But relief was in sight. A great cloud hove up on the southeastern horizon, and the black squall that followed was a Godsend to the “Constitution” and her weary crew. Hull knew the Englishmen would not like the looks of the squall. No more did he. But he kept his boats at the towing, nevertheless.
He stationed his men at the halyards and down-hauls, and had everything in hand for the shock. He calmly watched the on-coming line of froth, growing whiter every minute, while his officers came to him and begged him to take in his sail. But wait he did until the first breath stirred his royals. Then the shrill pipe of the boatswain called the boats alongside of the “Constitution.”
They were not a moment too soon. As the men were hooking the tackles the blast struck the ship. Over she heeled, almost on her beam ends, the boats tossed up like feather-weights. The yards came down with a rush, and the sails flew up to the quarter-blocks, though the wind seemed likely to blow them out of the bolt-ropes. She righted herself in a moment, though, and so cleverly had Hull watched his time that not a boat was lost.
Among the enemy all was disorganization. Every sail was furled, and some of their boats went adrift. Then, as the friendly rain and mist came down, the wily Yankee spread his sails—not even furled—and sailed away on an easy bowline at nine knots an hour.
The race was won. Before the Englishmen could recover, Hull managed by wetting his sails to make them hold the wind, and soon the enemy was but a blur on his western horizon. Then the British gave it up.
The superiority of Yankee seamanship was never more marked than in this chase. The British had the wind, the advantage of position, the force, and lacked only the wonderful skill and indomitable perseverance of the American, who, with everything against him, never for a moment despaired of pulling gallant “Old Ironsides” out of the reach of his slow-moving enemy.
The difficult manœuvre of picking up his boats without backing a yard or easing a sheet he repeated again and again, to the wonderment of his adversaries, whose attempts in this direction failed every time they tried it in a smart breeze. Hull’s tactics at the coming of the squall were hazardous, and under any other circumstances would have been suicidal. For a skipper to have his boats two cable-lengths away from his ship, with his royals flapping to the first shock of a squall, is bad seamanship. But if tackles are hooked and men are safe aboard there is no marine feat like it.
The naval history of this country is full of such instances. Captain Charles Stewart, on the same ship, did a wonderful thing. In his fight with the “Cyane” and the “Levant” he delivered a broadside from both batteries at the same time. Then, shifting his helm under cover of the smoke, he backed his topsails and drew out sternward from the enemy’s fire, taking a new position, and delivering another broadside, which brought about their surrender.
The war-ship of fifty years ago was as different from the battle-ship of to-day as a caravel from a torpedo-boat. With half the length and a third the tonnage, the old “ship-of-the-line” had three times as many men as the modern sea-fighter. Yet, with a thousand men aboard, she had work for them all. More than two acres of canvas were to be handled, and over a hundred guns were to be served, loaded, and fired. A thousand pieces of running-gear were to be rove and manned. The huge topsails, weighing, with their yards, many tons, needed on their halyards half a hundred men. Great anchors were to be broken from their sandy holds, and the capstan-bars, double-banked, hove around to the sound of the merry chantey and deep-voiced trumpet. Homeward bound, the business of anchor-hoisting turned into a mad scene, and many a rude jest and hoarse song turned the crowded fo’c’s’le into a carnival of jollity.
In matters of routine and training the crews of the American frigates differed little from those of England. The sailor-men of the United States, though newer to the work of navigating the big ships, were smart seamen, and could cross or bring down their light yards, send down their masts, or clear for action with the oldest and very best of England’s men-o’war’s-men.