Sir Philip Bowes Vere Broke, Bart.
From a lithograph of the portrait by Lane.
Meantime it should be told that Broke was showing himself one of the ablest captains in the British navy. He may have hated the Yankees but he did not despise them so much that he would not imitate them. He had for seven years commanded the Shannon, and in that time, and especially since war was declared by the United States, he had worked with his crew as a Hull, or a Decatur, or a Lawrence would have done. He called them his “Shannons.” He made them proud of their ship. He fitted sights to his guns and he offered prizes to successful marksmen. He tumbled empty casks into the sea, and then sailed around them while his gunners fired at them. He trained his marines and other topmen in the use of muskets until they could see through the sights before pulling the trigger. He was as proud of them as they were of him and of the ship, and the pride was justified on both sides.
Eventually opportunity offered, and he wrote a challenge to the Chesapeake to come out and fight—“ship to ship, to try the fortunes of our respective flags.” Unfortunately this letter was a long time in reaching Boston, and Lawrence never saw it. Had he received it he would have set a date that would have given him sufficient time to get his crew in hand. As it was, the report that a single British frigate was cruising to and fro off Boston light, plainly waiting for the Chesapeake, came to town and stirred the whole community into a patriotic glow.
What was Lawrence to do under the circumstances? He had himself in the Hornet cruised off Bahia, daring the nerveless Captain Greene of the Bonne Citoyenne to come out “ship to ship, to try the fortunes of our respective flags.” He had met the British Peacock and shot her gorgeous feathers out of sight. He had earned a glorious reputation for bravery and skill. He had come to think lightly of the skill, though not lightly of the valor of the enemy. There was but one thing that a man like him could do. He rejoiced at the chance to meet the enemy once more single-handed. Bainbridge and others advised him to wait until he had trained his crew, but he was unable to endure the thought of having the British deride him as he had derided Greene of the Bonne Citoyenne.
Barely waiting to complete the number of his crew, he spread his sails—indeed the last draft of men came on board and went directly to sheets, halyards, and the capstan, without stowing away their clothes and hammocks. The men did not know the officers even by sight. They did not know each other. They did not know their places at either the ropes or their guns. The Chesapeake was going to sea in so nearly the same condition as that in which she met the Leopard, that the unprejudiced student must see the resemblance. It was the folly of pride to go to meet any frigate in such fashion.
It was on the morning of June 1, 1813, that the Chesapeake sailed. A Nova Scotia negro, it is said, stood on the long wharf as the last boatload of the Chesapeake’s crew put off to board her, and called out to a friend:
“Good-by, Sam. You is gwine to Halifax befo’ you comes back to Bosting. Gib my lub to ’quirin’ friends, an’ tell ’em I’s very well.”
He was a wise prophet but a foolish darky. He told the truth and narrowly escaped death at the hands of a mob for doing so.
