Johnston Blakeley.
From an engraving by Gimbrede.
No finer crew by nature than that of the Wasp ever sailed from any port. She was commanded by Master-Commandant Johnston Blakeley, of Wilmington, North Carolina. He had not in any way especially distinguished himself thus far in the war, but that no mistake was made in giving him the command was evident later on. First Lieutenant James Reilly and Third Lieutenant Frederick Baury had served in the Constitution when she captured both the Guerrière and the Java, while Second Lieutenant T. G. Tillinghast was the second lieutenant of the Enterprise when she whipped the Boxer. Of the younger officers not a man but was worthy of his place, and as for the crew they were to a man Americans, and almost all of them Yankees of the Yankees—the typical New Englanders whose drawling, nasal style of speech has for time out of mind served English writers as an abundant source of amusement. That they talked about the “keows” and the “critters” need not be doubted. They were young haymakers and wood-choppers—very likely more than one-half of them were from the farms. As one of her officers wrote they were men “whose ages average only twenty-three years. The greatest part (are) so green, that is, unaccustomed to the sea, that they were sick for a week.” But that some of them had looked through the sights of a rifle at running deer, to the destruction of the deer, is also certain, as will appear farther on, and the back that could swing a scythe could lend vigor to the stroke of a cutlass or the lunge of a boarding-pike. They were not only good physically but mentally. They were from the “deestrict” schools, on one hand, and from “teown meetin’” on the other—they had common school educations, and they were independent-minded voters, while the traditions which their fathers had told them before the wide fireplaces of their log-cabin homes were of the deeds done along shore by British naval officers, beginning with that of the infamous Mowatt when nearby Portland (Falmouth) was burned in winter, and ending, very likely, when John Deguyo was taken by a press-gang from a Portland coaster when she was in the waters of New York Harbor. Unaccustomed to the sea they certainly were, but under such officers as they had, the training of a very few weeks served to fit them to meet “the pride of Plymouth” with honor to the gridiron flag. By the time the Wasp was in the mouth of the English Channel, the crew had forgotten their seasickness; they had learned that the stroke of the flail was not quite the best for a cutlass, though a pitchfork thrust was good enough for a boarding-pike. The men who had been accustomed to down the running deer and moose found no difficulty in hitting a target with either great gun or musket, even though the deck heaved and fell beneath their feet or their “roosting places” in the tops swayed through wide angles.
For a time the uncertainty as to the character of each ship sighted served to train their nerves, as the work of boarding the merchant ships, which were the only ones seen for a time, gave them experiences of another kind, and then came the day of trial—their first taste of blood.
It was on June 28, 1814. The early morning was dark and gloomy, but at 4.15 o’clock two sails were seen, and the Wasp spread all her canvas to a light northeast breeze and went slipping down for a look at them. A little later a new sail hove in sight on the weather beam and Captain Blakeley hauled up to look at her before pursuing the other two farther; for he was in the mouth of the English Channel and British war-ships of all sizes haunted all that region. The stranger was coming down for a look at the Wasp, and as she was plainly not a frigate the Wasp held up to meet her. And then, at 10 o’clock, the stranger hoisted English colors with private signals that Blakeley could not answer.
Thereafter the Yankee crew hauled and eased away and tacked in the hope of getting the weather gage of the enemy, but all in vain, for she was a handy brig and her captain was as able a seaman as was Captain Blakeley. Seeing this, at last, Captain Blakeley gave it up, and at 1.50 o’clock fired a gun to windward and hoisted the American flag. Instantly the stranger answered the challenge, and easing off her sheets she bore down upon the Wasp.
It was a gentle breeze that wafted her down over the greasy, dull-gray seas, but at 3.15 o’clock she was less than sixty yards away on the port (weather) quarter of the Wasp, and with a short twelve-pounder mounted on her forecastle she opened fire with both solid shot and grape. For eleven minutes her crew worked this gun while the Yankees stood at their stations in silence—the British fired five charges of shot and grape into the deck of the Wasp while the New England backwoodsmen under a Tarheel captain eyed the blasts unflinchingly. The Tarheel Blakeley had been waiting for the enemy to draw nearer. At 3.26 o’clock she had done so to his satisfaction, and shoving down his helm he luffed up as if to cross her bows and opened fire as his guns began to bear—the backwoods gunners had a target more than one hundred feet long lying less than sixty feet away. It was their first live sea target. They were not quite so firm-nerved as they were later—but for eight minutes they worked their guns with an energy and skill that were simply stunning, while the enemy with equal energy replied.
“The concussions of the explosions almost deadened what little way the vessels had on”—almost but not quite, and Blakeley hauled up his mainsail lest he cross the enemy’s bow too soon. The smoke rose up in huge volumes above the loftiest sails and rolled away in bulging clouds on every side, but the men at the great guns of the Wasp, peering through the sulphurous fog, hurled their shot with unerring accuracy, while those that were perched in the tops used their muskets to pick off the officers of the enemy, first of all.
It was a desperate struggle, but the weight of metal, as well as the superiority of marksmanship was found with the American crew. They had opened fire at 3.26 P.M., and at 3.34 P.M. the enemy’s sails had been so damaged that the Wasp’s mainsail was hauled up lest she drift clear across the stranger’s bow. And then for six minutes more the Yankees drove their shot through the splintering walls of the enemy “when, in consequence of her unmanageable state,” she “fell foul of the Wasp.” So says Allen, and so was the fact. “And in this position (she) became exposed to a destructive raking fire.”