Chapter VI: Part 6

The ketch set off on the 3d of February from Syracuse and returned on the 19th, having in that time entered the well-guarded harbor of Tripoli by night, burned the Philadelphia at her moorings, and escaped without losing a man. Macdonough was the third man on the Philadelphia's deck, and was especially active in his work of distributing the powder for the ship's destruction in her storerooms aft. No officer in that glorious expedition conducted himself better than Macdonough; and when it is remembered that Decatur commanded it, that James Lawrence was one of his lieutenants, and Charles Morris, who was afterward Captain Hull's first lieutenant in the escape of the Constitution and the capture of the Guerrière, was one of the midshipmen, it will be seen that Macdonough was measured by no common standard.

Macdonough shared in all the glory of those splendid campaigns, and received the thanks and commendations of his superiors, besides promotion. In 1806 he was made first lieutenant of the Siren, one of the smart brigs that had done good service during the Tripolitan war. She was at Gibraltar, where the British navy is always very much in evidence; and Macdonough, the mild and forbearing, soon had a chance of showing the stuff that was in him. One day, while his commanding officer, Captain Smith, was on shore, Macdonough noticed a boat going from a heavy British frigate that lay close to an American merchant vessel. When the boat repassed the Siren, on her way back to the frigate, she carried one more man than she had on leaving the frigate. In those days, if a British captain suspected an American merchant vessel of having a British subject among the crew, it was common enough to seize the man, and when once on board a British ship, it mattered little whether he were American or British, there he had to stay. Macdonough suspected this to be the case, and sent a boat to the brig to ask if a man had been taken and if he were an American. Such was actually reported. Macdonough at once ordered the first cutter lowered, and although she pulled only four oars and the British boat pulled eight, he set off in pursuit. He did not catch up with the British boat until she was directly under the frigate's quarter, and the man in the bow had raised his boat-hook. Suddenly Macdonough reached forward, and, catching hold of the prisoner, who sat in the stern sheets, lifted him bodily into the American boat, and before the British could believe their eyes, was well started on his way back to the Siren.

The captain of the frigate had seen the whole affair, and in a rage he jumped into a boat and headed for the Siren. When he reached her the men of the cutter had gone aboard, and the young lieutenant was calmly walking the quarterdeck. The captain angrily demanded the man, and asked if Macdonough knew the responsibility he was taking upon himself in Captain Smith's absence.

"I will not give up the man, and I am accountable only to the captain of this ship," replied Macdonough.

"I could blow you out of the water at this moment," said the captain.

"No doubt you are perfectly able to do it," answered Macdonough; "but I will never give up that man as long as this ship will float."

"You are a very indiscreet and a very young man," continued the captain. "Suppose I had been in the boat just now?"

"I would have taken the man or lost my life."

"What, sir!" cried the captain; "would you dare to stop me now if I were to get hold of the man?"

"I would, and you have only to try it," was Macdonough's undaunted reply.

The captain, seeing nothing was to be got out of the resolute young lieutenant, left the ship, but was pulled toward the merchant ship. Macdonough had a boat lowered which followed the British boat, watching her until she returned to the frigate. This action not only won the good opinion of the captain and other officers and men of the Siren, but of many of the British officers as well, who knew how to respect a man of such resolute courage.

Macdonough was ever afterward treated with the utmost consideration and politeness by all the British officers at Gibraltar, including the officers of the overbearing captain.

At the outbreak of the war with Great Britain Macdonough was what was then termed a master commandant. His was not the fortune of Decatur, Stewart, and others of his brave shipmates to seek for glory on the wide ocean, but he was sent into the wilderness, as it were, to create a navy, and to fight the British on the great lakes. He established himself with his seamen and workmen on the shores of Lake Champlain, and began immediately the construction of a fleet. Officers and men worked with the greatest ardor, and the commodore, as Macdonough was now called by courtesy, might often have been seen handling the saw and plane. A corvette, called the Saratoga, and meant for the commodore's flagship, was begun, with several smaller vessels; and so rapidly did they advance that only a few weeks from the time the trees were cut down in the forest the vessels were launched and being made ready for their guns. These had to be dragged many hundreds of miles through a pathless wilderness, such as the northern and western part of New York was then. It was difficult, but still it could be done. When it came to transporting the cables, though, a point was reached, about forty miles from the lake shore where the vessels were building, when it seemed impossible to move a step farther. There were no roads, and the cables had been brought in ox-wagons, which now came to a complete standstill. No one knew what to do until an old sailor proposed that they should stretch each cable its whole length, and men, stationed ten yards apart, should shoulder it and carry it the forty miles remaining; and this was actually done.

Meanwhile the British had not been idle, and they too, on the other side of the lake, had built a frigate, called the Confiance, that was heavier than the Saratoga, and they had other smaller vessels. Their commanding officer, Captain Downie, was a worthy antagonist of Commodore Macdonough, and about the same age, while the British vessels were manned by seasoned sailors, many of whom had served under Nelson and Collingwood.

Early in September, 1814, both squadrons being ready to fight, Commodore Macdonough chose his position with a seaman's eye, in Plattsburg bay. He knew that his enemy would hunt for him wherever he might be, and he chose to fight at anchor, rightly supposing that the British, through their greater experience, could conduct the evolutions of a squadron better than the Americans; for, while none could be more daring in action than Macdonough, none was more prudent beforehand. The exact knowledge he had of the elements for and against him explains much of his success.

On the night of the 9th of September, in the midst of storm and tempest, the American squadron made its way up the lake to Plattsburg harbor. The next morning saw it anchored in the admirable order devised by Commodore Macdonough's genius. The flagship, Saratoga, the heaviest ship in the squadron, was in the middle of the line. Ahead of her was ranged the gun-brig Eagle, commanded by Captain Cassin, who had been one of Commodore Preble's midshipmen with Macdonough, eleven years before. The Eagle had shoal water off her beam, so that the head of the line could not be turned. On the other side of the Saratoga was the Ticonderoga, a small sloop-of-war, while beyond her was the little Preble, named for the great commodore, who was no more. There were, besides, ten small gunboats, of which the Eagle was supported by two, the Saratoga by three, the Ticonderoga by two, while the remaining two were to assist the Preble in defending the end of the line. All of the vessels were riding easily at anchor, and all of them were provided with springs to their anchors and kedges, to enable them to change their position at will. The wisdom of this precaution was shown on the great day for which they were prepared.

On the 11th of September, 1814, a brilliant Sunday morning, just at sunrise, the dazzling white topsails of the British fleet were seen passing along the neck of land called Cumberland Head, which juts into the bay. The American guard-boat pulled in, all hands were called to quarters in the American squadron, and an American ensign was set at every masthead. Then on board the flagship was made the signal for divine service, and Commodore Macdonough, kneeling upon his quarterdeck, surrounded by his officers and in hearing of his men, with every head bared, read the prayers appointed to be read before a fight at sea. After this brief but solemn act all awaited the onset with steadiness and cheerfulness.

It had been suggested to him that he should issue an extra allowance of grog to the men, but he replied,--

"No. My men shall go cool into action; they need no stimulant beyond their native valor."

The American vessels were so skilfully moored that no matter from what quarter the wind was, the British were obliged to approach them "bows on," a very dangerous way to attack a bold and skilful enemy.

The British rounded the headland in noble style. The Confiance was leading, her brave commander, Captain Downie, fatally conspicuous on her deck, his breast covered with medals gloriously earned. Following her, came three smaller vessels, the Finch, the Chubb, and the Linnet, and twelve gunboats, carrying both soldiers and sailors, and each armed with a single long eighteen-pound carronade.

As the four British ships, each on the same tack, neared the American line, the Eagle suddenly roared out a broadside. The shot fell short, and the British squadron came on, with majestic steadiness, without replying, until the Linnet was abreast of the Ticonderoga. Then the Linnet let fly a broadside, of which every shot dropped into the water except one. This one shot, though, struck a chicken-coop on the Ticonderoga's deck and smashed it, letting out a young game-cock, a pet with the Ticonderoga's men. The game-cock, delighted to get his liberty, jumped upon a gun-slide and uttered a long, loud, and defiant crow at the British vessel, which he seemed to think had directed her whole broadside at him. The Americans burst into three ringing cheers, that shook the deck, delighted with the game-cock's courage, which he proved further by flying up into the rigging and crowing vociferously all the time the British were advancing.

The Confiance came on steadily until just abreast of the Saratoga, when Commodore Macdonough himself, sighting a twenty-four pounder, fired the first effective gun of the battle. It struck the Confiance near the hawse-hole, and ranged the whole length of her deck, doing fearful damage and splintering her wheel. A terrible broadside followed; but the Confiance as if disdaining to answer, moved proudly on to engage at close quarters, and not until the wind became light and baffling did she port her helm about two cables' length from the Saratoga. Then she opened upon the corvette. Her guns were double-shotted, and their effect at close range, in a perfectly smooth sea, was frightful. Meanwhile the Linnet and the Chubb had taken position abeam of the Eagle, and attacked her with great fury. The gunboats had fallen upon the little Preble, and soon drove her out of line, when with the Finch they concentrated their fire upon the Ticonderoga. The gallant little brig gave them plenty to do, and stubbornly defended the end of the line. At one moment the gunboats would advance upon her, the men standing up ready to board her, and would be beaten off in the act of entering her ports or springing upon her decks. Then they would haul off and pour round after round of grapeshot into her. Still the little vessel held out. Captain Cassin was seen coolly walking the taffrail, a target for every shot, but he escaped without a wound, as if by a miracle. At one time all the matches gave out in the division of guns commanded by midshipman Paulding.[19] This young officer, who was an acting lieutenant, although only sixteen years old, had the wit and readiness to fire his guns by snapping his pistol at the touch-hole.

Nothing could exceed the determined valor with which the Saratoga and the Confiance kept up the fight. The Linnet presently turned her attention to the Saratoga, and poured one raking broadside into her after another, besides what she had to take from the Confiance. The brave Captain Downie had been mortally wounded early in the engagement, but the ship was still admirably fought. On the Saratoga three times the cry went up that Commodore Macdonough was killed, for three times was he knocked senseless to the deck; but each time he rose, none the worse except for a few cuts and bruises.

The guns on the engaged side of the Saratoga became disabled one by one, by the long twenty-fours in the main-deck battery of the Confiance, which, though suffering from the musketry fire of the Americans, was yet doing magnificent work. At last but a single gun of the starboard batteries of the Saratoga remained serviceable, and in firing it the bolt broke, the gun flew off the carriage, and actually tumbled down the hatchway.

The ship was afire in several places, due to the hot shot poured into her by the Confiance, one-fourth of her men were killed, and she had not a gun available on her engaged side; while both the Confiance and the Linnet were giving her one raking broadside after another. In this awful extremity Commodore Macdonough determined to wind his ship, which means to turn the ship completely around so that she could use her uninjured batteries. This difficult but brilliant manoeuvre was executed with the utmost coolness, and soon she sprung a new broadside on the Confiance. The Confiance attempted the same manoeuvre, but she only got partly round, when she hung with her head to the wind, in a terrible position, where the fresh batteries of the Saratoga raked her fore and aft. No ship could stand this long and live; and after two hours of as desperate fighting as was ever seen, the Confiance was forced to haul down her colors.

By that time the Finch had been driven out of the fight, and the Chubb had been shot wholly to pieces. The little Linnet, though, alone and single-handed, undauntedly sustained the fight, hoping that some of the gunboats might be able to tow her off. But when the Saratoga had finished with the Confiance, without a moment's loss of time, she turned her broadside on the Linnet, and soon forced her to strike, with her hull riddled like a sieve, her masts gone, and the water a foot deep in her hold. By midday all was over, and of the sixteen British ensigns that had fluttered proudly in the morning air, not one remained. It was one of the most destructive naval engagements ever fought. In Commodore Macdonough's official report, he says there was not a mast left in either squadron on which sail could be made. Some of the British sailors had been at Trafalgar, and they all agreed that the fighting of that 11th of September had been more severe than at Trafalgar.

The American sailors fought with extraordinary coolness, and many amusing as well as terrible and inspiring things occurred. One old sailor on the Saratoga, who had worked and fought all during the battle and had been slightly wounded several times, was seen mopping his face delightedly while calling out to one of his messmates, "Ay, Jack, this is the best fun I've had this war."

Another, getting a shot through his glazed hat, took it off, and, turning to an officer, said in a tone of bitter complaint, "Look a-here, sir; them Johnny Bulls has spiled my hat. Now, what am I going to do for a hat?"

As soon as the Linnet struck, the British officers, led by Captain Pring, who succeeded Captain Downie in command, came aboard the Saratoga to deliver their swords. All the American officers were assembled on her quarterdeck, and as the British officers approached Commodore Macdonough with their swords extended, he said, with deep feeling,--

"Gentlemen, your gallant conduct makes you the more worthy to wear your swords. Return them to their scabbards."

At once every attention was given the wounded, the officers working side by side with the men. Captain Pring, in his report, says:--

"I have much satisfaction in making you acquainted with the humane treatment the wounded have received from Commodore Macdonough. They were immediately removed to his own hospital at Crab Island, and furnished with every requisite. His generous and polite attention to myself, the officers, and men, will ever be gratefully remembered." All this was quite characteristic of Macdonough, who united the tenderness of a woman with a lion-like courage.

The night of the battle the commodore visited every ship in the squadron, and personally expressed to the officers and men his appreciation of their gallant services that day.

The news of the victory was received all over the country with manifestations of joy. Congress passed the usual resolution of thanks to Macdonough, his officers and men, gave him and his two commanding officers gold medals, silver medals to the lieutenants, and a handsome sword to each of the midshipmen, with a liberal award of prize money to the men. Macdonough was made a post-captain, his commission dating from the day of the battle.

The State of Vermont gave him an estate overlooking the scene of his victory, and many States and towns made him presents. Macdonough bore all these honors with characteristic modesty and simplicity, and, instead of being elated by them, tears came into his eyes in speaking of what his country had bestowed upon him.

Soon after this peace was declared, and Macdonough returned again to service on the ocean. His health had always been delicate, and as years passed on, it grew more so. But he continued to go to sea, and did his full duty as always. In 1825 he was in command of the glorious old Constitution, as his flagship on the Mediterranean station. She had been splendidly refitted, sailed admirably, both on and off the wind, and, as the sailors said, "looked like a new fiddle." He made his last cruise in this noble ship. His health rapidly declined, and on his way home from the Mediterranean he died and was buried at sea on the 10th of November, 1825.

Few men have enjoyed more national esteem and affection than Macdonough. His career shows that a man may have the softest manners and mildest disposition along with an invincible courage and a high spirit. Macdonough may be taken as the type of a great seaman and a pure and perfect man.

JAMES LAWRENCE.

The name of Lawrence, like that of Somers, is associated with youth, with gallantry, and with misfortune. It was his fate, after many brilliant and heroic successes, to lay down his life and lose his ship; but his colors were hauled down, not by himself, but by the enemy, and his last utterance, "Don't give up the ship," which has become the watchword of the American navy, was literally obeyed. It is remarkable that this unfortunate vessel, the Chesapeake, never was formally surrendered, but was taken possession of and her flag struck by her captors.

James Lawrence was born in Burlington, New Jersey, in 1781. His family were persons of consideration and property, and Lawrence was destined to be a lawyer. He was a remarkably handsome, gentle, and docile boy, and it was a surprise to his family when, at twelve years of age, he developed a passionate desire to enter the newly created navy. He never wavered from this wish, but, being a singularly obedient boy, he agreed to try the study of the law for a time, and applied himself seriously to it for a year or two. In 1798, however, when he was in his eighteenth year, and when his natural bent was fully indicated, his inclination toward the navy became overpowering. His family wisely released him from the law, which was so distasteful to him, and got him a midshipman's warrant in the navy.

His first service was in the Ganges, a small twenty-four-gun frigate. At the time of his entrance into the navy he was of a noble and commanding figure, of captivating manners, and although somewhat impatient in temper, at heart entirely amiable and generous. From the beginning he was remarkable for his kindness and consideration toward his inferiors. When it was necessary to punish the sailors, and Lawrence had to superintend the punishment, his eyes would fill with tears; and when he became a lieutenant, his popularity with the midshipmen was unbounded. It is told of him that once the midshipmen in Commodore Rodgers's squadron determined to give the commodore a dinner, to which none of the lieutenants were to be invited. All were agreed to leave out the lieutenants, when one of the midshipmen cried, "What! not ask Mr. Lawrence!" The impossibility of leaving Lawrence out seemed patent to all of them; and to make the compliment more marked, he was the only lieutenant asked to meet the commodore.

Lawrence's first service in the Ganges was during the troubles with France. The Ganges patrolled the seas, and caught several French privateers which made a good resistance, but never got alongside a vessel of equal force.

In 1802 Lawrence went out to the Mediterranean in the Enterprise, as first lieutenant. This gallant little schooner fully sustained her reputation in the operations of Commodore Morris's squadron, which preceded Commodore Preble's by a year. Although the war had just begun, and had not yet assumed the fierce and determined character of the following year, yet the Bashaw had a foretaste in 1803 of what was to befall him in the way of bombardments and boat attacks in 1804. In one of the boat attacks Lawrence volunteered, and his conduct on the occasion won high praise.

The force was under the command of Lieutenant David Porter, first lieutenant of the New York, flagship, who had already distinguished himself against the French, and was destined to make one of the most daring cruises in the history of navies.

The New York, with the Adams, frigate, and the little Enterprise, began the blockade of Tripoli in May, 1803. A number of merchant vessels, protected by gunboats, ran under the batteries of the old part of the town, where they were comparatively safe from ships of the draught of the American squadron. Every preparation was made to defend them, but Porter, Lawrence, and other brave and daring young spirits determined to make a dash for them and destroy them if possible. Having got the commodore's permission, an attacking party was organized under Porter, with Lawrence as second in command, with three other officers and a number of picked men. On the morning of the attack the boats advanced boldly, in the face of a sharp musketry fire, and succeeded in making a landing. The Tripolitans adopted their usual style of hand-to-hand fighting, but in spite of it the vessels were fired and the Americans retired with slight loss. The Tripolitans, by the most tremendous efforts, put out the fire and saved their vessels; but they discovered that the Americans were disposed to come to close quarters with them, which policy finally brought down the power of the Barbary States.

Lawrence, as well as Porter, was particularly distinguished in this dashing little affair. The next adventure in which Lawrence was engaged was a few weeks after; the Enterprise being under the command of Hull, then a lieutenant commandant. It had been determined to hunt up the Tripolitan ships of war wherever found. The Enterprise was engaged in this service, and on a June morning, very early, the lookouts from the Adams, frigate, observed a signal flying from the Enterprise of "Enemy in sight." A Tripolitan frigate, supported by nine gunboats, trying to get to sea from Tripoli, had been penned up in a narrow bay by the Enterprise, which, too weak to attack, signalled for her more powerful consort to come to her assistance. The Adams responded promptly, the Enterprise meanwhile maintaining her station with as much daring as if she were a forty-four-gun frigate instead of a twelve-gun schooner. As soon as the wind permitted the Adams to get within range, she opened with terrible effect upon the corsair, which replied vigorously, and did not strike until she had received the fire of the Adams, in smooth water and at short range, for three quarters of an hour. Soon after her colors were hauled down, fire reached her magazine, and she blew up.

It was Lawrence's extreme good fortune, after serving under such a captain as Isaac Hull, to serve next under Decatur. The Argus, one of the four handsome little vessels built for the war with Tripoli, had been sent out under Decatur, who was to exchange her for the Enterprise, Hull's superior rank entitling him to the larger vessel. Yet it is remarkable that the little Enterprise, although distinctly inferior to the other four small vessels, survived every one of them, and had an unbroken career of success both in running and fighting.

As soon as Decatur took the Enterprise, and had got a good look at Tripoli on the reconnoitring expedition made by Commodore Preble in the early winter of 1803, the idea of the destruction of the Philadelphia and the release of Bainbridge and his companions possessed his mind. It may be imagined that Lawrence ardently sympathized with him, and in his young first lieutenant Decatur recognized a daring and steadfast spirit akin to his own. It was Decatur's habit, in speaking of Lawrence, to say, "He has no more dodge in him than the mainmast," which was true.

In the same month of December the Enterprise captured the ketch Meshouda, which, renamed the Intrepid, was to take part in one of the most glorious successes, and afterward in one of the most heart-breaking tragedies, of the American navy.

In the preparation of the ketch, and in working out the details of his plan, Decatur was ably seconded by his first lieutenant. The expedition for the destruction of the Philadelphia was exactly suited to a man of Lawrence's vigorous and imaginative temperament.

If a precise record remained of that immortal expedition,--the six days of storm and tempest, in which the ketch, ill ventilated and crowded with men who were wet to the skin most of the time and half starved because their provisions were spoiled by salt water, was blown about the African coast,--how surpassingly interesting it would be! It is known, however, that both officers and men not only kept up their determination, but their gayety. On that February evening when the ketch stole in and made fast to the Philadelphia to destroy her, Lawrence, next to Decatur, bore the most active part. It was he who commanded the boat that put out from the ketch and coolly fastened a hawser to the forechains of the doomed frigate; and it was he who intercepted the frigate's boat and took the fast from it and passed another line from the Philadelphia's stern into the ketch. When Decatur shouted, "Board!" Lawrence was among the first to land on the quarterdeck, and as soon as that was cleared, he dashed below, accompanied by two midshipmen, as intrepid as himself,--Mr. Laws and the indomitable Macdonough,--with ten men, and fired the berth-deck and all the forward storerooms. Nothing is more extraordinary than the quickness and precision with which every order was carried out on that night of glory. Lawrence and his party were in the ship less than twenty-five minutes, yet they were the last to drop into the ketch.[20] On their return after this celebrated adventure, Lawrence received his due share of praise.

There was much hard work to be done by every officer in the squadron before it was ready to attack Tripoli in August, 1804, and Lawrence, as first lieutenant, did his part. Once before Tripoli, there was severe fighting as well as hard work. The fact that Decatur was taken out of his ship so often to lead a division of the boats, left the command of the Enterprise much to Lawrence, and he handled the little schooner in the most seamanlike manner.

In the winter of 1804-5 the government determined to build a number of small gunboats, to renew the attacks on Tripoli in the summer. Some of the lieutenants who had returned to the United States in the changes necessary in the squadron, were selected to take them out to the Mediterranean. Lawrence, who had come back to the United States after spending two years in the Mediterranean, was given the command of one of these little vessels, Number Six,--for they were thought to be too insignificant to name and consequently were merely numbered. They carried a large spread of canvas, but their gunwales were so near the water that they looked rather like rafts than boats. On the way over, Lawrence was sighted by the British frigate Lapwing, which sent a boat to rescue them, supposing them to be on a raft after a shipwreck. Lawrence thanked the officer in charge of the boat, but proceeded on his way.

Commodore Rodgers was then in command of the American force which again appeared before Tripoli in May, 1805; and without firing a gun a treaty of peace and the release of the Philadelphia's officers and men were secured. The squadron then sailed for Tunis, where it intimidated the Tunisians into good behavior and negotiated a treaty of peace under the threat of a bombardment.

Soon after most of the vessels returned home. Lawrence recrossed the ocean again in his gunboat, and commanded her for some time after.

On the 22d of June, 1807, occurred the painful and mortifying rencounter of the Chesapeake, frigate, with the British frigate Leopard, one of the most far-reaching events in the American navy. As the name of Lawrence will ever be connected with the unfortunate Chesapeake, the story of that unhappy event can be told here.

The Chesapeake was a comparatively new ship, carrying thirty-eight guns, and was put in commission to relieve the Constitution in the Mediterranean. She seems to have been an unpopular ship from the first, as she was thought to be weak for her size, and was a very ordinary sailer. She was to wear the broad pennant of Commodore James Barron, who had Captain Gordon as his flag captain. Both of these men were esteemed excellent officers.

The Chesapeake was fitted partly at the Washington Navy Yard and partly at the Norfolk Navy Yard. There had been a charge that she had among her crew three deserters from the British frigate Melampus. The charge had been investigated, however, and found to be a mistake. It was known that the Leopard, of fifty guns, was hanging about outside the capes of Virginia, but it was not suspected that she would attempt to stop the Chesapeake. The British government, arrogant in its dominion over the sea, had claimed and exercised the right of searching merchant vessels; and the United States, a young nation, with a central government which was still an experiment as well as an object of jealousy to the State governments, had submitted from not knowing exactly how to resist. But with a ship of war it was different, and neither the authorities nor the people of the United States dreamed that any attempt would be made to violate the deck of a national vessel.

There seems to have been great negligence in preparing the Chesapeake for sea, and when she sailed she was in a state of confusion, her decks littered up, and none of the apparatus used in those days for firing great guns was available. Neither was her crew drilled, having been at quarters only three times. Her officers were men of spirit, but there seems to have been a fatal laxness in getting her ready for sea.

The Chesapeake, with a good wind, dropped down to Hampton Roads, and was soon stretching out to sea. About noon the Leopard was discerned, and from the first seemed to be following the Chesapeake. At three o'clock the two, still making for the open ocean, were near enough to speak, and the Leopard hailed, saying she had despatches for Commodore Barron. This was not remarkable, as such courtesies were occasionally exchanged between ships of friendly nations. The Chesapeake hove to, as did the Leopard, close to each other, when the Chesapeake's officers noticed that the British frigate had her guns run out, and was evidently perfectly ready for action. Very soon a boat put off from her, and a lieutenant came aboard the Chesapeake. He went below into the great cabin, and handed Commodore Barron a letter from Vice-Admiral Berkley, dated at Halifax, directing him on meeting the Chesapeake to search her for the three alleged deserters, and offering to allow the Leopard to be searched if desired.

Commodore Barron was a brave man and a good officer in general, but he appears to have been seized with one of those moments of indecision which in a few minutes can wreck a whole life. It is difficult, though, to imagine how one could act judiciously in an emergency so terrible, when the choice lies between submitting to a frightful insult and provoking a conflict which must result in the loss of many gallant and innocent men. The commodore's real fault was in going to sea in an unprepared condition.

Commodore Barron took about half an hour to deliberate before sending a reply; and as soon as the British boat put off, orders were given to clear the ship for action and get the people to quarters, and Commodore Barron himself went on deck. While this was being done, the Leopard hailed, and fired a gun toward the Chesapeake, followed by a whole broadside, and for about twelve minutes she poured her fire into the helpless Chesapeake. Commodore Barron, a marine officer, and sixteen men were wounded, and three men were killed. Commodore Barron repeatedly ordered a shot to be fired before the ensign was lowered, but there were no means at hand for igniting the powder. At last a young lieutenant named Allen ran to the galley, and, taking a live coal in his fingers, rushed back to the gun-deck and succeeded in firing one of the guns in his division. At that moment the American ensign touched the taffrail.

The Leopard then sent a boat and took possession of the three alleged deserters, and made off, while the disgraced Chesapeake returned to Norfolk.

It is not easy to describe the outburst of indignation which followed this mortifying event. Commodore Barron was court-martialled, but as it was proved that his mistake was one of judgment, and that he conducted himself well after the danger became imminent, he was merely sentenced to five years' suspension from the navy.

The British government disavowed the action of Captain Humphries of the Leopard, although it did not punish him; but Vice-Admiral Berkley was never again employed in the British navy. It also restored the three men it had taken from the Chesapeake to the deck of the American frigate.

After this affair it began to be plain that the United States must either boldly repulse the efforts of Great Britain in her claims to right of search, or else tamely submit. The latter was not to be thought of. The war of 1812 was fought for the principle of protecting sailors in American ships, and for the right to carry goods in free bottoms; hence its motto was: "Free trade and sailors' rights."

These were agitating times for the navy, as officers of intelligence realized that war was coming and it would be chiefly a naval war; and they therefore strove diligently to perfect themselves in their profession, so that when they came in conflict with the seasoned sailors of England the American navy might give a good account of itself.

Lawrence was among the most earnest and ambitious of these young officers, and he acquitted himself so well in those intervening years that it was plain he would do well in whatever situation he was placed.

In 1808 he was made first lieutenant of the Constitution, and that was the last subordinate place he held. In 1809 he got the Vixen, which he exchanged for the Wasp, and finally the Argus. In 1811 he got the Hornet, a fast and beautiful little cruiser, carrying eighteen guns, and was in command of her when the long-expected declaration of war came in 1812.

The Hornet and the Essex, under Captain Porter, were ordered to cruise with Captain Bainbridge in the Constitution. But after getting out from Boston in October, 1812, and cruising a few weeks with the Constitution, they separated. The Hornet, being off San Salvador, challenged the Bonne Citoyenne, a vessel of about her own strength, to come out and fight. As the Bonne Citoyenne had a large amount of specie on board which her captain was under orders to deliver, he very properly declined to fight, and was blockaded by the Hornet for nearly three weeks. The Montagu, ship of the line, appearing however, Captain Lawrence thought it time to be off, and managed to slip out to sea in the darkness of an autumn night. He cruised some time, taking a few prizes, and on the 24th of February came in sight of a large man-of-war brig, the Peacock. She was called "the yacht" from the beautiful brightness and order in which she was kept, and was commanded by Captain Peake, a gallant and skilful officer. The Peacock showed a perfect willingness to fight, and the two vessels stood for each other at once. About five o'clock, being very near each other, their ensigns were hoisted, and the battle began by exchanging broadsides as they passed. After one or two rounds the Hornet came down, her batteries a sheet of flame, and her fire frightfully destructive to her adversary. The Peacock stood the blast of fire a very short time, fifteen minutes being the longest time estimated,--Lawrence afterward said it was eleven minutes by his watch, but, his clerk having put it down fifteen minutes, he allowed it to stand,--when the Peacock lowered her colors and displayed signals of distress in her forerigging. She was in a sinking condition, when a prize crew was thrown aboard; and in spite of every effort on the part of the officers and men of the Hornet, the Peacock went down, carrying nine of her own people and three of the Hornet's. The prize-master of the Hornet and his boat's crew saved themselves with difficulty in the launch.

The Peacock was well handled and fought by her commander, who lost his life in the engagement. But the Hornet was so skilfully manoeuvred, and her gunnery, besides being extremely accurate, was so rapid, that she had the advantage from a few minutes after the beginning of the combat. She was slightly superior to the Peacock both in men and metal, but the damage she did was far beyond the small difference of strength between her and her antagonist. When the Peacock surrendered, her mainmast had gone by the board, her hull was riddled, and she had six feet of water in her, which soon carried her to the bottom; while, by nine o'clock that night, every injury to the Hornet had been repaired, and she was ready to go into action again.

Lawrence treated his prisoners with characteristic generosity, and his example was not lost on his men. The Peacock's crew had lost everything by the sinking of the ship, and the Hornet's men took up a subscription among themselves to provide each of the prisoners with two shirts, a blue jacket, and trousers.

Finding himself crowded with prisoners, Lawrence stood for home, and arrived at New York late in March, 1813. The officers of the Peacock, on being paroled at New York, addressed him a very handsome letter of thanks, in which they said, "We cannot better express our feelings than by saying that we ceased to consider ourselves prisoners."

The city of New York, anticipating the thanks of Congress, and the gold medal for Lawrence, with prize money for the crew, gave Lawrence the freedom of the city and a handsome piece of plate. On the 6th of April a great dinner was given at Washington Hall, then a splendid place of entertainment in New York, to Lawrence and his officers, while in the ball-room of the building the petty officers, sailors, and marines of the Hornet were entertained. The sailors landed at Whitehall, and with music playing, marched up Pearl Street, Wall Street, and Broadway to Washington Hall amidst the greatest enthusiasm on the part of the inhabitants. After a fine dinner Captain Lawrence and his officers, accompanied by the members of the city government of New York, visited them, and the party was received by the sailors rising and giving three times three for their commander. The whole body of sailors was afterward invited to occupy the pit at the theatre, with Lawrence and his officers and their hosts in the boxes. The audience cheered the sailors vociferously, and the sailors seem to have cheered everything; and they were highly pleased with their entertainment.

This was the last glimpse of brightness in Lawrence's short life. He had a prospect of getting the Constitution, but his hopes were dashed by being ordered to command the Chesapeake, then fitting at Boston.

The ship had become more and more an object of dislike in the navy since her unfortunate experience in 1807. Sailors hated her, and would not enlist in her if they could help it. No officer would serve in her if he could get any other ship; consequently she was officered by juniors who had to take her because they could do no better. She had lately returned from a cruise in which she had sailed many thousands of miles, under an active and enterprising captain, without once meeting a chance to distinguish herself, and capturing only a few trifling prizes. Lawrence was dismayed at the offer of this command. He begged to remain in the Hornet rather than go to the Chesapeake. He told his friends that the frigate was a worthless ship, and he would not have her if he could honorably refuse; but this he could not do. In May, 1813, he took command of her. Up to the last moment he hoped to be relieved by Captain Stewart, but it was not to be.

He found the ship short of officers, and those he had very young. His first lieutenant, Augustus Ludlow, was a brilliant young officer, but twenty-one years of age, who had never served before as first lieutenant in a frigate. His other sea lieutenants were midshipmen acting as lieutenants. His crew was largely made up of foreigners; and one, a Portuguese boatswain's mate, was doing what he could to spread dissatisfaction among the men because they had not been paid the small amount of prize money due from the last cruise. The marine guard was made up wholly of Americans, and there were a few men from the Constitution. These men afterward gave a good account of themselves.

Outside the harbor of Boston it was known that the Shannon, a fine thirty-eight-gun frigate, lay in wait for the Chesapeake. Her commander, Captain Philip Broke, was one of the best officers in the British navy, and had had the ship seven years. He had not followed the example of so many British captains who neglected gunnery practice with their crews, and paid dearly for their rashness with their ships and sometimes with their lives. Captain Broke was a chivalrous man, and, desiring to engage the Chesapeake on equal terms, wrote Captain Lawrence a letter, proposing a meeting any time within two months in any latitude and longitude he might choose. Unfortunately, this letter never reached Lawrence. On the first day of June, 1813, the Shannon stood in toward President's Roads, expecting an answer from Lawrence to Captain Broke's challenge. Lawrence, however, took the Shannon's appearance as a challenge, and, lifting his anchor, made sail to meet her.

At soon as the anchor was up, Lawrence had a flag hoisted with the inscription "Free trade and sailors' rights." He then made a short address to his men, which was coldly received, not a cheer being raised at the prospect of meeting the enemy.

The ship was cleared for action, and as she passed out, the Shannon was waiting for her on an easy bowline. Both ships proceeded under a good breeze until about thirty miles beyond Boston Light. They then came together under short fighting canvas, and in the manoeuvring for a few moments Lawrence was in position to rake his enemy; but whether it escaped him, or he preferred to fight it out alongside, is not known.

A few minutes before six, the ships being fairly alongside, and not more than fifty yards apart, the Shannon fired her first broadside, and was immediately answered by the Chesapeake. The effect of these first broadsides in smooth water and close range was terrific. Three men at the Chesapeake's wheel were shot down one after another. Within six minutes her sails were so shot to pieces that she came up into the wind and was raked repeatedly. In a short while Captain Lawrence was shot in the leg, but kept the deck. Mr. White, the sailing-master, was killed, and Mr. Ludlow, the first lieutenant, Lieutenant Ballard, Mr. Brown, the marine officer, and the boatswain were all mortally wounded. The Shannon had not escaped scatheless, although the execution aboard of her was not to be mentioned with the Chesapeake's. Some of the British frigate's spars and sails being shot away, she fell aboard her antagonist, and the two ships were prevented from drifting apart by the fluke of an anchor on the Shannon hooking in the Chesapeake's rigging. Captain Broke immediately ordered the ships lashed together. This was done by the Shannon's boatswain, who had his arm literally hacked off in doing it, but who did not flinch from his task.

As soon as Captain Lawrence saw the ships were fast, he ordered the boarders called away. But instead of this being done by the boatswain, the bugler, a negro, was called upon to sound his bugle. The man, in a paroxysm of terror, had hid under a boat, and when found was perfectly unable to sound a note. The remaining officers on the Chesapeake's deck shouted for the boarders, and at this moment the gallant Lawrence, conspicuous from his commanding figure, and wearing his full uniform, fell, shot through the body. As he was being carried below, he uttered those words which are a part of the heritage of the American navy, "Don't give up the ship."

The carnage on the Chesapeake's deck was now frightful, and the men began to flinch from their guns. Captain Broke, seeing this, gave the order to board, and, himself leading the boarders with great intrepidity, sprang upon the Chesapeake's quarterdeck. At this the Portuguese mate and some other mercenaries threw the berth-deck gratings overboard, and ran below, crying, "So much for not paying men prize money!"

A young lieutenant, coming up from the gun-deck, was seized with a panic, and, throwing his pistol down, ran below in a cowardly manner.[21] But there were still gallant souls left upon the unfortunate frigate's deck. Mr. Livermore, the chaplain,--the only officer on deck when the British entered the ship,--advanced boldly, firing his pistol at Captain Broke, and made a brave defence, although his arm was nearly cut from his body by Broke in defending himself. The few marines who were left fought desperately, and severely wounded Captain Broke. All of these men were Americans, and were cut down to a man. The officers of the gun-deck tried to rally the men below, and succeeded in inducing the few Americans to follow them above; the brave Ludlow, in fearful agony from his wounds, struggled up the hatchway. But it was too late, and they were soon overpowered. The flag had been hauled down by the triumphant enemy; the ship was theirs. The battle lasted only about fifteen minutes, and seldom in the history of naval warfare has there been more dreadful slaughter. The Chesapeake suffered most, her captain and three lieutenants, her marine officer, her sailing-master, boatswain, and three midshipmen being killed, and her few remaining officers wounded. She lost, besides, one hundred and thirty-six men killed and wounded. The Shannon had her captain badly wounded, and lost several officers, and had seventy-five men killed and wounded.

The English ensign was immediately hoisted over the American, and as soon as possible sail was made for Halifax. Lawrence and his wounded officers lay together in the ward room of the Chesapeake, the cabin having been much shattered. For four days Lawrence lingered in extreme anguish. He bore his sufferings with silent heroism, and it is remarkable that he never spoke except to make known the few wants that his situation required. On the Shannon Captain Broke lay, raving with delirium from his wounds, and only occasionally rational. At these times he would ask anxiously after Lawrence, muttering, "He brought his ship into action in gallant style," and other words of generous admiration. When it was known that Lawrence was no more, it was thought best to keep it from Broke, as it was known it would distress him greatly.

On Sunday, the 6th of June, the two ships entered Halifax harbor, the body of Lawrence wrapped in the battle flag of the Chesapeake, and lying on her quarterdeck. The people took the Chesapeake for the President, and shouting multitudes lined the shores and docks. But when it was known that it was Lawrence's ship, and her brave commander lay dead upon her, an instant silence fell upon the people. They remembered Lawrence's kindness to the officers and men of the Peacock, and they paid him the tribute of silent respect.

The funeral was arranged for the 8th of June, and was one of the most affecting ever witnessed. The British naval and military authorities omitted nothing that could show their esteem for a brave and unfortunate enemy. The garrison and the fleet turned out their whole force, the officers wearing crape upon the left arm. The coffin, wrapped in the Chesapeake's flag, with the dead officer's sword upon it, was brought ashore in an admiral's barge, the men rowing minute strokes, and amid the solemn booming of minute guns. It was followed by a long procession of man-of-war boats. It was landed at King's Wharf, where six of the oldest British captains acted as pall-bearers. The procession to the churchyard of St. Paul's was very long. The American officers were chief mourners, followed by the officers of the Shannon; and the presence of the wounded among both the American and English officers was touching in the extreme. Admiral Sir Thomas Saumerez, one of Nelson's captains, and the officers of the fleet, and the general of the forces, with the officers of the garrison, came next in the procession, followed by a large number of the most respectable citizens of Halifax. The route was lined with troops, and the funeral was like that of a great and distinguished British admiral,--so great is the respect all generous minds must feel for a character like Lawrence's.

His young first lieutenant, Ludlow, survived several days after landing; but he, too, soon followed his captain to a hero's grave. Great honors were also paid him at his interment.

The Americans, however, could not allow the British to pay all the honors to the dead Lawrence, and in August his remains and those of his faithful lieutenant were transferred to Salem, in Massachusetts, where they were temporarily buried until they could be transferred to New York. Lawrence's pall was carried then by six American captains, among whom were Hull, Stewart, and Bainbridge,--all men who had known Lawrence, and served with him when he was a dashing and brilliant young midshipman. Eventually, both Lawrence and Ludlow were buried in Trinity churchyard, New York, where they still rest. Lawrence left a young wife and two children, for whom the country provided.

A poignant regret for Lawrence's misfortunes and death was felt by the country generally. His youth,--he was but thirty-one years of age,--his brilliant career, the charming generosity of his nature, and the graces of his person and manner made him beloved and admired. His fault--if fault it was--in seeking an action when his ship was new to him and ill manned and scantily officered, was that of a high and daring spirit, and was readily condoned; while to this day the story of the Chesapeake is painful to a true American.