The Belvidera began kedging at 10.30 o’clock in the morning. The Constitution had been at it for an hour already. Steadily the two crews labored at the heart-breaking task until 3 o’clock in the afternoon, when once more a zephyr from the south roughened the oily waves and then lifted first the royals of the Constitution and then the top-gallant sails. The heavy canvas of top-sails and courses would not swell to its weight, but the kites could pull her. It was a fitful, varying breath, but it lasted four hours, and during that time the Americans actually held the braces by which the sails were trimmed constantly in hand, while the brave old captain kept his eyes on the weather-vane and jockeyed her along as a racing skipper handles his yacht. It was a race for a stake such as has never been known on any coast, for it was a race for the life of a nation. Had Old Ironsides been captured while Rodgers was making his fruitless cruise, and imbeciles were leading worthless militia in a day-dream scheme of conquest toward Canada, the result would have been deadly.
As night came on (it was at 7 o’clock) this breeze failed once more. It then lacked less than an hour of a full day since the men had been called to quarters. For twenty-three hours they had stood at their guns, had made and taken in and trimmed sail, had lowered and rowed away and hoisted up boats, had carried out anchors and hauled on the cables till they gasped for breath. It had been a day to wear the life out of any ordinary man, but, as John Paul Jones said on the deck of the Bonhomme Richard, these could say now: “We have not yet begun to fight.” In spite of weariness, the instant the zephyr failed them these men once more dropped the boats and carried out the small anchors with the long lines and began again to claw their way clear of the enemy. Until 10.45 P.M. they worked with steady patience, and then another teasing zephyr came to fill the sails of the ship, and the boats except one were all hoisted clear of the water. During all this time the Guerrière and the Belvidera had fairly held their own, being aided by the men from the other ships. The Shannon had dropped back a deal, but the Eolus was not by any means far enough away to be ignored. But when the breeze came, the Belvidera got enough of the flaws of air to forge ahead, so that soon after daylight (at 4 o’clock) on the morning of July 19th she was well forward on the lee beam of the Constitution, and, tacking about, she stood for the Yankee. If the Constitution held fast as she was the Belvidera was sure to pass within easy gunshot astern and deliver a raking fire that would play havoc with spars and sails. If the Constitution tacked also, the Eolus, off on the Yankee’s weather-quarter, would have a chance of forging within gunshot. The Constitution was cornered and a choice had to be made.
Going about at 4.20 A.M. on the other tack, Captain Hull headed across the bows of the Eolus. He was now steering out to sea, and to the joy of the Americans the sails swelled under a faint improvement in the breeze. An hour later they were crossing ahead of the Eolus within range of long guns, but the Englishman did not open fire and the Constitution passed free. The Eolus when in the wake of the Constitution tacked, and then Captain Hull had the satisfaction of seeing the enemy once more all astern of him. It was not that he was out of danger. There were four frigates—the Belvidera, the Eolus, the Guerrière, and the Shannon—all after him, but he had escaped being surrounded. The line-of-battle-ship and the smaller craft had been left so far astern as to be out of the race.
For several hours after this the race was without incident, though so far as the eye could judge the Constitution gained slightly in the faint-air race, but at 9 o’clock a strange sail arrived within plain view to the southward. She was evidently bound to New York. To decoy her (for she looked like a Yankee) the Belvidera hoisted American colors, but Captain Hull stopped that game by hoisting the British ensign, whereat the merchantman braced up and escaped, while the Constitution slipped along with every thread drawing and the green water between her and the enemy slowly widening, until at noon the nearest one was estimated to be three and a half miles astern. The wide-beam, shoal-draft ship had the best of the race in a light air, as others have since had in races of less importance near the same ground.
Chase of the Constitution off the Jersey Coast.
From the painting by Inch at the Naval Academy, Annapolis.
The crew were now, for the first time, able to get some rest. Officers and men alike stretched out on deck and slept as men may who for thirty-six hours have worked for life, but the brave old sailor who commanded the ship stood to his post. Throughout the afternoon the lead of the Constitution was slightly increased, but at 4 o’clock the wind began to weaken, to the disadvantage of the flying Yankee, for she ran out of the breeze, and the enemy held it for a time after she lost it, and so drew up until within perhaps three miles. There was nothing to do now but get out all the boats to a tow-line, for the water was too deep for kedging.
And then came the last and most stirring event of the long race. A heavy cloud appeared away to southward and eastward, the first sign of one of the black squalls with which American coasters are over-familiar. A fearsome spectacle they are to the unaccustomed, nor do they lack weight of wind at any time, but to the men of the Constitution this squall was a Godsend.
Knowing very well what the Englishmen would think of the looks of the squall, Captain Hull kept his boats at their towing and sent the men about deck to the belaying pins, where sheets and tacks and halyards were made fast, while others stretched out clew-lines and bunt-lines, and downhauls. Standing so with everything in hand, he watched the coming cloud until the frothing spoondrift was within a mile, and the first faint breath of it was lifting the royals, and then to the shrill pipe of the boatswain called the boats alongside. As they were hooking on the tackles the blast struck the ship. Over she heeled as if to go on her beam ends, lifting the boats to windward clear of the water, while the men at the halyards and sheets let go all, and all hands clapped on to the clew-lines and downhauls and boat-tackles. In a moment the last sail had been clewed into a bunt, and the boats to windward and leeward were snatched to the davits and spars rigged to receive them.