She was lying helpless, floating like a log; only the mainmast was left, and it was tottering. In the hour’s reprieve that Bainbridge had given them, Chads and his men had worked feverishly to repair their ship and get her ready to continue the fight, but her heavy rolling caused the mainmast to finally topple. Chads still intended to fight on, but when he saw that Bainbridge had maneuvered into a position from which he could rake the Java by the bow without her having any possibility of replying, he called his officers together, and as he reported to the Admiralty, “[with] a great part of our crew killed and wounded, our bowsprit and three masts gone, several guns useless, . . . our colors were lowered from the stump of the mizzen mast.” It was 5:30. Bainbridge thought it a wise decision. Had he been forced to inflict the final blow, the “loss must have been extremely great,” he wrote.
The butcher’s bill was heartrending. The Java suffered 83 wounded and 57 killed—a staggering number out of a crew of 426. Lambert, of course, was among the seriously injured, and he would soon die. Lieutenant Chads was also hurt, but he recovered. The Constitution had 9 killed and 26 wounded, Bainbridge among them.
At 6:00 P.M. Bainbridge sent First Lieutenant George Parker in the Constitution’s last remaining boat (out of eight) to take possession of the Java. When he arrived, Parker discovered that in all the confusion Chads had forgotten to destroy his signal codes and dispatches. They were an unexpected gift. But the Java was too far gone for Bainbridge to take her home in triumph, as he dearly wanted to do. With great reluctance, he ordered Parker to remove the British prisoners, stuff all the supplies that could be retrieved into the Constitution, and burn the Java.
Bainbridge then returned to St. Salvador. On the way, he treated the Java’s officers, especially the dying Lambert, with the utmost civility, but he confined her crew below in cramped quarters under heavy guard. He did not want that many potential combatants left unrestrained. This was understandable, although extremely difficult for the British tars.
Bainbridge was taking a chance going back to San Salvadore; the 74-gun Montagu might have been there. He took the risk in order to relieve himself of the prisoners, whom he intended to put on parole. He also needed to repair the Constitution enough to get her home, and above all, he had to find out what happened to Lawrence, the Hornet, and the Bonne Citoyenne. Luckily, when Bainbridge arrived, the Montagu wasn’t in the harbor, but she had been there recently, and he had narrowly missed her. He didn’t see the Hornet, though, and he wondered if the Montagu had captured her. He soon found out that through some superb sailing at night, Lawrence had just managed to elude the battleship.
Bainbridge spent the next five days making temporary repairs to the Constitution and then set out for Boston on January 6, 1813. He must have been disappointed in not being able to continue his original plan to rendezvous with the Essex. The Constitution was too banged up, and so was Bainbridge. He later gave this description of the ship’s condition:The Constitution was a good deal cut—some shot between wind and water—Her upper bulwarks considerably shot—foremast and mizzen mast shot through—main and mizzen stays shot through, eight lower shrouds cut off—foremast stays and every topmast shroud—all the braces standing and preventers and bowlines, were three times shot away during the action—but once again in the very heat of it—all but one of eight boats destroyed by shot—our sails extremely cut to pieces—the main topmast, main topsail yards, jib boom, spanker boom-gaff and trysail mast were all so shot as to render them unserviceable. Yet this damage is incredibly inconceivable to the wreck we made the enemy.
Despite the Constitution’s injuries and his inability to bring the Java home, Bainbridge had finally achieved the victory he had always craved, making the burden of his previous disasters much lighter. He was now the hero he had always wanted to be, able to hold his head up among his peers. But he was not any easier on his crew, nor did his desire to seek more glory lessen. He was just as egotistical as he had always been and just as ambitious to outdo colleagues like Decatur and Hull.
WHILE BAINBRIDGE HAD been out looking for some action, Lawrence followed his instructions to the letter and remained just outside the harbor of St. Salvador, blockading the Bonne Citoyenne. During that time he captured the British schooner Ellen, and when he went on board and found she was quite valuable, he ordered his sailing master, Silvester Bill, to take charge of her and bring her to the United States. She was eventually sold in Newcastle, Delaware, for more than $32,000.
Lawrence’s blockade came to a quick end on December 24—five days before the Constitution’s fight with the Java—when the 74-gun Montagu hove into sight, forcing him to run into port in a big hurry. Fortunately, night came on, and he was able to narrowly escape disaster by slipping unnoticed out of the harbor to the southward. When he was safely away, he turned eastward, and on the fourth of February came across the 10-gun English brig Resolution, which was carrying, along with coffee, jerked beef, flour, fustic, and butter, $23,000 in specie—a nice little bonus. Lawrence took out the money and set her on fire.
He then continued his cruise, sailing along the northeastern coast of Brazil, to Surinam, before reaching the Demerara River off Guyana. A former Dutch colony, Guyana was captured by the British in 1796. On February 24 at ten past four in the afternoon, Lawrence was sitting off the mouth of the Demerara when lookouts spotted a British man-of-war brig anchored outside the river’s bar. Lawrence was beating up toward her when a much larger man-of-war brig appeared on his weather quarter, edging down for him. He immediately beat to quarters and cleared for action. The crew raced to its battle stations, while Lawrence steered for the enemy, keeping “close by the wind, in order if possible to get the weather gauge.” Finding he could easily weather the enemy, he hoisted American colors and tacked.
At 5:25 the two ships passed each other, exchanging broadsides within half pistol shot. The American gunnery, as in the past, was faster and more accurate than the British. In fact, the Hornet was a stronger ship in every respect than the British brig, which turned out to be the Peacock, under Lieutenant William Peake. She carried sixteen twenty-four-pound carronades and two long six-pounders and had a crew of a hundred twenty men, while the Hornet had eighteen thirty-two-pound carronades, two long nine-pounders, and a crew of a hundred seventy men. The difference was significant. The damaged Peacock wore ship, and seeing this, Lawrence bore up, received an ineffective broadside, then ran close on board the Peacock’s starboard quarter, and kept up a devastating fire. Captain Peake was killed, and his first lieutenant, Frederick A. Wright, took command.
In fifteen minutes the Peacock struck her colors. Shortly afterward, however, her mainmast went by the board, and she started sinking. Lawrence got the wounded off as fast as he could, but she went down so quickly that nine of her crew and three of his own men, working to get everyone off, drowned. In addition to the nine men lost when the ship sank, four more of the Peacock’s crew had been killed during the fighting and thirty-two wounded, five of whom later died. The Hornet had two killed during the fighting, three more in the rescue operations, and three wounded.
Lawrence feared that the 16-gun British brig Espiegle, the ship he had first seen anchored off the Denerara’s bar, might come to the Peacock’s aid. During the fight he had kept an eye on Espiegle, and after the Peacock sank, he rushed to get the Hornet prepared for another battle. But the Espiegle mysteriously remained anchored.
Lawrence decided he had enough to handle without going after her. With the Peacock’s crew and men from the other captures, he now had 277 men aboard. His first thought was getting them and his ship, which needed repairing, home safely. With a limited amount of water and no convenient place to parole his prisoners, he put everyone on a strict ration of two pints of water per day and sailed for home, arriving at Holmes Hole on the north side of Martha’s Vineyard a little over three weeks later, on March 19, the crew and prisoners suffering badly from the severe rationing.
Shortly after arriving at Martha’s Vineyard
, Lawrence wrote to his wife, Julia, whom he was devoted to, “I have only time to inform you of my safe return and to tell you that I am in perfect health.... You were anxious I should have an action with John Bull, provided I would come off with a whole skin.”
Julia knew Lawrence needed to distinguish himself, and now he had. She was also pleased that the disgruntled master commandant, who left Boston in a stew in October, had finally received the recognition he craved when he was promoted to captain on March 4.
A few days later, on March 25 President Madison said in his message to Congress, “In the continuation of the brilliant achievements of our infant navy, a signal triumph has been gained by Captain Lawrence and his companions in the Hornet.”
MADISON’S PRIVATEERS WERE performing as well on the high seas as the blue-water fleet was. From the very start of the war—as the president had expected—privateers of every description suddenly appeared. Many of them had anticipated the declaration of war and had ships outfitted with captains and crews hired and ready. Madison intended to keep tight control of this quasi-public fleet. He viewed privateers’ men and their vessels as part of an official naval force, not as licensed pirates. Unlike what happened during the Revolution, when privateer commissions were issued by the states as well as the national government and were loosely controlled, Madison insisted that only the federal government would issue commissions.
The declaration of war authorized the president to use the whole naval force of the United States, which meant privateers as well as the navy. And on July 4, 1812, Congress specifically authorized letters of marque and reprisal. The president himself signed each commission. Applications had to be made to the secretary of state, specifying the type of vessel and the number of crew and posting a bond of $5,000 or $10,000, depending on the size of the vessel. Every privateer was obliged to keep a journal. Prizes had to be adjudicated in the district courts of the United States and prisoners delivered to a U.S. marshall or other officer. The rights of neutrals were to be strictly observed, as were other usages of civilized nations. The secretary of state issued the commissions, and a federal marshal or customs official delivered them in the various ports. In Britain the Admiralty issued the commissions. If a privateer or letter of marque were caught by either side without a commission, they were considered pirates and subject to brutal penalties, including hanging.
One of the first commissions issued, if not the first, was to a group of eleven Baltimore businessmen. It was common throughout the war for a number of people to take shares in privateering enterprises. These Baltimore businessmen had a ninety-eight-foot schooner, the Rossie, armed with ten twelve-pound carronades and ready to sail. They convinced the legendary Revolutionary War hero Joshua Barney to be her skipper.
Barney was anxious to strike a blow against the British, and he sailed from Baltimore aboard the Rossie on July 11. He was ninety days at sea, not returning to Baltimore until October 22. During that time he captured eighteen British merchantmen, with a total value of a $1.5 million, and he acquired 217 prisoners. As with all privateers, the Rossie had as large a crew as the ship would hold so that Barney could man the many prizes he took.
Barney also got involved in two sharp fights, both of which he won handily. The first was on August 9 against a British letter of marque ship, the 12-gun (nines and sixes) Jeannie, and the second on the sixteenth of September against a British packet, the 8-gun Princess Amelia.
Barney sent most of his captures to ports along the coast, but the expenses for condemnation and the high taxes imposed on prizes by Congress cut substantially into his profit. Duties on prizes were so onerous that Congress had to reduce them in order to provide an incentive to go out on what was, after all, a dangerous and often unprofitable venture. After returning to Baltimore Barney retired to his farm. He did not consider his small profit worth the bother. But he was still interested in fighting the British, and later in the war, at the age of fifty-five, he would come back as a special naval officer, giving the enemy fits in Chesapeake Bay.
THE BRITISH NAVY managed some small victories during this time, but they in no way compared to American achievements. The frigate Barbados captured the small revenue schooner James Madison. On November 22 Captain James Yeo in the old frigate Southampton captured the 14-gun brig Vixen, under Master Commandant George Reed. Five days later, on the night of November 27, while on the way to Jamaica, both ships crashed into sunken rocks off the desolate islands of Conception and sank. Miraculously, all hands survived, including Sir James Yeo, but George Reed died in captivity in Spanish Town, Jamaica, on January 8, 1813.
On January 2, the British frigate Narcissus captured the much smaller 12-gun Viper, under Lieutenant John D. Henley. The Viper was based at the Balise on the Mississippi south of New Orleans and was in the Gulf of Mexico on a cruise. Henley had been out only ten days when he had to turn around and head back for repairs. He never made it. The Narcissus captured him fifty miles off the Balise.
THE VICTORIES OF the Constitution, and the Hornet, coming so soon after the triumphs of other American warships, not to mention the successes of her privateers, had a profound impact on British attitudes. The war was waged in part because Britain refused to accord America the respect she demanded. The naval victories were changing attitudes in London, laying the groundwork for a more equitable and peaceful relationship in the future.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Sea Change
AS THE WAR progressed into the latter half of 1812, so did the presidential election campaign. Like his predecessors Adams and Jefferson, President Madison dearly wanted a second term. The wisdom of going to war and his management of it were the central issues before the country, and his leadership was found wanting by every Federalist and even by many Republicans. The navy that Madison had so lightly dismissed at the beginning of the war provided the only successes he could point to in his reelection bid. The army’s stunning defeats were a political noose around his neck.
There was no question about his nomination. Republicans in Virginia’s legislature began the process by nominating electors favorable to the president in February, followed by similar action by seven other states. The Republican congressional caucus met in Washington on May 18, and eighty-three members voted for Madison. Nine others added their votes later, giving him a comfortable two-thirds majority.
Still, nearly all of New York’s Republican congressmen, as well as others from the north, refused to support him. When word reached Albany of Madison’s nomination, disgruntled Republican members of the legislature refused to accept it. They held their own caucus on May 29 and nominated the popular forty-three-year-old Republican mayor of New York City, DeWitt Clinton, who quickly accepted. He was from a powerful political family, the nephew of Revolutionary War hero George Clinton, Madison’s recently deceased vice president. The Virginia dynasty rankled the New Yorkers enough that they simply could not support one more term for a tidewater aristocrat.
When Madison’s blunders as commander in chief became more evident later in the year, Clinton’s chances to defeat him improved dramatically. They rose further when many prominent Federalists decided the party should secretly support Clinton. Federalists were so weak nationally that nominating one of their own would guarantee defeat. The one Federalist who might have had enough national appeal was Chief Justice John Marshall, but he was a Virginian. Most Federalists thought a Virginian could never carry New York, a state that was considered essential. Others who were possibilities, such as Rufus King of New York and Charles Cotesworth Pinckney of South Carolina, garnered less support than Marshall.
The Federalist convention met in New York from September 15 to 17. Nearly all of the seventy delegates decided to secretly support Clinton. Rufus King of New York urged the members to reject secrecy and nominate a candidate of their own, even if it had to be Clinton, whom King called an opportunist, comparing him at one point to Caesar Borgia. But King failed to carry the day. Led by Harrison Gray Otis of Massachusetts, the pa
rty decided to secretly back Clinton. This is exactly what Clinton wanted. He felt that if the Federalist Party openly endorsed him, it would alienate enough Republicans to cost him the election. Federalists and antiwar Republicans now banded together in support of peace delegates in most states, which made Clinton a formidable national candidate.
Had he been able to articulate a plausible strategy to end the war honorably, Clinton might well have unseated Madison. Instead, he tried to be all things to all people, arguing in places where the war was popular that he would end it by winning and promising to people who did not support the war that he would simply end it. His duplicity did not escape notice, and it hurt him badly.
In spite of Clinton’s campaign blunders, opposition to Madison was strong enough that by early fall his reelection was in doubt. To offset the devastating effects of the army’s failures, the president ostentatiously embraced the navy’s heroes, particularly Isaac Hull and Charles Morris of the Constitution. To what extent the naval victories improved his chances is impossible to tell, but Madison certainly felt they were a great political asset.
As the campaign progressed, Pennsylvania’s twenty-five electoral votes appeared critical. Supporters of both Madison and Clinton pursued them vigorously. The candidates themselves did so through surrogates. In keeping with the custom followed by Adams and Jefferson, they affected to be above politics and did no campaigning directly. The president, however, continued to allow farmers to ship corn and flour on a massive scale to Wellington’s army in Spain and Portugal under British licenses. This was an important source of his support in places like Pennsylvania and other mid-Atlantic and Southern states.
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