Cockburn was more active. In the month of July he was detached with a squadron carrying Napier’s One Hundred-and-second regiment, and arrived, July 12, off Ocracoke Inlet, where he captured two fine privateers,—the “Atlas” and “Anaconda.” Thence he sailed southward, and established himself for the winter on Cumberland Island, near the Florida boundary, where he vexed the Georgians. Besides the property consumed or wasted, he gave refuge to many fugitive slaves, whom he assisted to the West Indies or Florida. “Strong is my dislike,” wrote Napier, “to what is perhaps a necessary part of our job: namely, plundering and ruining the peasantry. We drive all their cattle, and of course ruin them. My hands are clean; but it is hateful to see the poor Yankees robbed, and to be the robber.”
Compared with the widespread destruction which war brought on these regions half a century afterward, the injury inflicted by the British navy in 1813 was trifling, but it served to annoy the Southern people, who could offer no resistance, and were harassed by incessant militia-calls. To some extent the same system of vexation was pursued on the Northern coast. The Delaware River was blockaded and its shores much annoyed. New York was also blockaded, and Nantucket with the adjacent Sounds became a British naval station. There Sir Thomas Hardy, Nelson’s favorite, officer, commanded, in his flag-ship the “Ramillies.” Hardy did not encourage marauding such as Cockburn practised, but his blockade was still stringent, and its efficiency was proved by the failure of Decatur’s efforts to evade it.
Decatur commanded a squadron composed of the “United States,” its prize frigate the “Macedonian,” and the sloop-of-war “Hornet,” which lay in the harbor of New York, waiting for a chance to slip out. Impatient at the steady watch kept by the British fleet off Sandy Hook, Decatur brought his three ships through the East River into Long Island Sound. He reached Montauk Point, May 29, only to find Hardy’s squadron waiting for him. June 1 he made an attempt to run out, but was chased back, and took refuge in the harbor of New London. A large British squadron immediately closed upon the harbor, and Decatur not only lost hope of getting to sea but became anxious for the safety of his ships. He withdrew them as far as he could into the river, five miles above the town, and took every precaution to repel attack. The British officers were said to have declared that they would get the “Macedonian” back “even if they followed her into a cornfield.” They did not make the attempt, but their vigilance never relaxed, and Decatur was obliged to remain all summer idle in port. He clung to the hope that when winter approached he might still escape; but in the month of December the country was scandalized by the publication of an official letter from Decatur to the Secretary of the Navy, charging the people of New London with the responsibility for his failure.
“Some few nights since,” he wrote,[399] Dec. 20, 1813, “the weather promised an opportunity for this squadron to get to sea, and it was said on shore that we intended to make the attempt. In the course of the evening two blue lights were burned on both the points at the harbor’s mouth as signals to the enemy; and there is not a doubt but that they have, by signals and otherwise, instantaneous information of our movements. Great but unsuccessful exertions have been made to detect those who communicated with the enemy by signal.... Notwithstanding these signals have been repeated, and have been seen by twenty persons at least in this squadron, there are men in New London who have the hardihood to affect to disbelieve it, and the effrontery to avow their disbelief.”
Decatur’s charge roused much ill feeling, and remained a subject of extreme delicacy with the people of New London. Perhaps Decatur would have done better not to make such an assertion until he could prove its truth. That blue lights, as well as other lights, were often seen, no one denied; but whether they came from British or from American hands, or were burned on sea or on shore, were points much disputed. The town of New London was three miles from the river’s mouth, and Decatur’s squadron then lay at the town. At that distance the precise position of a light in line with the British fleet might be mistaken. Decatur’s report, if it proved anything, proved that the signals were concerted, and were burnt from “both the points at the river’s mouth.” If the British admiral wanted information, he could have found little difficulty in obtaining it; but he would hardly have arranged a system of signals as visible to Decatur as to himself. Even had he done so, he might have employed men in his own service as well as Americans for the purpose. Decatur’s letter admitted that he had made great exertions to detect the culprits, but without success.
The rigor of the British blockade extended no farther north than the Vineyard and Nantucket. Captain Broke in the “Shannon,” with a companion frigate, cruised off Boston harbor rather to watch for ships-of-war than to interfere with neutral commerce. Along the coast of Maine an illicit trade with the British provinces was so actively pursued that one of the few American sloops-of-war, the “Enterprise,” cruised there, holding smugglers, privateers, and petty marauders in check. On no other portion of the coast would an armed national vessel have been allowed to show itself, but the “Enterprise,” protected by the bays and inlets of Maine, and favored by the absence of a blockade, performed a useful service as a revenue cutter. She was not a first-rate vessel. Originally a schooner, carrying twelve guns and sixty men, she had taken part in the war with Tripoli. She was afterward altered into a brig, and crowded with sixteen guns and a hundred men. In 1813 she was commanded by Lieutenant William Burrows, a Pennsylvanian, who entered the navy in 1799, and, like all the naval heroes, was young,—not yet twenty-eight years old.
On the morning of September 5, as the “Enterprise” was cruising eastward, Burrows discovered in a bay near Portland a strange brig, and gave chase. The stranger hoisted three English ensigns, fired several guns, and stood for the “Enterprise.” Perhaps escape would have been impossible; but the British captain might, without disgrace, have declined to fight, for he was no match for the American. The “Enterprise” measured about ninety-seven feet in length; the “Boxer,” as the British brig was named, measured about eighty-four. The “Enterprise” was nearly twenty-four feet in extreme width; the “Boxer” slightly exceeded twenty-two feet. The “Enterprise” carried fourteen eighteen-pound carronades and two long-nines; the “Boxer” carried twelve eighteen-pound carronades and two long-sixes. The “Enterprise” had a crew of one hundred and two men; the “Boxer” had only sixty-six men on board. With such odds against him, the British captain might have entertained some desperate hope of success, but could not have expected it.
The behavior of Captain Blyth of the “Boxer” showed consciousness of his position, for he nailed his colors to the mast, and told his men that they were not to be struck while he lived. The day was calm, and the two brigs manœuvred for a time before coming together; but at quarter-past three in the afternoon they exchanged their first broadside within a stone’s throw of one another. The effect on both vessels was destructive. Captain Blyth fell dead, struck full in the body by an eighteen-pound shot. Lieutenant Burrows fell, mortally wounded, struck by a canister shot. After another broadside, at half-past three the “Enterprise” ranged ahead, crossed the “Boxer’s” bow, and fired one or two more broadsides, until the “Boxer” hailed and surrendered, her colors still nailed to the mast.
Considering the disparity of force, the two brigs suffered nearly in equal proportion. The “Boxer” lost seven men killed or mortally wounded; the “Enterprise” lost four. The “Boxer” had thirteen wounded, not fatally; the “Enterprise” had eight. The “Boxer’s” injuries were not so severe as to prevent her captors from bringing her as a prize to Portland; and no incident in this quasi-civil war touched the sensibilities of the people more deeply than the common funeral of the two commanders,—both well known and favorites in the service, buried, with the same honors and mourners, in the graveyard at Portland overlooking the scene of their battle.
Neither the battle between the “Enterprise” and “Boxer,” nor any measures that could be taken by sea or land, prevented a constant traffic between Halifax and the New England ports not blockaded. The United States government seemed afraid to interfere with it. The newspapers asserted that hundreds of Americans were actually in Halifax carrying on a direct trade, and that thousands of barrels of flour were constantly arriving there from the United States in vessels carrying the Swedish or other neutral flag. In truth the government could do little to enforce its non-intercourse, and even that little might prove mischievous. Nothing could be worse than the spirit of the people on the frontier. Engaged in a profitable illicit commerce, they could only be controlled by force, and any force not overwhelming merely provoked violence or treason. The Navy Department had no vessels to send there, and could not have prevented their capture if vessels in any number had been sent. The Secretary of War had abandoned to the State governments the defence of the coast. When Armstrong allotted garrisons to the various military districts, he stationed one regiment, numbering three hundred and fifty-two effectives, besides two hundred and sixty-three artillerists, in Military District No. 1, which included the whole coast north of Cape Cod, with the towns of Boston, Marblehead, Salem, Gloucester, Portsmouth, Portland, and Eastport. Such a provision was hardly sufficient for garrisoning the fort at Boston. The government doubtless could spare no more of its small army, but for any military or revenue purpose might almost as well have maintained in New England no force whatever.