1812: The Navy's War

by George Daughan

  The rebuke stung. Lawrence shot back, “After devoting near fifteen years of the prime of my life faithfully [in] the service of [my] country, I deserve a promotion to captain.” Hamilton was unmoved. He dug in his heels and defended his decision, even though it was a bad one, made on the spur of the moment without a full awareness of its ramifications. Promoting Morris to master commandant, instead of to captain, would have been acceptable to all his colleagues and to him. He was well-liked, and he did perform magnificently in the fight with the Guerriere, but to jump him over others like Lawrence, who had also performed valiantly in the service of the country, was an unnecessary blow to their morale and to the entire officer corps. It was one more example of Hamilton’s ineptness.

  Although angry at Hamilton for his clumsy handling of the matter, Bainbridge urged Lawrence not to resign; he did not want to lose one of the navy’s stellar fighters. Lawrence thought hard about what to do and in the end—still distraught—decided to stay. Bainbridge was relieved; he wanted Lawrence with him when he left Boston.

  Bainbridge planned to cruise off the coast of Brazil from Bahia to Rio and then off strategically important St. Helena in the South Atlantic. It was an inviting prospect. Following the prevailing winds and currents, nearly all British ships sailing from the Indian Ocean or from the Pacific stopped at St. Helena, or in South America. Bainbridge had previously consulted his friend William Jones, the future secretary of the navy, on where he ought to cruise, and the South Atlantic around St. Helena seemed ideal. British ships were sure to be there in abundance, and provisions to keep his squadron going would be easy to obtain along the South American coast.

  Before Bainbridge left Boston, however, Secretary Hamilton attempted to change his orders. He wrote to him and to David Porter that they were to take the Constitution, Hornet, and Essex to Charleston and “clear the coast of the enemy’s cruisers,” before doing anything else.

  What prompted the secretary’s new instructions was the 32-gun frigate H.M.S. Southampton, under Captain James Yeo. The Southampton, traveling in company with two brigs, had been active along the South Carolina coast during the summer and fall, and Hamilton wanted to get rid of her. She was the oldest warship in the Royal Navy, having been launched in 1757. Operating out of Nassau in the Bahamas, she lurked off Charleston and had taken a few prizes, much to the annoyance of Captain John H. Dent, commander of the Charleston naval station.

  Dent had tried to counteract the Southampton by purchasing and converting two small schooners, the Viper (previously the Ferret, with eight six-pounders and one long twelve in a circle) and the Carolina (fourteen guns). But these two vessels weren’t enough to cope with the Southampton and her companions. On October 24, after receiving Dent’s request for help, Hamilton ordered Bainbridge to the rescue. Dent watched impatiently for him to appear, but he never did. Hamilton’s orders did not reach either Bainbridge or Porter before they departed for the South Atlantic.

  AS THE CONSTITUTION drove beyond Boston Light and pushed out to sea, the atmosphere aboard was rife with tension. Bainbridge had inherited Isaac Hull’s superb crew, which would have pleased any skipper, as, indeed, it did him, but the men who had served so cheerfully under Hull were not happy to be exchanging him for Bainbridge. Feeling had been so strong that when the “Constitutions” found out about the switch they were shocked and unable to understand why, after Hull’s brilliant victory, the navy was replacing him. They were unaware that Hull had asked to be relieved. When he returned to Boston after defeating the Guerriere, he learned of his brother’s death, and in order to attend to his brother’s affairs in New York, he asked Hamilton to replace him. The secretary agreed, directing Hull to turn over the ship to Bainbridge, who was senior to Hull and commandant of the Boston Navy Yard. In fact, Bainbridge had been given the ship back in July, but he could not take her, and Hull was given a temporary appointment. The July order had never been rescinded, so it was natural for Bainbridge to be appointed the new skipper.

  Actually, as Bainbridge told his friend William Jones, he preferred to have command of the President, which he thought was “one of the finest ships in the world.” He wanted command of her badly enough to offer Rodgers $5,000 to exchange ships. But Rodgers would not agree to the switch, and Bainbridge took command of “Old Ironsides” instead.

  The Constitutions’ unhappiness with Bainbridge was heightened by his reputation as a hard taskmaster. Unlike Hull, he had little regard for ordinary seamen. A tall, beefy, moody man, Bainbridge regularly addressed his men as “you damn rascals.” He was quick to punish, often using his fists instead of waiting for a whipping to be organized. Having a crew protest his appointment was nothing new for him. When he was given command of the frigate George Washington back in 1800, nineteen sailors and four petty officers deserted rather than serve under him.

  Not only did Bainbridge have a well-justified reputation for brutality, but he was known as a loser. With Hull in command, the crew could look forward to victories and prize money, but Bainbridge had been a notable failure his entire career. The crew considered him a Jonah.

  Bainbridge’s most egregious failure occurred in October 1803, when he surrendered the frigate Philadelphia. He ran her aground while engaged in a foolhardy chase off Tripoli, and despite frantic efforts, he could not free her. The Tripolitans came out in gunboats, seized the ship, and made prisoners of the 306-man crew. Two days later, they refloated the frigate and towed her into the nearby harbor, where she came under the protective guns of the batteries guarding the city of Tripoli. The Basha, Tripoli’s ruler, now had himself a handsome prize and over 300 prisoners to ransom.

  A depressed Bainbridge wrote to his commander, Commodore Edward Preble, “I have zealously served my country and strenuously endeavored to guard against accidents, but in spite of every effort, misfortune has attended me through my naval life—Guadeloupe and Algiers have witnessed part of them, but Tripoli strikes the death blow to my future prospects.”

  Although the Philadelphia debacle was not the first time, or even the second, that Bainbridge had been involved in humiliating incidents, his naval career had not been ruined. In each case he had been exonerated, but the cumulative effect had penetrated his psyche. He wrote to his wife, Susan, that he felt a terrible “apprehension which constantly haunts me, that I may be censured by my countrymen. These impressions, which are seldom absent from my mind, act as a corroding canker at my heart.”

  Bainbridge saw this voyage as an ideal opportunity to redeem himself and cover himself with glory, or die trying. All the navy’s captains wanted to distinguish themselves, but Bainbridge had an added reason—his past humiliations—to crave a glorious battle with a British frigate. His fixation was likely to make conditions aboard ship even more difficult for the men, and they sensed it. Most of the Constitutions eventually came around and remained with the ship, but some, like Moses Smith, could not be pacified, and they left. Those who remained never liked Bainbridge. No crew ever did, for throughout his career he was a cruel martinet who showed contempt for the men working his ships.

  AS THE CONSTITUTIONS anticipated, Bainbridge was an exacting skipper. He conducted drills continuously, exercising the great guns and practicing with small arms and muskets, preparing the men for battle, even though they were Isaac Hull’s outstanding crew. This did not matter to Bainbridge; he was going to make certain the ship was ready when his chance came.

  For the first leg of the voyage, he headed to Portugal’s Cape Verde Islands. The initial point of rendezvous with Porter and the Essex was Porto Praya in St. Jago, the most important island in the archipelago. Britain was Portugal’s closest ally, but since Napoleon’s invasion of Portugal in 1807 and the flight of the royal family to Brazil in a British warship, Portuguese control of her empire was only nominal. St. Jago was a sadly neglected backwater. The slave trade and provisioning ships were its principal businesses. British warships traversing the Atlantic stopped there only occasionally.

  When Bainbridge
reached Porto Praya, the Essex wasn’t there, and so he quickly took on supplies and left, steering southwest for Brazil. On December 2 he arrived off Fernando de Noronha, the wretched Portuguese penal colony two hundred twenty miles off the Brazilian coast. It was the second rendezvous point he had stipulated for the Essex. As the Constitution came into port, she was flying British colors.

  Bainbridge posed as captain of the 44-gun British frigate Acasta, with Lawrence as skipper of the sloop of war Morgiana. Bainbridge left a coded message for Porter, addressed to Sir James Yeo of His Majesty’s ship Southampton. “My dear Mediterranean friend: Probably you will stop here . . . I learned before I left England that you were bound off the Brazil coast; if so, perhaps we may meet and converse on our old affairs of captivity; recollect our secret in those times.” Bainbridge signed it: “Your Friend, of H.M. ship Acasta, Kerr.”

  Porter arrived ten days later, posing as a British warship, as he and Bainbridge had previously arranged. A Portuguese official gave him Bainbridge’s message, and after Porter heated the paper, the invisible ink revealed: “I am bound off St. Salvador, thence Cape Frio, to the northward of Rio Janeiro, and keep a look out for me. Your Friend.”

  ON DECEMBER 13 the Constitution and the Hornet arrived at St. Salvador in the Brazilian state of Bahia. Bainbridge’s attention was immediately drawn to the Bonne Citoyenne, a powerful British sloop of war sitting in the harbor. He soon learned that she was carrying an astonishing 500,000 pounds in specie. Although he was sorely tempted to capture her, he decided to scrupulously observe Portuguese neutrality.

  After anchoring off the city, Bainbridge sent Lawrence to confer with Henry Hill, the American consul, about a number of matters—the political situation in Brazil, the best places along the Brazilian coast to obtain provisions and water, where British men-of-war were operating, and where they were based. Hill submitted six detailed pages of information, explaining that although the Portuguese were allied with the British, they were neutrals in the war with the United States and would be hospitable to American warships. But to expect the governor of Bahia, Count dos Arcos, not to favor the British, which is what Bainbridge wanted, was asking too much. Portugal’s life, after all, was in British hands. Hill went on to report that few British warships were operating along the Brazilian coast; the most important was the 74-gun Montagu, based at Rio de Janeiro. He estimated that forty to fifty British merchantmen stopped at Brazilian ports each year, and the best place to intercept them was probably farther south around Cape Frio.

  Bainbridge decided to sail the Constitution out of the harbor but leave the Hornet to see if Lawrence could entice the Bonne Citoyenne’s skipper, Pitt Barnaby, out of the port for a fight. The Hornet and the Bonne Citoyenne appeared evenly matched. But when Lawrence challenged Barnaby to a one-on-one duel, Barnaby refused. He had no reason to risk his precious cargo, especially when he suspected that the Constitution, contrary to Bainbridge’s promise, would be waiting out of sight to pounce on him.

  Barnaby was wrong, however. Bainbridge had indeed left and was cruising south along the Brazilian coast, searching for prey. On December 29 at nine o’clock in the morning, he was thirty miles off the coast when lookouts spotted two strangers off the weather bow. An hour later Bainbridge saw the two ships split up, one heading toward land, away from the Constitution, and the other, a much larger ship, steering toward her.

  Aboard His Majesty’s 38-gun frigate Java, spyglasses had been trained on a strange sail to leeward, appraising her for almost an hour. Unlike Bainbridge, the Java’s veteran skipper Henry Lambert was not consumed with a desire to defeat an American frigate, but he was not reluctant to take one on either. He wasn’t expecting to meet one, however. He was on his way to Bombay with the new governor, General Hislop, and his staff, a few supernumerary officers, one hundred extra seamen, and civilian passengers. He also had a load of copper for Indian shipyards. The Java was crowded, but that did not mean Lambert was reluctant to fight—far from it: He was delighted with the opportunity.

  When Lambert spotted the Constitution, he was making for St. Salvador to resupply and give his passengers time ashore before resuming their journey. He might have kept right on sailing into St. Salvador, but he could not resist investigating who this stranger was. He had already captured the American merchantman William. She was the second ship Bainbridge had seen earlier. Lambert had a prize crew aboard her, and they made for St. Salvador, sailing right into the arms of Lawrence, who was just outside the port, blockading the Bonne Citoyenne.

  Bainbridge, in the meantime, hoping the stranger was the British frigate of his dreams, stood for the Java. Although he still did not know for sure who she was, he hauled up his mainsail and took in his royals in preparation for battle. At 11:30 he made the private signal for the day, and when it went unanswered, he knew he was dealing with an enemy frigate of some size. When he was four miles from the Java, he felt he was too close to neutral territory, and setting back his mainsail and royals, he tacked and made all sail away upon the wind to get “off the neutral coast.” Lambert chased him, and in doing so discovered he had a much faster ship. The Java was an excellent French-built frigate, only seven years old, captured by the British two and a half years before. The Constitution might be bigger, but Lambert expected his speed to give him a significant advantage.

  Although not as fast as the Java, the Constitution was stronger—more guns, more men, a thicker hide, better gunnery, more experience, and better training. She had thirty twenty-four-pound long guns for a main battery on the gun deck and sixteen thirty-two-pound carronades on the quarterdeck. On her forecastle she had one eighteen-pound carronade and eight thirty-two-pound carronades. The Java had twenty-eight eighteen-pound long guns for a main battery on her gun deck, sixteen thirty-two-pound carronades on her quarterdeck, and two nine-pounders and one eighteen-pound carronade on the forecastle. The Constitution had 475 men, the Java 426, 100 of them seamen she was carrying to other warships in the East Indies. Unlike other contests between American and British frigates, the Java was not undermanned, although the quality of her crew was not up to the Constitution’s. Lambert had an unusually large number of recently pressed men aboard, which made his fighters far less efficient. Lambert hoped to use the Java’s speed in the opening moments of battle, running up fast and raking the less maneuverable enemy, cutting her down to size and gaining a decisive edge.

  At 1:30 P.M. “being sufficiently from the land . . . [Bainbridge] took in the mainsails and royals, tacked ship, and stood for the enemy.” The two frigates came together fast, and when the Java was half a mile away, Bainbridge unleashed a full broadside with his larboard guns. Lambert did not immediately return fire. Trying to take advantage of his speed, he kept steering for the Constitution’s bow to rake her. Bainbridge countered by letting loose his main and fore course—an unusual and often fatal tactic—wearing ship and gaining speed, preventing Lambert from forereaching on him, thus neutralizing the Java’s main strength. General action now ensued with round and grape shot, each captain maneuvering to be in a position to rake the other, but neither succeeding.

  At 2:30 Lambert shot away the Constitution’s wheel entirely. As the battle roared, her superb crew had relieving tackles rigged fast, allowing Bainbridge to continue steering by shouting orders down through a grating to the men working the ropes two decks below.

  Early in the action, a musket ball struck Bainbridge in the left hip, but he carried on, and a little later, during the same broadside that destroyed the ship’s wheel, a jagged slice of langrage tore into his upper leg and almost killed him. He refused to retire, however, and summoning all his strength, he continued to direct the battle.

  The two ships slugged it out until three o’clock, when the Constitution shot away the head of Java’s bowsprit and with it her jib boom, making her headsails useless. With the rest of Java’s running rigging badly cut up, she could barely maneuver. Bainbridge was able to work the Constitution into a position to rake her by the stern
with two devastating broadsides, which turned the tide of battle.

  Feeling overwhelmed by the Constitution’s firepower, Lambert desperately sought to board her and fight it out hand to hand. It was his only chance. Just as he made the decision, however, his accomplished sailing master was struck down and had to be carried below. Lambert continued bringing his ship closer to the enemy, when his foremast was shot away. The remains of his bowsprit then passed over the Constitution’s taffrail, and at the same moment his main topmast toppled over, the wreckage sprawling over the starboard guns, rendering them useless. Lambert’s attempt to board had failed. All the while, Bainbridge kept up a deadly fire.

  At 3:30 a musket ball from a marksmen in one of the Constitution’s tops struck Lambert full in the breast, mortally wounding him. He was carried below, and the first lieutenant, Henry D. Chads, assumed command. The Java was shattered. Her crew was having to constantly extinguish fires that sprang up because of all the wreckage laying on the side engaged. Chads could not fire many guns, but he would not surrender. At 4:15 the Java’s mizzen mast was shot away, and the two combatants were once again brought broadside to broadside. They continued firing away for another twenty minutes, when the Java’s main yard went in the slings.

  Chads still refused to surrender, but his guns were now completely silent, and his colors had gone down with the rigging. Since no ensigns were flying, the wounded Bainbridge assumed the Java had struck her colors, and at ten minutes to five he hauled about to shoot ahead and repair damages to the rigging, which was badly cut up. After an hour passed, Bainbridge realized the Java had not struck, and he returned to the fray, intent on raking her one more time, which would finish her.