The sea was yet running very high, but a boat was manned and lowered away with a prize-crew, and made straight for the latest capture. When the heavily laden boat was a short distance from the Comet, around the bows of the captured ship came the man-of-war. She fired a broadside at the rowboat, and nearly swamped it there and then; half full of water, it returned to the Comet. Taking the boat’s crew on board once more, the privateer headed for the Portuguese. Captain Boyle’s blood was now up with a vengeance, and in the hot exchange that followed the bumptious foreigner had so much the worst of it that he withdrew from the engagement, and left the third English vessel to her fate. Like the others, the last hauled down her flag to save herself from further punishment. The situation was unusual. It was almost pitch-dark, and, heaving about to leeward, the three captured vessels were hardly discernible. The Bowes was taken possession of, she being the nearest, and the captain of the ship George, of Liverpool, reported that he could hardly keep his vessel afloat. The other brig, the Gambier, of Hull, was in much the same condition. Captain Boyle determined to stand by them both until daybreak.
As soon as it was light, it was seen that the little fleet had drifted in towards land, the wind having changed during the early morning. The Portuguese had once more joined them, and made a feint of desiring to fight again. The Comet sailed to meet her; but the brig turned tail, signalled the George and the Gambier to make for shore, and followed as quickly as she could. Captain Boyle did not overtake them, and the three reached Pernambuco in safety—the ship in a sinking condition, the brig likewise, and the cockpit of the man-of-war, which was badly cut up below and aloft, filled with dead and wounded. The Comet and the Bowes reached the United States in safety, the former making several more important captures, and sailing through the entire English blockading squadron in the Chesapeake Bay to her wharf in the city of Baltimore.
VII
THE “HORNET” AND THE “PEACOCK”
[February 24th, 1813]
MEDAL PRESENTED BY CONGRESS TO CAPTAIN JAMES LAWRENCE
After Commodore Bainbridge sailed southward from Bahia on the cruise in which he fell in with and captured His Britannic Majesty’s frigate Java, Captain Lawrence of the United States sloop Hornet had hoped to coax the Bonne Citoyenne, the English armed ship he was blockading, to leave the safe moorings which she kept so closely in the harbor of San Salvador. Captain Lawrence prayed each day that she might venture out and give his gunners a mark worthy of their skill. One morning, as the little Hornet was lifting and tugging at her anchor in the rough water at the entrance to the outer harbor, keeping a watchful eye on the spars of the Bonne Citoyenne and on those of another British packet of 12 guns that lay well inshore, a huge cloud of canvas came in sight to the eastward. Spar and sail she rose out of the horizon sky, until it was plainly seen that she was a line-of-battle ship flying the English flag. The Montagu (74) had heard the news of the Bonne Citoyenne’s plight, word having been brought to her as she lay in the harbor of Rio Janeiro. Immediately she had set sail for San Salvador to raise the blockade. Reluctantly Captain Lawrence, on sight of her, got up his anchor and slipped into the harbor. He did not stay there long, however, and, after tacking about some time, escaped to sea that same night at nine o’clock. There were no ships of the line in the American navy at that time, and, perforce, the only thing left for any of our cruisers to do was to give those of the enemy the widest berth. So Lawrence, in the Hornet, shifted his cruising-grounds and went out into blue water. On the 4th of February, 1813, he captured the British brig Resolution, of 10 guns, and, not caring to man her, he took out $23,000 in specie and set her on fire. Then for over a week the Hornet cruised to and fro off the coast of Maranham without sighting a single sail. On the 22d of February Lawrence stood for Demerara, and on the 24th he discovered a brig off to leeward. At once he gave chase, but running into shallow water, and having no pilot, he had to haul offshore, much to his disgust, as the other vessel made her way in near the mouth of the Demerara River, and anchored close to a small fort about two and a half leagues from the outer bar, where the Hornet had been forced to come about. As the latter had done so, however, her lookout had discovered a vessel at anchor half-way in towards the shore. A peep through the glass showed her to be a brig of war with the English colors flying. Captain Lawrence determined to get at her; but to do this he had to beat to windward to avoid a wide shoal on which the waves were breaking furiously. At 3 P.M., as he had about made up his mind that the vessel at anchor and the Hornet were surely to try conclusions, Lawrence discovered another sail on his weather-quarter and edging down towards him.
In a few minutes over an hour the new-comer hoisted English colors also, and was seen to be a large man-o’-war brig. The Hornet cleared for action. As was usual in all naval actions when the wind was the sole motive power, both vessels manoeuvred for a time, the Hornet trying to win the advantage of the weather-gage from her antagonist. But do his best Lawrence could not get it until another hour had passed; then finding that the Hornet was a better sailer than the English brig, he came about. The two vessels passed each other on different tacks at the distance of a few hundred feet—half pistol-shot.
Up to this time not a gun had been fired in the affair. But as they came abreast they exchanged broadsides, the Englishman going high, but the Hornet’s round and grape playing havoc with the enemy’s lower rigging. The brig held on for a few minutes, and then Lawrence discovered her to be in the act of wearing. He seized his opportunity, bore up, and receiving the starboard broadside, which did him little damage, he took a position close under the brig’s starboard quarter. So well directed was the vicious fire that was now poured into the English vessel that in less than fifteen minutes down came her flag. No sooner had it reached the deck, however, when another crawled up in the fore-rigging. It was an ensign, union down; the brig was sinking. The sea was heavy, and before a boat could be lowered down came the Englishman’s main-mast. Lieutenant Shubrick, who had been on the Constitution when she captured the Guerrière and the Java, put out in one of the Hornet’s boats, and soon reached the captured vessel’s side, and found that she was H.B.M. brig Peacock, 22 guns, commanded by Captain William Peake, who had been killed by the last broadside from the Hornet. There was not one moment to lose; six feet of water were in the hold, and the Peacock’s decks were crowded with dead and wounded. She was settling fast. Her anchor was let go, and the Hornet coming up, let go hers also close alongside. Every endeavor was now made to save life; the men who a few minutes before had been fighting one another pulled on the same rope together and manned the same boats. The Peacock’s guns were thrown overboard; such shot-holes as could be got at were plugged; but the water gained despite the furious men at the pumps and the bailing at the hatchways. The Peacock was doomed. The body of Captain Peake was carried into his cabin and covered with the flag he had died so bravely defending, to sink with her—“a shroud and sepulchre worthy so brave a sailor.” All but some of the slightly wounded had been removed, and there remained but a boat-load more to take off the lurching wreck, when she suddenly pitched forward and sank in five and a half fathoms, carrying down with her thirteen of her own crew and three American seamen—John Hart, Joseph Williams, and Hannibal Boyd. Fine old down-east names, mark you.
