CHAPTER III.
England received the Treaty of Ghent with feelings of mixed anger and satisfaction. The “Morning Chronicle” seemed surprised at the extreme interest which the news excited. As early as November 24, when ministers made their decision to concede the American terms, the “Morning Chronicle” announced that “a most extraordinary sensation was produced yesterday” by news from Ghent, and by reports that ministers had abandoned their ground. When the treaty arrived, December 26, the same Whig newspaper, the next morning, while asserting that ministers had “humbled themselves in the dust and thereby brought discredit on the country,” heartily approved what they had done; and added that “the city was in a complete state of hurricane during the whole of yesterday, but the storm did not attain its utmost height until toward the evening.... Purchases were made to the extent of many hundred thousand pounds.” The importance of the United States to England was made more apparent by the act of peace than by the pressure of war. “At Birmingham,” said the “Courier,” “an immense assemblage witnessed the arrival of the mail, and immediately took the horses out, and drew the mail to the post-office with the loudest acclamations,”—acclamations over a treaty universally regarded as discreditable.
The “Times” admitted the general joy, and denied only that it was universal. If the “Times” in any degree represented public opinion, the popular satisfaction at the peace was an extraordinary political symptom, for in its opinion the Government had accepted terms such as “might have been expected from an indulgent and liberal conqueror.... We have retired from the combat,” it said, December 30, “with the stripes yet bleeding on our back,—with the recent defeats at Plattsburg and on Lake Champlain unavenged.” During several succeeding weeks the “Times” continued its extravagant complaints, which served only to give the Americans a new idea of the triumph they had won.
In truth, no one familiar with English opinion during the past ten years attempted to deny that the government of England must admit one or the other of two conclusions,—either it had ruinously mismanaged its American policy before the war, or it had disgraced itself by the peace. The “Morning Chronicle,” while approving the treaty, declared that the Tories were on this point at odds with their own leaders:[74] “Their attachment to the ministers, though strong, cannot reconcile them to this one step, though surely if they would look back with an impartial eye on the imbecility and error with which their idols conducted the war, they must acknowledge their prudence in putting an end to it. One of them very honestly said, two days ago, that if they had not put an end to the war, the war would have put an end to their Ministry.” Whatever doubts existed about the temper of England before that time, no one doubted after the peace of Ghent that war with the United States was an unpopular measure with the British people.
Nevertheless the “Times” and the Tories continued their complaints until March 9, when two simultaneous pieces of news silenced criticism of the American treaty. The severe defeat at New Orleans became known at the moment when Napoleon, having quitted Elba, began his triumphal return to Paris. These news, coming in the midst of Corn Riots, silenced further discussion of American relations, and left ministers free to redeem at Waterloo the failures they had experienced in America.
In the United States news of peace was slow to arrive. The British sloop-of-war “Favorite” bore the despatches, and was still at sea when the month of February began. The commissioners from Massachusetts and Connecticut, bearing the demands of the Hartford Convention, started for Washington. Every one was intent on the situation of New Orleans, where a disaster was feared. Congress seemed to have abandoned the attempt to provide means of defence, although it began another effort to create a bank on Dallas’s plan. A large number of the most intelligent citizens believed that two announcements would soon be made,—one, that New Orleans was lost; the other, that the negotiation at Ghent had ended in rupture. Under this double shock, the collapse of the national government seemed to its enemies inevitable.
In this moment of suspense, the first news arrived from New Orleans. To the extreme relief of the Government and the Republican majority in Congress, they learned, February 4, that the British invasion was defeated and New Orleans saved. The victory was welcomed by illuminations, votes of thanks, and rejoicings greater than had followed the more important success at Plattsburg, or the more brilliant battles at Niagara; for the success won at New Orleans relieved the Government from a load of anxiety, and postponed a crisis supposed to be immediately at hand. Half the influence of the Hartford Convention was destroyed by it; and the commissioners, who were starting for the capital, had reason to expect a reception less favorable by far than they would have met had the British been announced as masters of Louisiana. Yet the immediate effect of the news was not to lend new vigor to Congress, but rather to increase its inertness, and to encourage its dependence on militia, Treasury notes, and good fortune.
A week afterward, on the afternoon of Saturday, February 11, the British sloop-of-war “Favorite” sailed up New York harbor, and the city quickly heard rumors of peace. At eight o’clock that evening the American special messenger landed, bringing the official documents intrusted to his care; and when the news could no longer be doubted, the city burst into an uproar of joy. The messenger was slow in reaching Washington, where he arrived only on the evening of Tuesday, February 13, and delivered his despatches to the Secretary of State.
Had the treaty been less satisfactory than it was, the President would have hesitated long before advising its rejection, and the Senate could hardly have gained courage to reject it. In spite of rumors from London and significant speculations on the London Exchange, known in America in the middle of January, no one had seriously counted on a satisfactory peace, as was proved by the steady depression of government credit and of the prices of American staples. The reaction after the arrival of the news was natural, and so violent that few persons stopped to scrutinize the terms. Contrary to Clay’s forebodings, the treaty, mere armistice though it seemed to be, was probably the most popular treaty ever negotiated by the United States. The President sent it to the Senate February 15; and the next day, without suggestion of amendment, and apparently without a criticism, unless from Federalists, the Senate unanimously confirmed it, thirty-five senators uniting in approval.
Yet the treaty was not what the Government had expected in declaring the war, or such as it had a right to demand. The Republicans admitted it in private, and the Federalists proclaimed it in the press. Senator Gore wrote to Governor Strong:[75] “The treaty must be deemed disgraceful to the Government who made the war and the peace, and will be so adjudged by all, after the first effusions of joy at relief have subsided.” Opinions differed widely on the question where the disgrace belonged,—whether to the Government who made the war, or to the people who refused to support it; but no one pretended that the terms of peace, as far as they were expressed in the treaty, were so good as those repeatedly offered by England more than two years before. Yet the treaty was universally welcomed, and not a thought of continued war found expression.
In New England the peace was received with extravagant delight. While the government messenger who carried the official news to Washington made no haste, a special messenger started from New York at ten o’clock Saturday night, immediately on the landing of the government messenger, and in thirty-two hours arrived in Boston. Probably the distance had rarely been travelled in less time, for the Boston “Centinel” announced the expense to be two hundred and twenty-five dollars; and such an outlay was seldom made for rapidity of travel or news. As the messenger passed from town to town he announced the tidings to the delighted people.[76] Reaching the “Centinel” office, at Boston, early Monday morning, he delivered his bulletin, and a few minutes after it was published all the bells were set ringing; schools and shops were closed, and a general holiday taken; flags were hoisted, the British with the American; the militia paraded, and in the evening the city was illuminated. Yet the terms of peace were wholly unknown, and the people of Massachusetts had every reason to fear that their interests were sacrificed for the safety of the Union. Their rejoicing over the peace was as unreasoning as their hatred of the war.
Only along the Canadian frontier where the farmers had for three years made large profits by supplying both armies, the peace was received without rejoicing.[77] South of New York, although less public delight was expressed, the relief was probably greater than in New England. Virginia had suffered most, and had felt the blockade with peculiar severity. A few weeks before the treaty was signed, Jefferson wrote:[78]—
“By the total annihilation in value of the produce which was to give me sustenance and independence, I shall be like Tantalus,—up to the shoulders in water, yet dying with thirst. We can make indeed enough to eat, drink, and clothe ourselves, but nothing for our salt, iron, groceries, and taxes which must be paid in money. For what can we raise for the market? Wheat?—we only give it to our horses, as we have been doing ever since harvest. Tobacco?—it is not worth the pipe it is smoked in.”
While all Virginia planters were in this situation February 13, they awoke February 14 to find flour worth ten dollars a barrel, and groceries fallen fifty per cent. They were once more rich beyond their wants.
So violent and sudden a change in values had never been known in the United States. The New York market saw fortunes disappear and other fortunes created in the utterance of a single word. All imported articles dropped to low prices. Sugar which sold Saturday at twenty-six dollars a hundred-weight, sold Monday at twelve dollars and a half. Tea sank from two dollars and a quarter to one dollar a pound; tin fell from eighty to twenty-five dollars a box; cotton fabrics declined about fifty per cent. On the other hand flour, cotton, and the other chief staples of American produce rose in the same proportion. Nominally flour was worth seven and a half dollars on Saturday, though no large amounts could have been sold; on Monday the price was ten dollars, and all the wheat in the country was soon sold at that rate.
Owing to the derangement of currency, these prices expressed no precise specie value. The effect of the peace on the currency was for a moment to restore an apparent equilibrium. In New York the specie premium of twenty-two per cent was imagined for a time to have vanished. In truth, United States six-per-cents rose in New York from seventy-six to eighty-eight in paper; Treasury-notes from ninety-two to ninety-eight. In Philadelphia, on Saturday, six-per-cents sold at seventy-five; on Monday, at ninety-three. The paper depreciation remained about twenty per cent in New York, about twenty-four per cent in Philadelphia, and about thirty per cent in Baltimore. The true value of six-per-cents was about sixty-eight; of Treasury notes about seventy-eight, after the announcement of peace.
As rapidly as possible the blockade was raised, and ships were hurried to sea with the harvests of three seasons for cargo; but some weeks still passed before all the operations of war were closed. The news of peace reached the British squadron below Mobile in time to prevent further advance on that place; but on the ocean a long time elapsed before fighting wholly ceased.
Some of the worst disasters as well as the greatest triumphs of the war occurred after the treaty of peace had been signed. The battle of New Orleans was followed by the loss of Fort Bowyer. At about the same time a British force occupied Cumberland Island on the southern edge of the Georgia coast, and January 13 attacked the fort at the entrance of the St. Mary’s, and having captured it without loss, ascended the river the next day to the town of St. Mary’s, which they seized, together with its merchandise and valuable ships in the river. Cockburn established his headquarters on Cumberland Island January 22, and threw the whole State of Georgia into agitation, while he waited the arrival of a brigade with which an attack was to be made on Savannah.
The worst disaster of the naval war occurred January 15, when the frigate “President”—one of the three American forty-fours, under Stephen Decatur, the favorite ocean hero of the American service—suffered defeat and capture within fifty miles of Sandy Hook. No naval battle of the war was more disputed in its merits, although its occurrence in the darkest moments of national depression was almost immediately forgotten in the elation of the peace a few days later.
Secretary Jones retired from the Navy Department Dec. 19, 1814, yielding the direction to B. W. Crowninshield of Massachusetts, but leaving a squadron ready for sea at New York under orders for distant service. The “Peacock” and “Hornet,” commanded by Warrington and Biddle, were to sail with a store-ship on a long cruise in Indian waters, where they were expected to ravage British shipping from the Cape of Good Hope to the China seas. With them Decatur was to go in the “President,” and at the beginning of the new year he waited only an opportunity to slip to sea past the blockading squadron. January 14 a strong westerly wind drove the British fleet out of sight. The “President” set sail, but in crossing the bar at night grounded, and continued for an hour or more to strike heavily, until the tide and strong wind forced her across. Decatur then ran along the Long Island coast some fifty miles, when he changed his course to the southeast, hoping that he had evaded the blockading squadron. This course was precisely that which Captain Hayes, commanding the squadron, expected;[79] and an hour before daylight the four British ships, standing to the northward and eastward, sighted the “President,” standing to the southward and eastward, not more than two miles on the weather-bow of the “Majestic,”—the fifty-six-gun razee commanded by Captain Hayes.
The British ships promptly made chase. Captain Hayes’s squadron, besides the “Majestic,” consisted of the “Endymion,” a fifty-gun frigate, with the “Pomone” and “Tenedos,” frigates like the “Guerriere,” “Macedonian,” and “Java,” armed with eighteen-pound guns. Only from the “Endymion” had Decatur much to fear, for the “Majestic” was slow and the other ships were weak; but the “Endymion” was a fast sailer, and especially adapted to meet the American frigates. The “Endymion,” according to British authority, was about one hundred and fifty-nine feet in length on the lower deck, and nearly forty-three feet in extreme breadth; the “President,” on the same authority, was about one hundred and seventy-three feet in length, and forty-four feet in breadth. The “Endymion” carried twenty-six long twenty-four-pounders on the main deck; the “President” carried thirty. The “Endymion” mounted twenty-two thirty-two pound carronades on the spar deck; the “President” mounted twenty. The “Endymion” had also a long brass eighteen-pounder as a bow-chaser; the “President” a long twenty-four-pounder as a bow-chaser, and another as a stern-chaser. The “Endymion” was short-handed after her losses in action with the “Prince de Neufchatel,” and carried only three hundred and forty-six men; the “President” carried four hundred and fifty. The “Endymion” was the weaker ship, probably in the proportion of four to five; but for her immediate purpose she possessed a decisive advantage in superior speed, especially in light winds.
At two o’clock in the afternoon, the “Endymion” had gained so much on the “President” as to begin exchanging shots between the stern and bow-chasers.[80] Soon after five o’clock, as the wind fell, the “Endymion” crept up on the “President’s” starboard quarter, and “commenced close action.”[81] After bearing the enemy’s fire for half an hour without reply, Decatur was obliged to alter his course and accept battle, or suffer himself to be crippled.[82] The battle lasted two hours and a half, until eight o’clock, when firing ceased; but at half-past nine, according to the “Pomone’s” log, the “Endymion” fired two guns, which the “President” returned with one.[83] According to Decatur’s account the “Endymion” lay for half an hour under his stern, without firing, while the “President” was trying to escape. In truth the “Endymion” had no need to fire; she was busy bending new sails, while Decatur’s ship, according to his official report, was crippled, and in the want of wind could not escape.
In a letter written by Decatur to his wife immediately after the battle, he gave an account of what followed, as he understood it.[84]
“The ‘Endymion,’” he began, ... “was the leading ship of the enemy. She got close under my quarters and was cutting my rigging without my being able to bring a gun to bear upon her. To suffer this was making my capture certain, and that too without injury to the enemy. I therefore bore up for the ‘Endymion’ and engaged her for two hours, when we silenced and beat her off. At this time the rest of the ships had got within two miles of us. We made all the sail we could from them, but it was in vain. In three hours the ‘Pomone’ and ‘Tenedos’ were alongside, and the ‘Majestic’ and ‘Endymion’ close to us. All that was now left for me to do was to receive the fire of the nearest ship and surrender.”
The “Pomone’s” account of the surrender completed the story:[85]—
“At eleven, being within gunshot of the ‘President’ who was still steering to the eastward under a press of sail, with royal, top-gallant, topmast, and lower studding-sails set, finding how much we outsailed her our studding-sails were taken in, and immediately afterward we luffed to port and fired our starboard broadside. The enemy then also luffed to port, bringing his larboard broadside to bear, which was momentarily expected, as a few minutes previous to our closing her she hoisted a light abaft, which in night actions constitutes the ensign. Our second broadside was fired, and the ‘President’ still luffing up as if intent to lay us on board, we hauled close to port, bracing the yards up, and setting the mainsail; the broadside was again to be fired into his bows, raking, when she hauled down the light, and we hailed demanding if she had surrendered. The reply was in the affirmative, and the firing immediately ceased. The ‘Tenedos,’ who was not more than three miles off, soon afterward came up, and assisted the ‘Pomone’ in securing the prize and removing the prisoners. At three quarters past twelve the ‘Endymion’ came up, and the ‘Majestic’ at three in the morning.”
Between the account given by Decatur and that of the “Pomone’s” log were some discrepancies. In the darkness many mistakes were inevitable; but if each party were taken as the best authority on its own side, the connected story seemed to show that Decatur, after beating off the “Endymion,” made every effort to escape, but was impressed by the conviction that if overtaken by the squadron, nothing was left but to receive the fire of the nearest ship, and surrender. The night was calm, and the “President” made little headway. At eleven o’clock one of the pursuing squadron came up, and fired two broadsides. “Thus situated,” reported Decatur, “with about one fifth of my crew killed and wounded, my ship crippled, and a more than fourfold force opposed to me, without a chance of escape left, I deemed it my duty to surrender.”
The official Court of Inquiry on the loss of the “President” reported, a few months afterward, a warm approval of Decatur’s conduct:[86]—
“We fear that we cannot express in a manner that will do justice to our feelings our admiration of the conduct of Commodore Decatur and his officers and crew.... As well during the chase as through his contest with the enemy [he] evinced great judgment and skill, perfect coolness, the most determined resolution, and heroic courage.”
The high praise thus bestowed was doubtless deserved, since the Court of Inquiry was composed of persons well qualified to judge; but Decatur’s battle with the “Endymion” was far from repeating the success of his triumph over the “Macedonian.” Anxious to escape rather than to fight, Decatur in consequence failed either to escape or resist with effect. The action with the “Endymion” lasted three hours from the time when the British frigate gained the “President’s” quarter. For the first half hour the “President” received the “Endymion’s” broadsides without reply. During the last half hour the firing slackened and became intermittent. Yet for two hours the ships were engaged at close range, a part of the time within half musket-shot, in a calm sea, and in a parallel line of sailing.[87] At all times of the battle, the ships were well within point-blank range,[88] which for long twenty-four-pounders and thirty-two-pound carronades was about two hundred and fifty yards.[89] Decatur had needed but an hour and a half to disable and capture the “Macedonian,” although a heavy swell disturbed his fire, and at no time were the ships within easy range for grape, which was about one hundred and fifty yards. The “Endymion” was a larger and better ship than the “Macedonian,” but the “President” was decidedly less efficient than the “United States.”
According to Captain Hope’s report, the “Endymion” lost eleven men killed and fourteen wounded. The “President” reported twenty-five killed and sixty wounded. Of the two ships the “President” was probably the most severely injured.[90] The masts of both were damaged, and two days afterward both were dismasted in a gale; but while the “President” lost all her masts by the board, the “Endymion” lost only her fore and main masts considerably above deck. On the whole, the injury inflicted by the “President” on the “Endymion” was less than in proportion to her relative strength, or to the length of time occupied in the action. Even on the supposition that the “President’s” fire was directed chiefly against the “Endymion’s” rigging, the injury done was not proportional to the time occupied in doing it. According to the “Pomone’s” log, the “Endymion” was able to rejoin the squadron at quarter before one o’clock in the night. According to the “Endymion’s” log, she repaired damages in an hour, and resumed the chase at nine o’clock.[91]
The British ships were surprised that Decatur should have surrendered to the “Pomone” without firing a shot. Apparently the “Pomone’s” broadside did little injury, and the “Tenedos” was not yet in range when the “Pomone” opened fire. The question of the proper time to surrender was to be judged by professional rules; and if resistance was hopeless, Decatur was doubtless justified in striking when he did; but his apparent readiness to do so hardly accorded with the popular conception of his character.
As usual the sloops were more fortunate than the frigate, and got to sea successfully, January 22, in a gale of wind which enabled them to run the blockade. Their appointed rendezvous was Tristan d’Acunha. There the “Hornet” arrived on the morning of March 23, and before she had time to anchor sighted the British sloop-of-war “Penguin,”—a new brig then cruising in search of the American privateer “Young Wasp.”
Captain Biddle of the “Hornet” instantly made chase, and Captain Dickinson of the “Penguin” bore up and stood for the enemy. According to British authority the vessels differed only by a “trifling disparity of force.”[92] In truth the American was somewhat superior in size, metal, and crew, although not so decisively as in most of the sloop battles. The “Hornet” carried eighteen thirty-two-pound carronades and two long twelve-pounders; the “Penguin” carried sixteen thirty-two-pound carronades, two long guns differently reported as twelve-pounders and six-pounders, and a twelve-pound carronade. The crews were apparently the same in number,—about one hundred and thirty-two men. Captain Dickinson had equipped his vessel especially for the purpose of capturing heavy privateers, and was then looking for the “Young Wasp,”—a vessel decidedly superior to the “Hornet.”[93] Although he had reason to doubt his ability to capture the “Young Wasp,” he did not fear a combat with the “Hornet,” and showed his confidence by brushing up close alongside and firing a gun, while the “Hornet,” all aback, waited for him.
The result was very different from that of Decatur’s two-hour battle with the “Endymion.” In little more than twenty minutes of close action the “Penguin’s” foremast and bowsprit were gone, her captain killed, and thirty-eight men killed or wounded, or more than one fourth the crew. The brig was “a perfect wreck,” according to the British official report, when the senior surviving officer hailed and surrendered.[94] The “Hornet” was not struck in the hull, but was very much cut up in rigging and spars. She had two killed, and nine wounded. “It was evident,” said Captain Biddle’s report, “that our fire was greatly superior both in quickness and effect.”
The “Penguin” was destroyed, and the “Hornet” and “Peacock” continued their cruise until April 27, when they chased for twenty-four hours a strange sail, which proved to be the British seventy-four “Cornwallis.” On discovering the character of the chase Biddle made off to windward, but found that the enemy “sailed remarkably fast and was very weatherly.” At daylight of the 29th, the “Cornwallis” was within gunshot on the “Hornet’s” lee-quarter. Her shot did not take effect, and Biddle, by lightening his ship, drew out of fire; but a few hours later the enemy again came up within three quarters of a mile, in a calm sea, and opened once more. Three shot struck the “Hornet,” but without crippling her. Biddle threw over everything that could be spared, except one long gun; and a fortunate change of wind enabled him a second time to creep out of fire. He escaped; but the loss of his guns, anchors, cables, and boats obliged him to make for San Salvador, where he heard the news of peace.[95]
Captain Warrington in the “Peacock” continued his cruise to the Indian Ocean, and captured four Indiamen. In the Straits of Sunda, June 30, he encountered a small East India Company’s cruiser, whose commander hailed and announced peace. Warrington replied, “directing him at the same time to haul his colors down if it were the case, in token of it,—adding that if he did not, I should fire into him.” The brig refused to strike its colors, and Warrington nearly destroyed her by a broadside.[96] For this violence little excuse could be offered, for the “Nautilus” was not half the “Peacock’s” strength, and could not have escaped. Warrington, like most officers of the American navy, remembered the “Chesapeake” too well.
The cruise of the “President,” “Peacock,” and “Hornet” ended in the loss of the “President,” the disabling of the “Hornet,” and the arrival of the “Peacock” alone at the point intended for their common cruising-ground. No other national vessels were at sea after peace was signed, except the “Constitution,” which late in December sailed from Boston under the command of Captain Charles Stewart,—a Philadelphian of Irish descent, not thirty-nine years old, but since 1806 a captain in the United States service.
Cruising between Gibraltar and Madeira, at about one o’clock on the afternoon of February 20 Captain Stewart discovered two sail ahead, which he chased and overtook at six o’clock. Both were ship-rigged sloops-of-war. The larger of the two was the “Cyane.” Americans preferred to call her a frigate, but that designation, though vague at best, could hardly be applied to such a vessel. The “Cyane” was a frigate-built sloop-of-war, or corvette, like the “Little Belt,” carrying a regular complement of one hundred and eighty-five men. Her length on the lower deck was one hundred and eighteen feet; her breadth was thirty-two feet. She carried thirty-three guns, all carronades except two long-nines or twelves. Her companion, the “Levant,” was also a sloop-of-war of the larger sort, though smaller than the “Cyane.” She mounted twenty-one guns, all carronades except two long nine-pounders. Her regular crew was one hundred and thirty-five men and boys.
Either separately or together the British ships were decidedly unequal to the “Constitution,” which could, by remaining at long range, sink them both without receiving a shot in return. The “Constitution” carried thirty-two long twenty-four-pounders; while the two sloops could reply to these guns only by four long nine-pounders. The “Constitution” carried four hundred and fifty men; the two sloops at the time of the encounter carried three hundred and thirty-six seamen, marines, and officers.[97] The “Constitution” was built of great strength; the two sloops had only the frames of their class. The utmost that the British captains could hope was that one of the two vessels might escape by the sacrifice of the other.
Instead of escaping, the senior officer, Captain George Douglass of the “Levant,” resolved to engage the frigate, “in the hopes, by disabling her, to prevent her intercepting two valuable convoys that sailed from Gibraltar about the same time as the ‘Levant’ and ‘Cyane.’”[98] Captain Douglass knew his relative strength, for he had heard that the American frigate was on his course.[99] Yet he seriously expected to disable her, and made a courageous attempt to do so.
The two ships, close together, tried first for the weather-gauge, but the “Constitution” outsailed them also on that point. They then bore up in hope of delaying the engagement till night, but the “Constitution” overhauled them too rapidly for the success of that plan. They then stood on the starboard tack, the “Cyane” astern, the “Levant” a half-cable length ahead, while the “Constitution” came up to windward and opened fire. Commodore Stewart’s report described the result:[100]—
“At five minutes past six ranged up on the starboard side of the sternmost ship [the ‘Cyane’], about three hundred yards distant, and commenced the action by broadsides,—both ships returning our fire with great spirit for about fifteen minutes. Then the fire of the enemy beginning to slacken, and the great column of smoke collected under our lee, induced us to cease our fire to ascertain their positions and conditions. In about three minutes the smoke clearing away, we found ourselves abreast of the headmost ship [the ‘Levant’], the sternmost ship luffing up for our larboard quarter.”
Three hundred yards was a long range for carronades, especially in British sloops whose marksmanship was indifferent at best. According to the British court-martial on the officers of the “Cyane” and “Levant,” their carronades had little effect.[101] If Stewart managed his ship as his duty required, the two sloops until that moment should have been allowed to make little effective return of the “Constitution’s” broadside of sixteen twenty-four-pounders except by two nine-pounders. They were in the position of the “Essex” at Valparaiso. The “Cyane” naturally luffed up, in order to bring her carronades to bear, but she was already cut to pieces, and made the matter worse by closing.
“We poured a broadside into the headmost ship,” continued the American account, “and then braced aback our main and mizzen topsails and backed astern under cover of the smoke abreast the sternmost ship, when the action was continued with spirit and considerable effect until thirty-five minutes past six, when the enemy’s fire again slackened.”
The “Levant,” after receiving two stern-raking fires, bore up at forty minutes past six and began to repair damages two miles to leeward. The “Cyane,” having become unmanageable, struck at ten minutes before seven. The most remarkable incident of the battle occurred after the “Cyane” struck, when the “Constitution” went after the “Levant” which was in sight to leeward. The little “Levant,” instead of running away, stood directly for the huge American frigate, more than three times her size, and ranging close alongside fired a broadside into her as the two ships passed on opposite tacks. Although the sloop received the “Constitution’s” broadside in return, she was only captured at last after an hour’s chase, at ten o’clock, much cut up in spars and rigging, but still sea-worthy, and with seven men killed and sixteen wounded, or only one casualty to six of her crew.
In truth, the injury inflicted by the “Constitution’s” fire was not so great as might have been expected. The “Cyane” lost twelve killed and twenty-six wounded, if the American report was correct. Neither ship was dismasted or in a sinking condition. Both arrived safely, March 10, at Porto Praya. On the other hand, the “Constitution” was struck eleven times in the hull, and lost three men killed and twelve wounded, three of the latter mortally. She suffered more than in her battle with the “Guerriere,”—a result creditable to the British ships, considering that in each case the “Constitution” could choose her own range.
Stewart took his prizes to the Cape de Verde Islands. At noon, March 11, while lying in port at Porto Praya, three British frigates appeared off the harbor, and Stewart instantly stood to sea, passing the enemy’s squadron to windward within gunshot. The three frigates made chase, and at one o’clock, as the “Cyane” was dropping astern, Stewart signalled to her to tack ship, and either escape, if not pursued, or return to Porto Praya. The squadron paid no attention to the “Cyane,” but followed the “Constitution” and “Levant.” At three o’clock, the “Levant” falling behind, Stewart signalled her also to tack. Immediately the whole British squadron abandoned pursuit of the “Constitution” and followed the “Levant” to Porto Praya, where they seized her under the guns of the Portuguese batteries. Meanwhile the “Constitution” and “Cyane” escaped, and reached the United States without further accident. The extraordinary blunders of the British squadron were never satisfactorily explained.
These combats and cruises, with the last ravages of the privateers, closed the war on the ocean as it had long ceased on land; and meanwhile the people of the United States had turned their energies to undertakings of a wholly different character.