The old hulk of the North Carolina now laid up at the Brooklyn Navy Yard and used as a magazine, receiving-ship, barracks, prison, and guard-house, gives little idea of the vision of life and beauty which the “seventy-four” of our fathers was.
The great ship, which then stirred the hearts of the nation moved under a mighty cloud of canvas, and mounted in three tiers one-hundred and two guns, which threw a mass of iron outweighing that fired by any vessel then afloat. Her battery exceeded by three hundred and four pounds that of the Lord Nelson—the heaviest British ship afloat and in commission. The weight of broadside shot thrown by the one larger craft before her—that of the Spanish Admiral St. Astraella Trinidad,[[5]] which Nelson sunk at Trafalgar,—fell short of that of the North Carolina. Our “wooden walls” were then high, and the stately vessel under her mass of snowy canvas was a sight that filled a true sailor with profound emotion. Mackenzie in his “Year in Spain” has fitly described his feelings as that sight burst upon him.
So perfect were the proportions, that her size was under-valued until men noticed carefully the great mass moving with the facility of a schooner. At the magic of the boatswain’s whistle, the anchor was cast and the great sails were folded up and hidden from view as a bird folding her wings.
It was highly beneficial to our commerce and American reputation abroad to send so magnificent a fleet into European waters as that commanded by Rodgers. In many ports of the Mediterranean Sea, the American flag, then bearing twenty-four stars, had never been seen. The right man and the right ships were now to represent us.
Perry joined the North Carolina July 26, 1824. She sailed in April, and arrived at Malaga, May 19, 1825. During three days she was inspected by the authorities and crowds of people, who were deeply impressed by the perfect discipline observed on the finest ship ever seen in those waters.
Gibraltar on June 7th, and Tangier, June 14th, were then visited, and by the 17th, the whole squadron, among which was the Cyane, assembled in the offing before the historic fortress near the pillars of Hercules, prior to a visit to the Greek Archipelago.
This too, was an epoch of vast ceremony and display on board ship. War and discipline of to-day, if less romantic and chivalrous are more business-like, more effective, but less spectacular. Mackenzie with a pen equal to that of his friend, N. P. Willis, has left us a graphic sketch of the receptions and departures of the Commodore. As we read his fascinating pages:
“The herculean form and martial figure of the veteran,” who as monarch reigned over “the hallowed region of the quarterdeck,” the “band of music in Moorish garb,” the “groups of noble looking young officers,” come again before us.
A “thousand eyes are fixed” on “the master spirit,” hats are raised, soldiers present arms, the “side boys” detailed at gangways to attend dignitaries,—eight to an admiral, four to a captain,—are in their places, and the blare of brazen tubes is heard as the commodore disembarks.
Perry, as executive officer, held the position which a writer with experience has declared to be the most onerous, difficult, and thankless of all. His duties comprised pretty much everything that needed to be done on deck. Whether in gold lace or epaulettes by day, or in oil-skin jacket with trumpet at night or in storm, Perry was regent of the ship and crew. Charles W. Morgan, afterwards commodore, was captain.