At the prospect of being able to fight back, his men revived again, and a cheer ran along the shattered decks.
As the running-gear of the enemy was still intact, they easily kept out of the Essex’s way, the Phoebe edged off, and, choosing her distance, kept up her tremendous firing. Putting his helm hard down, Captain Porter, finding the wind had shifted slightly, determined to run his ship on shore, land the crew, and blow her up. He approached once more within musket-shot of the sandy beach, when, in an instant, the wind shifted from the land, as if the British had bribed the elements, and once more the Essex was driving down upon the Phoebe. But her tiller-ropes were shot away, and the poor hulk was totally unmanageable.
At this moment one of the strangest incidents of the whole affair occurred.
Lieutenant Downes of the Essex Junior, which still lay at her old anchorage under the guns at the battery, loaded one of his boats and rowed through the fierce fusillade down to his superior officer. He came on board through a port, but his services could be of no avail. After a consultation, Porter ordered him to return to his own ship, and be prepared for defending her or destroying her in case of an attack. So Downes loaded his boat with wounded, and, leaving some of his crew on board the Essex to make room for them, he started to make his way back to his own little vessel. The enemy did not respect his cargo or his gallant action, but opened a hot fire upon him as he returned. Luckily, however, the small cutter escaped swamping, and the men at the long oars jumped her through the water at a rapid rate, despite the plashing of the bullets all around them.
Horrible now was the position of the American frigate. Her commander, in his desperation, persisted in the almost hopeless conflict, and succeeded, by bending a hawser to the sheet-anchor, in bringing his ship’s head around; the few remaining guns of his broadside opened once more, and, strange to say, the Phoebe, which received this last and almost expiring effort, was beaten off; but the hawser parted, and with it failed the last hope of the Essex.
The flames that had started on her gun-deck and in her hold were bursting up the hatchways; a bundle of cartridges exploded, killing two men; and word was given out that the fire was near the magazine! Every boat was cut to pieces; it was three-quarters of a mile from shore.
Thinking that the ship might blow up at any moment, Porter gave orders to those who could swim to jump overboard and make for land.
The few remaining on board with the commander extinguished the fire. Porter immediately summoned a consultation of his officers, and was surprised to find that only one responded—Acting Lieutenant Stephen Decatur McKnight; the others were killed, or below, disabled by their wounds.
The late Admiral Farragut, who was a midshipman on board the Essex, had displayed wonderful courage throughout the engagement. He was one of the few midshipmen who were able to keep the deck.
Nothing could be done. The enemy in the smooth water had chosen their distance, and were firing by divisions in a deliberate, careful way, with coolness and accuracy. Almost every shot struck, and at twenty minutes past six Captain Porter, almost weeping from the excess of his grief, gave orders to strike the colors. It is probable that the enemy did not perceive his action; for ten minutes longer the terrible destruction continued; and once more, thinking that Hillyar was going to show no quarter, the brave American was about to hoist his flag again and fight until he sank, when the fire of the enemy suddenly ceased.