After reaching Angostura he remained twenty days. Yellow fever was raging, and Perry seems to have been singularly indifferent to this fact. Fever broke out on the schooner, and it was then determined to get back to the sea as soon as possible. As they dropped down the river with the powerful current two days after leaving Angostura, Perry got into his gig, and amused himself shooting wildfowl on the banks. He was exposed to the sun, and that night, after going aboard the schooner, which was anchored on the bar at the mouth of the river, the weather grew bad, with a heavy sea, which washed over the side and leaked down into Perry's cabin, drenching him. Next morning he was very ill.
From the first he felt that he should not recover, and, although calmly preparing for death, spoke often of his young wife and little children at home. He was very anxious to live until the schooner could reach Trinidad and he could, at least, die upon his ship. At last, on the 23d of August, the Nonesuch reached Port Spain, Trinidad, where the John Adams was at anchor. A boat put off at once from the frigate carrying the first lieutenant and other officers, in response to the signal from the schooner. They found Perry in the agonies of death on the floor of the little cabin. He survived long enough to show satisfaction at seeing them, and asked feebly about the ship; but in a little while the anxious watchers on the frigate saw the flag on the Nonesuch slowly half-masted,—Perry was no more.
He was buried at Trinidad with full military honors. Some years afterward a ship of war was sent by the government to bring back his remains to his native country. He sleeps at Newport, Rhode Island, near the spot where he was born; and the reputation he left behind him is that of a gallant, capable, and devoted officer.
THOMAS MACDONOUGH.
Thomas Macdonough may be called the Young Commodore; for he was an acting commodore at the age of thirty-one, when the modern naval officer is still in subordinate grades of rank. It is truly astonishing what wonders were accomplished by men in their first manhood in the early days of the American navy, and Macdonough had seen as much service as most veterans before his twenty-first birthday. He was a son of a Revolutionary officer, and was born in Delaware in 1783. His diffident and retiring disposition was early marked. Fenimore Cooper speaks of him in his midshipman days as "the modest but lion-hearted Macdonough." The words describe him admirably; for this quiet, silent midshipman was always to be found leading the forlorn hope,—"the lost children," as the French expressively call it.
Thomas Macdonough