Black men served in the navy with great credit to themselves, receiving the commendation of Commodore Perry and other brave officers.
Extract of a letter from Nathaniel Shaler, commander of the private armed schooner General Tompkins, to his agent in New York, dated—
"AT SEA, January 1st, 1813.
"Before I could get our light sails in, and almost before I could turn round, I was under the guns, not of a transport, but of a large frigate, and not more than a quarter of a mile from her! Her first broadside killed two men, and wounded six others. My officers conducted themselves in a way that would have done honor to a more permanent service. The name of one of my poor fellows who was killed ought to be registered in the book of fame, and remembered with reverence as long as bravery is considered a virtue. He was a black man, by the name of John Johnson. A twenty-four pound shot struck him on the hip, and took away all the lower part of his body. In this state, the poor, brave fellow lay on the deck, and several times exclaimed to his shipmates, 'Fire away, my boy! No haul a color down!' The other was also a black man, by the name of John Davis, and was struck in much the same way. He fell near me, and several times requested to be thrown overboard, saying he was only in the way of others. When America has such tars she has little to fear from the tyrants of the ocean."
["NICK" BIDDLE.]
The title of "First Defenders" has been given to the five companies of Pennsylvania troops, two of which were from Schuylkill Co., one from Reading, one from Allentown, and one from Lewistown, Pa., that marched through Baltimore on the day before the Massachusetts soldiers were mobbed in the streets on the way to defend the national capital. After running the gauntlet of a furious rabble, the five companies reached Washington on the evening of the 18th, and were quartered in the Capitol Building. A pool of blood, which ran from the wounded cheek of "Nick" Biddle, marked the spot on the Capitol floor, where he lay that night. It was the first blood shed in the war for the Union. His grave is in the colored churchyard in Pottsville, Pa.
The grave of "Nick" Biddle a Mecca should be,
To Pilgrims who seek in this land of the free,
The tombs of the lowly as well as the great,
Who struggled for freedom in war or debate;
For there lies a black man distinguished from all
In that his veins furnished the first blood to fall
In war for the Union, when traitors assailed
Its brave "First Defenders," whose hearts never quailed.
The eighteenth of April, eighteen sixty-one,
Was the day "Nick" Biddle his great laurels won,
In Baltimore city, where riot ran high,
He stood by our banner to do or to die;
And onward, responsive to liberty's call—
The Capital City to reach ere it fall.
Brave Biddle with others as true and as brave,
Marched through the wild tempest, the nation to save.
Their pathway was fearful, surrounded by foes,
Who strove in fierce madness their course to oppose;
Who hurl threats and curses defiant of law,
And think by such methods they may overawe
The gallant defenders, who nevertheless
Hold back their resentment as forward they press,
And conscious of noble endeavor, despise
The flashing of weapons and traitorous eyes.
Behold now the crisis! The mob thirsts for blood!
It strikes down "Nick" Biddle, and opens the flood;
The torrents of crimson from hearts that are true,
That shall deepen and widen, shall clean and renew,
The land of our fathers by slavery cursed.
The blood of "Nick" Biddle—yes, it is the first,
The patter of raindrops presaging the storm,
That will rage and destroy till the nation reform.
How strange, too, it seems that the Capitol floor,
Where slave-holders sat in the Congress of yore,
And forged for his kindred chains heavy to bear,
To bind down the black man in endless despair,
Should be stained with his blood, and thus sanctified,
Made sacred to Freedom, through time to abide,
A temple of justice, with every right
For all of the nation—black, red men and white.
The grave of "Nick" Biddle, though humble it be,
Is nobler by far in the sight of the free
Than tombs of those chieftains whose sinful crusade,
Brought long years of mourning, and countless graves made;
In striving to fetter their black fellow-men,
And make of the Southland a vast prison pen,
Their cause was unholy, but "Nick" Biddle was just—
And hosts of pure spirits watch over his dust.
THE GRAVE OF NICK BIDDLE.