The ships and sailors of old Salem

by Ralph Delahaye Paine

“My ship had received many injuries, and several had been killed and wounded; but my brave officers and men, notwithstanding the unfavorable circumstances under which we were brought to action and the powerful force opposed to us, were in no way discouraged; and all appeared determined to defend their ship to the last extremity, and to die in preference to a shameful surrender. Our gaff with the ensign and the motto flag at the mizzen had been shot away, but ‘Free Trade and Sailors’ Rights’ continued to fly at the fore. Our ensign was replaced by another and to guard against a similar event an ensign was made fast in the mizzen rigging, and several jacks were hoisted in different parts of the ship.”

After hauling off to repair damages both the Phoebe and the Cherub stationed themselves on the starboard quarter of the Essex where her short carronades could not reach them and where her stern guns could not be brought to bear, for she was still at her forced anchorage. All the halyards of the Essex had been shot away, except those of the flying jib and with this sail hoisted the cable was cut and the stricken Yankee frigate staggered seaward with the intention of laying the Phoebe on board and fighting at close quarters.

For only a short time was Porter able to use his guns to advantage, however, for the Cherub was able to haul off at a distance and pound the Essex while the Phoebe picked her own range and shot the helpless frigate to pieces with her long eighteen-pounders. In the words of David Porter which seem worthy of quotation at some length:

“Many of my guns had been rendered useless by the enemy’s shot, and many of them had their whole crews destroyed. We manned them again from those which were disabled and one gun in particular was three times manned—fifteen men were slain in the course of the action. Finding that the enemy had it in his power to choose his distance, I now gave up all hope of closing with him and as the wind for the moment seemed to favour the design, I determined to run her on shore, land my men, and destroy her.”

But the wind shifted from landward and carried the Essex toward the Phoebe, “when we were again exposed to a dreadful raking fire. My ship was now totally unmanageable; yet as her head was toward the enemy and he to leeward of me, I still hoped to be able to board him.” This attempt failed, and a little later, the ship having caught fire in several places, “the crew who had by this time become so weakened that they all declared to me the impossibility of making further resistance, and entreated me to surrender my ship to save the wounded, as all further attempt at opposition must prove ineffectual, almost every gun being disabled by the destruction of their crew.

“I now sent for the officers of division to consult them and what was my surprise to find only acting Lieutenant Stephen Decatur M’Knight remaining ... I was informed that the cockpit, the steerage, the wardroom and the berth deck could contain no more wounded, that the wounded were killed while the surgeons were dressing them, and that if something was not speedily done to prevent it, the ship would soon sink from the number of shot holes in her bottom. On sending for the carpenter he informed me that all his crew had been killed or wounded....

“The enemy from the smoothness of the water and the impossibility of reaching him with our carronades and the little apprehension that was excited by our fire, which had now become much slackened, was enabled to take aim at us as at a target; his shot never missed our hull and my ship was cut up in a manner which was perhaps never before witnessed; in fine, I saw no hopes of saving her, and at 20 minutes after 6 P. M. I gave the painful order to strike the colours. Seventy-five men, including officers, were all that remained of my whole crew after the action capable of doing duty and many of them severely wounded, some of them whom have since died. The enemy still continued his fire, and my brave, though unfortunate companions were still falling about me. I directed an opposite gun to be fired to show them we intended no farther resistance, but they did not desist; four men were killed at my side, and others at different parts of the ship. I now believed he intended to show us no quarter, that it would be as well to die with my flag flying as struck, and was on the point of again hoisting it when about 10 minutes after hauling down the colours he ceased firing.”

Of a crew of 255 men who went into action, the Essex lost in killed, wounded, and missing no fewer than 153 officers, seamen and marines, including among the list of “slightly wounded” no less a name than that of “David G. Farragut, midshipman,” who was destined to serve his country a full half century longer on the sea before his great chance should come to him on the quarterdeck of the Hartford in the Civil War.

Captain David Porter had been overmatched, fighting his crippled ship against hopeless odds until his decks were such an appalling scene of slaughter as has been recorded of few naval actions in history. But the Salem-built frigate Essex had fulfilled her destiny in a manner to make her nation proud unto this day of the men who sailed and fought her in the harbor of Valparaiso, many thousand miles from the New England shipyard where a patriotic town of seafarers had united with one common purpose to serve their country as best they could.

There was grief and indignation beyond words when the tidings reached Salem that the Essex had been taken, and bitter wrath against England was kindled by the conviction, right or wrong, that Commodore Hillyar had not played the part of an honorable foe in pitting both his fighting ships against the Yankee frigate. This impression was confirmed by that part of Captain Porter’s official report which read: