have little more to tell, especially as you already know the outcome. But tell you I will.” He smiled, wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand, blinked several times, and continued.
“Well, there we were, barely a rifle-shot distant from a British frigate, broadside to broadside. I needn’t tell you what happened next.” He paused again, took another taste of his ale, and smiled at my obvious frustration.
“But I will; we fired the entire broadside into her. Both round shot and grape. They fired back, but as some of our lads noted, their lighter shot simply bounced off our sides. One of the sailors called out, ‘Lookee, lads. Their shot bounces off us. Our sides must be made of iron!’
“We kep’ firin’ with great execution and in no time … well, of course it took time—about fifteen minutes, I recall—his mizzen went by the boards and his mainyard hung in the slings. His hull … not our Hull,” he laughed again, drunkenly, at his little joke, “was very much damaged and his sails torn up bad.”
I had never seen my brother so much affected by spirits and hoped he would remain conscious long enough to finish his story. But who was I to offer a criticism? He had participated in the greatest victory our nation had experienced and was surely entitled to celebrate!
“Well, Hull realized we would pass the enemy and put his helm over which forced Guerriere to do the same or suffer bein’ raked. But we got ‘em anyway! Poured several broadsides into his larboard bow, all loaded with grape and canister. Terrible, the carnage it caused to his fo’c’sle hands and sails. Tore up the rig pretty bad on top of it. See, Oliver, with his mizzen over the side, he couldn’t get the ship around and was forced to endure our raking fire.” He grinned drunkenly at me, recalling the thrill of the event and forgetting that I, too, had experience at sea.
“He took more punishment, he did, as Hull continued rakin’ him. Then we bore up and came around his stern, preparing to board ‘em. I called away the boarding party, but afore they might even draw their weapons, the Brits foremast and mainmast went down, and took with ‘em the jibboom and every other spar, save the bowsprit.
“Didn’t seem much point in boardin’ at that point, but we couldn’t see if they’d struck, it now being full dark. Hull ordered us off a mile or two to see to our own knottin’ and splicin’ and wait for what might happen.
“After a while, we went back, but they seemed to have jury-rigged some kind of staff with their colors nailed to it. Hull ordered a boat rigged out and sent me over to see what was actin’, which o’ course, I did. Flew a truce flag so as not to draw their fire, in case you were wondering.
“Oliver, I couldn’t believe the carnage and chaos I saw when I went on board that ship! Bodies and cruel wounded sailors and officers layin’ about, blood and pieces of flesh everywhere, an’ the medicos workin’ tryin’ to save who they might. Rig was down, spars and masts hangin’ over the side, holes in the spar deck as well as ‘tween wind and water. A mess, it was an’ dreadful to behold. I thought I might be ill from the sight and the smells that greeted me. And the sounds: groans of the wounded an’ dyin’ souls, screams of them under the surgeon’s care, and pitiful cries for everything from their mothers to spirits. But Cap’n Dacres—he was the commander there—said he’d struck and asked me to take him back to Hull so as to surrender. Which, of course, I did.” He stopped again, shaking his head at the recollection of the devastation he had witnessed. He did not, however, raise his tankard, but stared at me with red-rimmed eyes, moist, I assumed, from the fearful memories.
“Hull accepted his surrender, heard of the condition of Guerriere, and determined he would take off the wounded and others, then burn the ship as we would be unable to sail her in as a prize.” Again, he stopped, studying me for some reaction, and lifted his tankard in a silent salute either to his ship or her conquest.
I followed suit, impressed by his story, but more impressed with the splendid victory our ship had won.
“Well, hullo! You two seem right depressed amid all this gaiety and celebrating! What ho? I might have thought you gentlemen would be celebratin’ your own selves, bein’ brothers an’ all! May I join you?” Judd Devon was standing between us, a pewter of rum held before him and a questioning look on his face.
“Of course, Judd. Edward was just telling me of their splendid victory against the British frigate Guerriere. That’s what those others, yonder, are celebrating as well. All of Boston likely is, I’d reckon!” I smiled and stood to make room for my friend and messmate.
“Edward, you recollect my friend Judd Devon? Sailed with me and Cap’n Decatur in Tripoli and joined United States in back in Washington Navy Yard.”
My brother stood, unsteadily, I noticed with little surprise, and stuck out his hand.
“Please’ to meetcha. Don
’t recall having had the pleasure, though I may have forgot it. Couldna been in the Mediterranean; I di’n’t even see Oliver there. I was otherwise engaged most o’ the time I spent in those waters!” Edward pumped Judd’s hand.
It appeared that I was the only one in the room not taking advantage of the host’s largesse; Judd obviously had been enjoying a bit of rum and Edward … well, Edward could barely stand! I resolved to maintain some level of sobriety, if only to see my brother back to Long Wharf.
“Did Constitution suffer many casualties, Edward? I have only heard the tale of her glorious victory, and that already too many times to count! No one seems to have mentioned any of her souls being lost or hurt. Or the ship, for that matter. I had a look at her as we came in and she looked quite healthy.” Judd sat down.
“We lost seven men killed, including Lieutenant Bush, our Marine officer. Poor sod took a ball right in the head as he was preparing to board. And the tragedy was, we never even boarded! Bloody shame, it was. He was a fine fellow and a good officer. Had seven wounded, only a few cruelly, and unless one or another of them succumb to the medico’s ministrations, they’ll likely all be back to duty in a fortnight.
“The Brit was a different story. I couldn’t count the numbers of dead and wounded I saw when I went aboard her, but Cap’n Dacres—he was commander of the frigate—told me he’d had twenty-three killed by our shot and fifty-six wounded. Our surgeon helped him out with them, so maybe some of them will live! Or not. Dreadful sight it was to see the carnage we created! Hope never to see that again!” He shook his head sadly, and again, raised his tankard in a salute to his fallen comrades.
“Our ship was barely scratched. Biggest mess was in the Cabin when Guerriere got behind us after we exchanged broadsides. No holes through the hull, though the rig got some shot up; halyards, braces, a pair of shear ties, and both the fore and main masts got wounded some in their lower portions. Reckon the only reason they didn’t come down was on account of their girth. Cro’jack and the mizzen gaff got shattered and a couple of boats. But considering the damage we did to the Brit, what we suffered was minor. She’s a fine ship!” Again, up with the tankards, this time, to the frigate.
In Pursuit of Glory Page 37