The moon had now risen, and it was very light. Large crowds had gathered on the shore, but the castle displayed no intention of taking any part in the affair.
The commanders of His Britannic Majesty’s ships Plantagenet, Rota, and Carnation held a consultation. It resulted in a “most outrageous violation of the neutrality of a friendly port, and utter contempt of the laws of civilized nations,” to quote from the report of John G. Dabney, American consul at Fayal.
Angered at the result of their first attempt, the English threw all caution aside. They crowded as many men as possible into all the boats they had, armed them with carronades, swivels, and small-arms, and once more rowed down in two divisions; but Reid was waiting for them. The guns were double-shotted, and he moved two of the long nines from the other side across the deck and cut ports for them in the bulwarks. A tremendous action now began, which lasted about forty minutes. Never in any of the hostile meetings between the frigates or the fleets of the United States and England has such destruction and carnage been recorded, in proportion to the number engaged, as is shown by the loss of the British on this occasion. The fire from the brig cut away whole boats’ crews and almost destroyed the boats. It is estimated that about 400 men were divided among the flotilla of the attacking party. They fought bravely, but there is merit in being well prepared for defence. More than half of the British were either killed or wounded, “Long Tom,” the 25-pounder, doing terrible execution.
The outmost boats showed signs of giving up the contest. Those nearer the General Armstrong continued to fight desperately, but none had approached near enough to cut their way through the boarding nettings which Reid had strung along the sides.
Seeing that there was an intention to retire, if possible, on the part of the British, he slackened his fire. Two boats were drifting, however, beneath the quarter of the privateer. They were loaded with their own dead. From these two boats only seventeen men reached shore alive, and, with the exception of three, all of these were wounded.
The following day, from dawn until sunset, the British were occupied in burying their dead, among them being two lieutenants, one midshipman of the Rota, and the first lieutenant of the Plantagenet, who died of his wounds. The British endeavored to conceal the extent of the loss, but even they admit that they lost in killed and those who died of their wounds afterwards upward of one hundred and twenty-five officers and men.
The captain of the Rota, in his report, stated that he lost seventy men from his own ship.
It was claimed by the English that the first expedition of four boats, which was sent out early in the evening of the 26th, was merely a reconnoitring party, and had no hostile intentions; but it seemed a strange thing to reconnoitre at night an enemy’s vessel in a friendly port with one hundred and twenty armed men, a third as many again as were on board the American brig. There is no question, viewing the proceedings dispassionately, that they had hoped to take Reid by surprise.
To quote from Dabney’s report once more: “In vain can he [the British commander] expect by such subterfuge to shield himself from the indignation of the world and the merited resentment of his own government and nation for thus trampling on the sovereignty of their most ancient and faithful ally, and for the wanton sacrifice of British lives.”
The comparison of the loss sustained by the American and by the British sides is almost ridiculous—on the Armstrong two were killed and seven wounded. One of the former was Alexander O. Williams, of New York, the second lieutenant, an officer of bravery and merit. The first and third lieutenants, Messrs. Worth and Johnson, were wounded, and thus, strange to say, Captain Reid was deprived of the services of all of his junior officers, and was forced to conduct the defence alone.