THE SAN JOSÉ AND THE GRASSHOPPER.
In 1807, off the coast of Spain, the Spanish brig San José struck to the British brig Grasshopper—having first run on shore—when the greater part of her crew escaped before she could be taken possession of. The affair is thus related:—
“At about half an hour after noon, having got within range, the Grasshopper opened a heavy fire of round and grape upon the brig. A running fight was maintained—about fifteen minutes of its close—until two P. M., when the latter, which was the Spanish brig-of-war San José, of ten 24-pounder carronades, and two long sixes, commanded by Lieutenant Don Antonio de Torres, ran on shore under Cape Negrete, and struck her colors. The greater part of her crew, which, upon leaving Carthagena, on the preceding evening, numbered 99 men, then swam on shore, and effected their escape.” 4 James, 374.
THE VAR AND THE BELLE POULE.
In 1809, in the Gulf of Velona, the French ship-of-war Var, struck to the British frigate Belle Poule, but before she could be taken possession of, the officers, and a greater part of the crew escaped. The action is described as follows:—
“On the 15th, at daybreak, the Var was discovered moored with cables to the fortress of Velona, mounting fourteen long 18 and 24-pounders, and upon an eminence above the ship, and apparently commanding the whole anchorage, was another strong fort. A breeze at length favoring, the Belle Poule, at one P. M., anchored in a position to take, or destroy the Var, and, at the same time, to keep in check the formidable force, prepared, apparently, to defend the French ship. The Belle Poule immediately opened upon the latter an animated and well-directed fire, and, as the forts made no efforts to protect her, the Var discharged a few random shots, that hurt no one, and then hauled down her colors. Before she could be taken possession of, her officers, and a greater part of her crew escaped to the shore.” 5 James, 154.
THE VIRGINIA AND THE CONGRESS.
In the year 1862, one Gideon Welles being Secretary of the Federal Navy, Admiral Buchanan, of the Confederate States Navy, in the engagement in Hampton Roads, already referred to, for another purpose, sunk the frigate Congress, and, before she could be taken possession of, the crew took to their boats and escaped. Buchanan did not claim that the crew of the Congress, that had thus escaped, were his prisoners; he only claimed that Commander Smith, and Lieutenant Pendergrast were his prisoners, he having taken possession of them, and they having escaped, in violation of the special parole, under which he had permitted them to return to their ship.
It thus appears, that, so far from its being the exception, it is the rule, in naval combats, for both ship and officers, and crew, to escape, after surrender, if possible. The enemy may prevent it by force, if he can, but if the escape be successful, it is a valid escape. I have thus far been considering the case, as though it were an escape with, or from a ship, which had not been fatally injured, and on board which the officers and crew might have remained, if they had thought proper. If the escape be proper in such a case as this, how much more must it be proper when, as was the case with the Alabama, the officers and crew of the ship are compelled to throw themselves into the sea, and struggle for their lives? Take my own individual case. The Federal Government complained of me because I threw my sword into the sea, which, as the Federal Secretary of the Navy said, no longer belonged to me. But what was I to do with it? Where was Mr. Welles’ officer, that he did not come to demand it? It had been tendered to him, and would have belonged to him, if he had had the ability, or the inclination to come and take it. But he did not come. I did not betake myself to a boat, and seek refuge in flight. I waited for him, or his boat, on the deck of my sinking ship, until the sea was ready to engulf me. I was ready and willing to complete the surrender which had been tendered, but as far as was then apparent, the enemy intended to permit me to drown. Was I, under these circumstances, to plunge into the water with my sword in my hand and endeavor to swim to the Kearsarge? Was it not more natural, that I should hurl it into the depths of the ocean in defiance, and in hatred of the Yankee and his accursed flag? When my ship went down, I was a waif upon the waters. Battles and swords, and all other things, except the attempt to save life, were at an end. I ceased from that moment to be the enemy of any brave man. A true sailor, and above all, one who had been bred to arms, when he found that he could not himself save me, as his prisoner, should have been glad to have me escape from him, with life, whether by my own exertions, or those of a neutral. I believe this was the feeling, which, at that moment, was in the heart of Captain Winslow. It was reserved for William H. Seward to utter the atrocious sentiment which has been recorded against him, in these pages. Mr. Seward is now an old man, and he has the satisfaction of reflecting that he is responsible for more of the woes which have fallen upon the American people, than any other citizen of the once proud republic. He has worked, from first to last, for self, and he has met with the usual reward of the selfish—the contempt and neglect of all parties. He has need to utter the prayer of Cardinal Wolsey, and to add thereto, “Forgive, O Lord! him who never did forgive.”
With the permission of the reader, I will make another brief reference to Naval History, to show how gallant men regard the saving of life, from such disasters during battle, as befell the Alabama; how, in other words, they cease to be the enemies of disarmed men, struggling against the elements for their lives.