The Shining Sea (3 page)

I
T WAS
9:30
ON THE MORNING OF
A
UGUST
13, 1812,
FIFTY-SIX
days after the United States had declared war on Great Britain. Captain David Porter, a short, wiry intense man of thirty-two, was standing on the quarterdeck of the 32-gun American frigate
Essex
, looking through his telescope at an interesting ship to windward. She appeared to be an armed West Indiaman, but he suspected she was something else—a poorly disguised British man-of-war, hoping to take him by surprise.

The
Essex
was camouflaged herself. She was sailing in latitude 41° north and longitude 38° 10' west, roughly halfway between New York and Portugal. Porter wanted his ship to look like an easy target. Her gun ports were closed, the topgallant masts were housed, and the sails were trimmed in the careless manner of a merchantman. If the stranger was an enemy warship, Porter wanted to encourage her to attack. The
Essex
had British colors flying, and Porter kept them up, hoping the stranger would think they were a clumsy ruse by an American merchant. Satisfied with his disguise, he quietly cleared for action, while concealing every appearance of doing so.

The approaching stranger was a much smaller ship than the
Essex
, the 20-gun sloop of war HMS
Alert
, based in St. John's, Newfoundland. As the
Alert
drew closer, Porter could see how tiny she was, but he did not believe size would matter to her captain. The Royal Navy had a well-deserved reputation for successfully attacking larger enemy warships. It was a tradition in the British navy—going back to Sir Francis Drake in the sixteenth century—for enterprising captains to ignore the odds and attack. Every major and minor navy in Europe and the Mediterranean had suffered galling defeats at the hands of what looked like inferior British men-of-war. Nonetheless, Porter wanted to make sure that this captain did not back off. As the
Alert
got closer, Porter made it look as if the
Essex
was making a run for it. He shook out the reefs from the topsails and hoisted the topgallant yards, but while doing so, he put out drag sails from the stern unseen to slow the
Essex.

Nothing Porter did had the slightest effect on the
Alert
. She continued to bear down, her sails straining to capture every bit of wind. Despite her array of canvas, she looked slow, which made her an even easier target than Porter originally thought. When the
Alert
drew near, she made a signal and hoisted British colors. Her gun ports were open and cannon thrust out, obviously poised to attack. By 11:30 she approached to within pistol shot on the
Essex
's starboard quarter, intending to rake her. At which point, Porter hoisted the Stars and Stripes and wore short around, causing the enemy to pass under his stern to a position off his lee quarter. Suddenly, the
Alert
's crew gave a loud shout and fired a full broadside of canister and grape shot. But by then she was too far abaft the
Essex
's beam and delivered only a glancing blow.

Porter quickly put up the
Essex
's helm and brought her deadly larboard carronades to bear. The
Alert
responded by hauling her wind on the starboard tack. Porter wore again and brought his starboard guns to bear. By this time, the enemy was on the starboard tack, trying to prevent the
Essex
from getting alongside and boarding.

Porter countered by standing on a wind on the starboard tack until the ships were separated by about a musket shot (a hundred yards). He then wore suddenly and raked the enemy with his powerful 32-pound carronades, delivering a devastating blow. The
Alert
's tars were stunned. They got so rattled they panicked. And so did their first lieutenant, Andrew
Duncan, who led the frightened tars aft to the quarterdeck and pleaded with the captain to strike the colors. He refused. Instead, he attempted to escape, but Porter was right after him; making more sail; hoisting his favorite flag with the motto “FREE TRADE AND SAILORS RIGHTS”; and ranging up to within pistol shot on the
Alert
's starboard quarter. From there, it was certain that every shot from the
Essex
would find its target. Porter was about to deliver a final crushing fusillade, when the British captain—seeking to avoid the dreadful consequences of the broadside he knew was coming—prudently struck his colors. The battle had lasted less than twelve minutes.

The
Alert
turned out to be a former collier the Royal Navy had purchased in 1804. A sturdy, well-built vessel, she had been used to carry coal from Newcastle to London, which she did a good job of, but she was too slow for combat. The British had been at war with the French for twenty years, first in the French Wars and then the Napoleonic Wars. The Royal Navy was so desperate for ships that it was forced to acquire a few colliers and turn them into men-of-war. When the
Alert
was converted, she carried twenty 18-pound carronades, making her nominally a sloop of war, but without the fighting capacity of Britain's other sloops, which had heavier guns and were much faster.

Porter sent First Lieutenant John Downes to take possession of the
Alert
, and while he did, her captain, Thomas L. P. Laugharne, came aboard the
Essex
to surrender his sword. Before doing so he told Porter that the
Alert
had six feet of water in the hold and was in danger of sinking. Porter reacted quickly, ordering her wore round on the other tack to bring her shot holes above water, and he sent carpenters to plug the holes, which they did rather easily.

When Lieutenant Downes arrived on the
Alert
with his party he found what he expected—her hull, sails, and rigging badly damaged. But he did not expect her crew to be in the excellent physical shape they were. Only three of her ninety men were seriously wounded and none were dead. What surprised him more, however, was the extent to which discipline had broken down. Once Captain Laugharne left the ship, his crew went wild, breaking into the spirits room, the purser's room, other store rooms—even the captain's cabin and stores, drinking as much liquor as they could, and throwing overboard whatever they could not consume.

The
Essex
for her part suffered no casualties. She had a few small musket and grape shots in her hull, but otherwise she remained untouched, except for her cabin windows, which had been broken by the concussion of her own guns.

Porter took the
Alert
's officers and the better part of her crew aboard the
Essex
, and appointed Second Lieutenant James P. Wilmer as prize master to take charge on the sloop. His instructions were to proceed in company with the
Essex
to America. Porter hoped that the navy would buy the
Alert
and turn her into a guard or block ship, but not a cruising man-of-war.

The
Alert
was the American navy's first victory of the war over a British warship, which was surprising, since the Royal Navy was supposed to win every encounter regardless of the odds. Even more amazing was Porter's success before he met the
Alert
.

Since leaving New York on July 3, he had hunted in the North Atlantic between Bermuda and Newfoundland, ranging as far west as 38 degrees longitude. The game was plentiful. Before running across the
Alert
, he had taken eight other prizes. On July 11 he took the troop ship
Samuel & Sarah
(Captain L.T. Somes). She was part of a small convoy of seven, sailing under the protection of the 32-gun frigate, HMS
Minerva
(Captain Richard Hawkins). When Porter first saw the
Samuel & Sarah
, she was trailing the rest of the convoy, and a single shot across her bows brought her to. Seeing this, the
Minerva
broke away from the rest of the convoy and stormed after the
Essex
. Porter was delighted. He wanted nothing more than to fight an enemy frigate of equal size, and here was one coming right for him—and only a few days into the war.

Suddenly, as Porter was hastily preparing for the
Minerva
's onslaught, Captain Hawkins changed his mind, reversed course, and returned to the troop ships, all of which were well armed. Porter could not believe it. He was furious, but there was nothing he could do—attacking the entire convoy would have been suicide.

Hawkins undoubtedly wanted to fight as much as Porter did. The contempt for American men-of-war in Britain, and particularly in the Royal Navy, was palpable. Hawkins must have felt confident of a quick victory and easy prize money, not to mention plaudits from the Admiralty. Yet, at the same time, his orders required him to shepherd the First Regiment of
Royal Scots infantrymen from Barbados to Quebec, where they were desperately needed, and battling the
Essex
could compromise his mission. Even if he succeeded, he might get so banged up that his convoy would be at risk. So, unquestionably with great reluctance, he declined combat and continued on his way. The
Samuel & Sarah
and all her troops were left to their fate.

The easy capture had presented Porter with a big problem—what to do with 197 new prisoners. He had no wish to keep them aboard the
Essex
and have them gobble up his supplies, or attempt to take the ship, so he threw the transport's armament overboard, put her crew and soldiers on parole of honor (which meant they could not fight against the United States until formally exchanged for American prisoners), and sent her on her way with a ransom bond of $14,000.

The
Samuel & Sarah
soon disappeared over the horizon, and Porter continued his remarkable cruise, capturing one prize after another. Between July 13 and August 1 he took the brigs
Lamphrey
and
Leander
, which he sent into port as prizes. On August 2 he caught the
Nancy
, which he also sent into port as a prize. On the same day he seized the tiny brig
Hero
, which he burnt. She was of little value. The next day, August 3, Porter stopped the brig
Brothers
and found to his surprise and delight that famed Revolutionary War hero Joshua Barney, sailing in the privateer
Rossie,
had previously captured her and was sending her into port with a prize crew. The
Brothers
had sixty-two of Barney's prisoners from five other prizes on board. Porter turned her into a cartel ship (a vessel with only one signal gun, whose sole mission was to exchange prisoners), added twenty-five of his own prisoners, and sent her to St. John's Newfoundland under the command of Midshipman Stephen Decatur McKnight. It was a challenging assignment for the young midshipman, but his captain was confident he'd be up to the task. Sailing and command were in McKnight's blood, after all. He was the nephew of Porter's great contemporary, Commodore Stephen Decatur.

Porter captured two more prizes, the
King George
and the
Mary,
before running into the
Alert
on August 13. He sent the
King George
into port as a prize and burnt the
Mary
. He kept the
Alert
with him, however, and sailed with her in company toward the Delaware Capes. It was a passage fraught with peril. A large number of prisoners were now aboard, and they presented a huge problem that soon developed into a crisis. As was their duty, they planned an escape. Captain Laugharne's coxswain took the lead.
On the night of the planned breakout, the cox suddenly appeared
standing beside the hammock of Midshipman David Farragut with a pistol in his hand. He stared down at Farragut, who luckily had spotted him approaching and remained perfectly still with his eyes shut. Satisfied that Farragut was asleep, the cox moved on. As he did, Farragut slipped out of his hammock and crept noiselessly to the captain's cabin and warned Porter, who sprang from his cot and ran to the berth deck, shouting, “Fire! Fire!”

The ensuing hubbub startled the prisoners, but not the
Essex
crew, who numbered three hundred and twenty. Part of Porter's training of them had been to sound fire alarms at odd hours of the night. He even had smoke created in the main hold to make the exercise more real. During the drills, when the alarm sounded, each man repaired to his quarters with a cutlass and blanket to await the captain's orders. Porter conducted the exercise frequently, so that the ship would be prepared for any emergency. This was the first occasion he had to put the exercise to the test, however, and the crew's performance was near perfect. Outnumbered, utterly confused, the prisoners became disoriented. In a short time they were back under control.

Porter knew before the uprising that having so many hostile tars aboard was asking for trouble, and with provisions and water running low, he decided to send them to Newfoundland. Captain Laugharne readily agreed to the terms. They meant that Laugharne and his men would escape a potentially long confinement in an American prison. On August 18 Porter dispatched the
Alert
as a cartel ship with Lieutenant Wilmer still in charge. Aboard were Captain Laugharne, his officers, and entire crew. Porter directed Wilmer to take the
Alert
to St. Johns and return to New York with whatever Americans he could acquire in exchange. Porter was counting on the admiral in Newfoundland (Sir John T. Duckworth) to cooperate. It was an assignment fraught with peril for Wilmer, but he was eager for it.

Porter now turned for home to Chester, Pennsylvania. Situated on the Delaware River, between Philadelphia and Wilmington, Chester was the oldest town in the state. There, Porter would refurbish and resupply the
Essex
. There too his family awaited, at Green Bank, their mansion on the Delaware. He expected that traveling to Chester would be tricky business. He imagined that the British had established a blockade along the American coast. Since their base at Halifax was close to New
England and New York, he assumed their ships would be stationed outside the important ports north of the Hudson River, and possibly as far south as the Delaware Capes, and even Chesapeake Bay.