Pike & Cutlass: Hero Tales of Our Navy

This great misfortune at a time when there was at least a fighting chance of getting away put a different aspect upon the chances of the “Essex.” Both English vessels immediately gave chase, and Porter, failing to make his anchorage, ran for shore, to anchor there and fight it out to the last drop of blood. The “Phœbe” and the “Cherub,” bedecked with flags, came booming down to where Porter awaited them, flying flags from the stumps of his maintop-mast and at almost every point where he could run a halyard.

At about four o’clock the “Phœbe” selected a position under the stern of the “Essex,” and opened fire at long range. The “Cherub” stood off her bow. The fire of the “Phœbe” was terribly destructive, and few guns from the “Essex” could be brought to bear upon her. The “Cherub” fared differently; and, finding her position too hot, sailed around and took up a position by her consort, where a tremendous fire was poured in. Captain Porter, with great difficulty, had three of his long 12-pounders hauled into his after-cabin, and at last succeeded in opening such a fierce and well-aimed fire that the enemy wore about and increased the distance between them. The “Phœbe” had three holes in her water-line, had lost the use of her mainsail and jib, and had her fore-main- and mizzen-stays shot away. Her bowsprit was badly wounded, and she had other injuries below.

But the “Essex” was fighting against terrible odds. The springs on her cables were again and again shot away and the crew were being killed and wounded in great numbers. When the ships of the enemy returned and opened a galling fire from such a position that it could not be returned by the “Essex,” Porter determined to assume the aggressive. But when he attempted to make sail on his ship, he found that most of the running-gear had been cut away, only his flying-jib could be spread to the winds. But, nothing daunted, he cut his cable, and, spreading his tattered canvases the best way he could, made down for the “Cherub” until within range of the cannonades, where he gave the Englishman such a drubbing that he took to his heels and got out of range altogether. The “Phœbe” managed to keep her distance, and with her long guns kept sending in broadside after broadside, which swept the decks of the doomed “Essex” and mowed her men down like chaff. Captain Hillyar was taking no chances.

The slaughter on the “Essex” was horrible. One gun was manned by three crews, fifteen men being killed at it. Men were dying like sheep; but those who remained at the guns, and even the wounded, had no thought of surrender. A sailor named Bissley, a young Scotchman by birth, lost his leg. He lifted himself, and said to some of his shipmates, —

“I hope I have proved myself worthy of the country of my adoption. I am no longer of any use to you or her; so good-by.” And before he could be restrained he pushed himself through the port into the sea and was drowned.

Midshipman Farragut acted as captain’s aid, quarter-gunner, powder-boy, and anything that was required of him. He went below for some primers, when the captain of a gun was struck full in the face by a sixteen-pound shot, falling back upon the midshipman, spattering him with blood and tumbling them both down the hatch together. The blow stunned the midshipman for a moment; but when he recovered, he rushed again on deck. Captain Porter, seeing him covered with blood, asked him if he were wounded.

“I believe not, sir.”

“Then, where are the primers?”

This first brought him completely to his senses. He rushed below again and brought the primers up. Captain Porter fell, stunned by the windage of a shot, but got to his feet unaided.

Though most other men would have surrendered the ship, Porter made up his mind to run her towards the shore and beach her broadside on, fight until the last and then blow her to pieces. An explosion occurred below and a fire broke out in two places. The decks were so covered with dead and dying that the men who remained upright could scarcely move among them. The cockpit would hold not another wounded man, and the shots which came in killed men who were under the surgeon’s knife. Out of the two hundred and fifty-five souls who began the fight only seventy-five, including officers and boys, remained on the ship fit for duty. Many of the men, thinking the ship was about to blow up, had jumped overboard and had drowned or were struggling in the water in the attempt to swim to land. The long-range shots of the enemy were striking her at every fire. The Englishmen had the distance accurately and were battering her to pieces as though at target-practice.

Captain Porter, at last seeing that resistance was only a waste of life, called his officers into consultation. But one, Lieutenant McKnight, could respond, and at 6.20 P.M. the order was given to haul down the flag.

When the British boarding-officer came over the side, the sight of the carnage was so shocking that he had to lean against a gun for support. The force of the “Essex” was forty-six guns and two hundred and fifty-five men. That of the English, in conservative estimates, was seventy-three guns and four hundred and twenty-one men. The English lost five killed and ten wounded. The “Essex” fifty-eight killed, sixty-six wounded, and thirty-one missing.

Thus died the “Essex” in one of the bloodiest and most obstinate combats on record.

THE CAPTAIN OF THE MAINTOP

James Jarvis was one of the “young gentlemen” on the “Constellation” during the war with France. “Young gentlemen” was what the midshipmen were called in the old naval service, and Jarvis was the youngest of them all, being just thirteen at the time of the action with the “Vengeance.” He was the smallest officer aboard, and his most important duties were those of passing the word from the quarter-deck forward, and taking his station aloft in the maintop, where he was learning the mysteries of the maze of gear which went through the lubber’s-hole or belayed in the top. He also stood at quarters with his diminutive sword drawn, – a smaller edition of the lieutenants, who were allowed to wear one epaulette and who could make a louder noise through the speaking-trumpet than Jarvis could hope to for years. Down in the midshipmen’s mess, by virtue of his diminutive stature and tender years, he was not much interfered with by Wederstrandt, Henry, Vandyke, and the bigger men. But he fought one or two of the young gentlemen nearer his age, and, though frequently defeated, stood up as strongly as possible for what he deemed his rights. He was a manly little reefer, and up in the maintop, where he was stationed in time of action, the men swore by him. He was sensible enough not to give any orders without the professional opinion of one of the old jackies, who always ventured it with a touch of the cap, a respectful “Sir,” and perhaps a half-concealed smile, which was more of interest than amusement. Thirteen was rather a tender age at which to command men of fifty, but the midshipmen of those days were not ordinary boys. They went out from their comfortable homes aboard ships where men were even rougher and less well-disciplined than they are to-day, and they had either to sink or swim. It was Spartan treatment; but a year of it made men and sailors of them or else sent them posting home to their mothers and sisters.

Jarvis loved it, and did his duty like a man. He knew the lead of all the gear on his mast, and kept his few pieces of brass-work aloft shining like new. He kept the rigging in his top, even when there was no occasion for it, coiled down as though for inspection, although nobody but the topmen and yardmen ever had occasion to examine it. He was as active as a monkey, and, scorning the “lubber’s-hole,” went over the futtock-shrouds as smartly as any of the light-yardmen.

The greatest and probably the only regret of midshipman Jarvis’s short life was that he had not joined the great frigate before she met and defeated the “Insurgente” the year before. He wanted to be in a great action. Nothing seemed to make him feel more of a man than when the long 18-pounders were fired in broadside at target-practice. If he had been but a boy, instead of an officer with a gold-laced cap and a dirk and all the dignities pertaining to those habiliments, he would have clapped his hands and shouted for sheer joy. But the eyes of his men were upon him, and so he stood watching the flight of the shots, and biting hard on his lips he kept his composure.

Captain Truxton, ever mindful of his midshipmen, had disposed them in different parts of the ship with regard to their size and usefulness. The older ones had been given gun-divisions, while the youngsters were placed on the fo’c’s’le or in the tops, where they might be of assistance, but would more certainly be out of harm’s way. Such a thought was not suggested on the “Constellation.” If it had been, little Jarvis would probably have resigned immediately, or at the very least have burst into unmanly tears. As it was, he felt that his post aloft was as important as any on the ship, and he promised himself that if another Frenchman was sighted he would stay there whether the mast were up or down.

So, on the 1st of February, 1800, just about a year after the capture of the “Insurgente,” while they were bowling along under easy sail, about fifteen miles off Basse Terre, a large sail, which appeared to be a French frigate, was sighted to the southward. Jarvis went aloft two ratlines at a time, his heart bounding with joy at the prospect of the chance of a fight.

On assuring himself that she was a large ship, Captain Truxton immediately set all sail and took a course which soon brought her hull above the horizon and showed the Americans beyond a doubt that she was a ship-of-war of heavier metal than the “Constellation.” Nothing daunted, Truxton bore on his course until the gun-streaks of the other vessel could be plainly seen. Instead of showing the same desire to speak, the stranger held on, pointing a little off his course, as though anxious to avoid an encounter.

But the breeze, which had been light, now died away altogether, and the sea became calm. There the two great vessels drifted in sight of each other all night and part of the following day, awaiting the wind which would enable them to close. Jarvis was in a fever of impatience. A half a dozen times he got permission from the officer of the deck, and with a telescope almost as long as himself, clambered up to the main-royal to report. There was but one opinion among the midshipmen who went aloft, – she was a Frenchman. She could not be anything else.

About two o’clock in the afternoon of the next day, up to the northward they saw the ripple on the water of the wind they had been waiting for. The sail-loosers flew aloft, and every sail was spread to catch it. Soon the “Constellation” was pushing her way through the water, and the foam was even flying from the wave-tops here and there. The chase had caught the breeze at about the same time, and the Americans could see by the line of white under her bow that she was beginning to leg it at a handsome rate. But the “Constellation” was in excellent condition for a race, and by degrees drew up on the other ship, which as they reached her was seen to lie very low in the water, as though deep-laden. They were sure to discover who she was before nightfall, so Truxton cleared his ship for action. Jarvis went aloft to his top and saw the backstays lashed and the preventer-braces securely hooked and rove. Extra muskets were carried up into his top for the use of the jackies and marines when they should come into close quarters, for then the fire of sharpshooters would be almost as valuable as the shots of the great guns.

Their work had been over an hour and the sun had set in a clear sky before the “Constellation” drew up to gunshot distance. It was moonlight before she came within effective range. The battle-lanterns were lit, and the long row of lights on the Frenchman showed that he, too, was prepared for fight. The sky was clear, and the moon, which was nearly at the full, made the outlines of the vessels perfectly visible to the men at the guns. Jarvis, from his post aloft, could plainly see the lines of heads along the poop, and fancied that he could make out a midshipman almost as young as he, who was clambering about the maintop of the other vessel. He heard the beating of a drum and the sound of cheers as the Frenchmen moved to their quarters.

On the decks below there was not a sound. Truxton had given his men their orders. There was to be no cheering until there was something to cheer for. They were to await the order to fire until the enemy was close aboard, and then, and not until then, was the broadside to be delivered. The division-officers had gone about quietly repeating these commands to the gun-captains, and there was nothing further to say. Only to wait until the battle began. Jarvis repeated to his topmen, word for word, the instructions he had received, that in their aim particular attention was to be paid to the officers of the enemy.

Soon a gun from the after-battery of the Frenchman was fired. This was followed shortly by all the guns that would bear. Some of the shots crashed into the hull of the “Constellation,” and one of them killed several men. The division-officers glanced appealingly to Truxton, in the hope of the order to fire; but he merely held up his hand. Again the broadside came, and men seemed to be falling everywhere. The strain below and aloft was terrific. But the officers stood steadily, with a word of encouragement here and there, and the men did not flinch.

At last the “Constellation” came abreast the after-ports of the Frenchman, and Truxton, throwing her off a little, so that all his broadside would bear in a diagonal direction, loudly shouted the order to fire.

The telling broadside was delivered, and the battle was on in earnest. To those aloft the crash of the long eighteens into the hull of the enemy at every other downward roll of the “Constellation” showed how well the American gunners had learned to shoot, while the short bark of the cannonades and the shrieks in the brief pauses from the decks of the Frenchman told of the terrible effects of the fire among the enemy. The guns of the Frenchman were well served and rapidly fired, but they were aiming on the upward roll of the sea, and their shots went high. Several balls from the smaller pieces had lodged in the foremast and mainmast, and one had struck just below the futtock-band of the maintop, where Jarvis was, and sent the splinters flying up and all about him. Yard-arm to yard-arm they sailed for three long, bloody hours, until the firing of the Frenchman gradually slackened and then stopped almost altogether. The Americans had suffered less on the decks than aloft, and Jarvis’s topmen were employed most of the time in splicing and re-reeving gear. The discharge of the “Constellation’s” broadside-guns did not diminish for a moment, and so fast was the firing that many of the guns became overheated, and the men had to crawl out of the exposed ports to draw up buckets of water to cool them.

At about midnight Truxton managed to draw ahead of his adversary in the smoke, and, taking a raking position, sent in such a broadside that the Frenchman was silenced completely.

Jarvis and the men in the maintop had little time to use their muskets. Several long shots had struck the mast, and almost every shroud and backstay had been carried away. As the “Constellation” bore down upon her adversary to deal her the death-blow, the mast began swaying frightfully. There was a cry from the men at Jarvis’s side, and the marines and topmen began dropping through the lubber’s-hole, swinging themselves down the sides of the swaying mast by whatever gear they could lay their hands to.

Jarvis did not move. One of the older seamen took him by the shoulder and urged him to go below. The mast was going, he said, and it meant certain death to stay aloft.

Little Jarvis smiled at him. “This is my post of duty,” he replied, “and I am going to stay here until ordered below.”

At this moment a terrific crackling was heard, and the old man-o’-warsman went over the edge of the top. All the strain was on one or two of the shrouds, and, just as he reached the deck, with a tremendous crash the great mast went over the side.

Jarvis had kept his promise to stay by his mast whether it was up or down.

The Frenchman, not so badly injured aloft, took advantage of the condition of the “Constellation,” and, slowly making sail before the wreck was cleared away, faded into the night. It was afterwards discovered that she was the “Vengeance,” of fifty-two guns. She succeeded in reaching Curaçoa in a sinking condition.

When the news of the fight reached home, Congress gave Truxton a medal and a sword, and prize money to the officers and crew.

For little Jarvis, the midshipman, who preferred to die at his post, Congress passed a special resolution, which read:

“Resolved, That the conduct of James Jarvis, a midshipman in said frigate, who gloriously preferred certain death to an abandonment of his post, is deserving of the highest praise, and that the loss of so promising an officer is a subject of national regret.”

History does not show an instance of nobler self-sacrifice, and no such honor as this special act of Congress was received by a boy before or since.

CUSHING AND THE “ALBEMARLE”

Although the Civil War furnished many instances of conspicuous gallantry, so many that most of them remain to-day comparatively unknown, none was more notable than the torpedo exploit of Lieutenant William Barker Cushing. There have been several similar expeditions in our naval history. Before Tripoli, Richard Somers made the ill-fated attempt with the “Intrepid,” and in the war with Spain, Richmond Hobson sunk the “Merrimac.” There is no question that the personal and sentimental aspects of these three hazardous enterprises are similar. All three men were young, and each one knew that he took his life in his hands. Somers, rather than be captured with his powder, destroyed both his ship and himself. Hobson sunk the “Merrimac,” but did not succeed in getting her athwart the channel. Cushing, in a torpedo-launch, went under the guns of the enemy, and escaped both death and imprisonment. On the enemy the moral effect of all three exploits must have been the same. Professionally, Cushing’s exploit has just this distinction: he was successful. Like Decatur in the recapture of the “Philadelphia,” he carried out in every detail the plans he had made. And upon his success the way was opened for the Union fleet, and the hopes of the Confederates fled, for only two seaports in the South – Charleston and Wilmington – remained open to them.

After the great success of the “Merrimac” in Hampton Roads, the Confederates determined to construct a vessel of similar design for use in the Southern rivers and sounds. Under great difficulties they built the “Albemarle” on the Roanoke River, and carried her into action almost before the last rivet was driven. She was a formidable craft in those days, and the shots from the vessels of the Northern fleet went harmlessly against her iron sides to break and fly into a thousand pieces. On the 5th of May the “Albemarle” had another fight with a larger fleet of Union vessels, which had gathered to hem in and disable her. During the action the “Sassacus” saw an opportunity to ram her, and, going ahead at full speed, struck the ram a terrific blow amidships. The bow of the “Sassacus” was literally torn to pieces by the impact, and the “Albemarle,” though heeling over and in danger of sinking for a time, finally righted and pulled out of the action uninjured, but by no means disabled. All of the vessels of the squadron kept up a heavy fire upon her, but she went on to her anchorage up the river, where a few repairs made her as good as ever.

It looked to the Unionists as though the story of the “Merrimac” with the “Congress” and the “Cumberland” was about to be repeated; that the “Albemarle” in course of time would come down at her leisure and destroy all Northern vessels in those waters. To make matters worse, the Unionists learned that another vessel of a similar type was nearly completed, and that the two vessels would attack at the same time, – a combination which, with their consorts, seemed irresistible. Something had to be done if the command of the sounds of the Carolinas was to remain with the navy of the North.

But during the summer of 1864 two steam launches rigged up as torpedo-boats, the invention of Engineer J. L. Long, were fitted out at New York and brought down through the canals to Albemarle Sound. The bows of the boats were cut under and decked over, and the engines were so built that when covered and moving at a low rate of speed they made little or no noise. A spar ten or fifteen feet long, which carried a torpedo and a firing attachment, projected forward over the bow, and a small howitzer was also mounted forward where it would be useful to repel attack.

The government had decided to make a night attempt on the “Albemarle,” and the honor of the command of the expedition was bestowed on Lieutenant Cushing, who had half a dozen times before received the thanks of the secretary of the navy for gallantry in action off Cape Fear River.

The expedition was favored by the inactivity of the Confederates. The “Albemarle” lay alongside the dock at Plymouth awaiting the completion of her sister-ship, but this needless delay gave Cushing the opportunity he wanted.

The Confederates were fully aware of the plans of the Unionist’s navy, and a thousand soldiers remained to guard the “Albemarle” from land attack as well as to act as sentries for a distance along the river bank. To provide against torpedoes, a line of great cypress logs was boomed off her sides at a distance of twenty to thirty feet, so that it seemed impossible to come within striking distance. Besides this, the smaller guns of the ram were trained up and down the river, – which here was but one hundred and fifty yards wide, – to sweep the entire area over which the attacking party had to pass.

But Cushing, like Decatur, rejoiced at obstacles. He was only twenty-one, but he carried a man’s head on his broad shoulders, and the planning of such an expedition down to the smallest detail was a task which he entered into with judgment and enthusiasm, ingredients as rare as they are necessary in such a desperate enterprise.

After a week spent in preparation and experiment, the gunboat “Otsego” brought the launch to the mouth of the river, where Cushing cast off and pointed his bow toward Plymouth, towing a cutter full of armed men, who were to capture, if possible, a Confederate guard, – which had been set in a schooner near the sunken “Southfield,” – to prevent their giving the alarm. But the expedition started badly, for the launch ran aground on a bar. Before Cushing could float her again it was too late to make the attempt. Cushing and his boat’s crews then returned to the “Otsego.”

The next night was black and squally, with occasional showers of rain. They could only make out the loom of the shore by straining their eyes into the darkness. Cushing was as cool as though taking shore-liberty. As he shook hands with the “Otsego’s” officers he paused at the gangway to say, with a laugh, —

“Well, here goes for another stripe or a coffin.”