style="font-size:15px;"> An American 44-gun frigate carried about 400 men. The pay appears ridiculously small, captains receiving but $100; masters-commandant, $75 a month; lieutenants’ pay was raised from $40 to $60. Midshipmen drew $19, an ordinary seaman $10, and a private of marines but $6 a month.
A 44-gun frigate was about 142 feet long, 38 feet 8 inches in breadth, and drew from 17 to 23 feet of water, according to her loading. An 18-gun sloop of war was between 110 and 122 feet in length, and drew 15 feet of water.
At the time of the declaration of war the officers holding captains’ commissions were: Alexander Murray, John Rodgers, James Barron (suspended), William Bainbridge, Hugh G. Campbell, Stephen Decatur, Thomas Tingey, Charles Stewart, Isaac Hull, Isaac Chauncey, John Shaw, John Smith — there was one vacancy. On the pay-rolls as masters-commandant we find David Porter, Samuel Evans, Jacob Jones, and James Lawrence.
It is hard to imagine nowadays the amount of bitterness, the extreme degree of hatred, that had grown up between America and Great Britain. Before the outbreak of hostilities, smarting under the defeats of ’76 and the struggle of the following years, with few exceptions English officers burned to show their contempt for the service of the new country whose flag was being sent about the world. During the presence of the American fleets under Preble and Bainbridge in the Mediterranean, insults were frequently forced upon them by the English. An anecdote which brings in one of our nation’s heroes will show plainly to what extent this feeling existed. From an American vessel of war anchored at Malta a number of the junior officers had obtained shore leave; among them was a tall, handsome lad, the brother of the commander of the Philadelphia. Orders had been given for the young gentlemen to mind their own affairs, to keep close together, and to pay no attention to the treatment they might receive from the officers of the English regiments or navy. Owing to the custom then holding, the man who had not fought a duel or killed a man in “honorable” meeting was an exception, even in our service. There was no punishment for duelling in either the army or navy, even if one should kill a member of his own mess, so there may be some excuse for the disobedience, or, better, disregard, of the order given to the midshipmen before they landed. There was an English officer at Malta, a celebrated duellist, who stated to a number of his friends, when he was informed that the American young gentlemen had landed, that he would “bag one of the Yankees before ten the next morning.” He ran across them in the lobby of a playhouse, and, rudely jostling the tallest and apparently the oldest, he was surprised at having his pardon begged, as if the fault had been the other’s. So he repeated his offence, and emphasized it by thrusting his elbow in “the Yankee’s” face.
This was too much. The tall midshipman whipped out his card, the Englishman did likewise. A few words and it was all arranged. “At nine the next morning, on the beach below the fortress.” As he turned, the middy saw one of his senior lieutenants standing near him. He knew that it would be difficult to get ashore in the morning, and he made up his mind that, as the chances were he would never return to his ship at all, he would not go back to her that night. But what was his dismay when the officer approached and ordered him and all of his party to repair on board their vessel. Of course the rest of the youngsters knew what had occurred, and they longed to see how their comrade would get out of the predicament. He had to be on shore! But as he sat in the stern-sheets the lieutenant, not so many years his senior, bent forward. “I shall go ashore with you at nine o’clock to-morrow, if you will allow me that honor,” he said, quietly. Now this young officer was a hero with the lads in the steerage, and the middy’s courage rose.
At nine o’clock the next morning he stood in a sheltered little stretch of beach with a pistol in his hand, and at the word “Fire!” he shot the English bully through the heart. The midshipman’s name was Joseph Bainbridge, a brother of the Bainbridge of Constitution fame, and his second upon this occasion was Stephen Decatur.
This encounter was but one of many such that took place on foreign stations between American and English officers. The latter at last became more respectful of the Yankees’ feelings, be it recorded.
The following series of articles is not intended as a history of the navy, but as a mere account of the most prominent actions in which the vessels of the regular service participated. Two affairs in which American privateers took part are introduced, but of a truth the doings of Yankee privateersmen would make a history in themselves.
It will be noticed that the names of several vessels occur frequently, and we can see how the Constitution won for herself the proudest title ever given to a ship — “Old Ironsides” — and how the victories at sea united the American nation as one great family in rejoicing or in grief. To this day there will be found songs and watchwords in the forecastles of our steel cruisers that were started at this glorious period. “Remember the Essex!” “Don’t give up the ship!” “May we die on deck!” are sayings that have been handed down, and let us hope that they will live forever.
I
THE THREE-DAYS CHASE OF THE “CONSTITUTION”
[July 17th, 18th, 19th, 1812]
If during the naval war of 1812 any one man won laurels because he understood his ship, and thus triumphed over odds, that man was Captain Hull, and the ship was the old Constitution.
Returning from a mission to Europe during the uncertain, feverish days that preceded the declaration of war between England and America, Hull had drawn into the Chesapeake to outfit for a cruise. He had experienced a number of exciting moments in European waters, for everything was in a turmoil and every sail suspicious — armed vessels approached one another like dogs who show their fangs.
Although we were at peace, on more than one occasion Hull had called his men to quarters, fearing mischief. Once he did so in an English port, for he well remembered the affair of the Leopard and the Chesapeake.
At Annapolis he shipped a new crew, and on July 12th he sailed around the capes and made out to sea. Five days later, when out of sight of land, sailing with a light breeze from the northeast, four sail were discovered to the north, heading to the westward. An hour later a fifth sail was seen to the northward and eastward. Before sunset it could be declared positively that the strangers were vessels of war, and without doubt English. The wind was fair for the nearest one to close, but before she came within three miles the breeze that had brought her up died out, and after a calm that lasted but a few minutes the light wind came from the southward, giving the Constitution the weather-gage.
And now began a test of seamanship and sailing powers, the like of which has no equal in history for prolonged excitement. Captain Hull was almost alone in his opinion that the Constitution was a fast sailer. But it must be remembered, however, that a vessel’s speed depends upon her handling, and with Isaac Hull on deck she had the best of it.
All through the night, which was not dark, signals and lights flashed from the vessels to leeward. The Constitution, it is claimed by the English, was taken for one of their own ships. She herself had shown the private signal of the day, thinking perhaps that the vessel near to hand might be an American.
Before daybreak three rockets arose from the ship astern of the Constitution, and at the same time she fired two guns. She was H. M. S. Guerrière, and, odd to relate, before long she was to strike her flag to the very frigate that was now so anxious to escape from her. Now, to the consternation of all, as daylight broadened,
