United States, Congress, Argus, and Hornet, about one-third of the whole sea-worthy naval force of the nation, moved out into the ocean.
The British man-of-war, Belvidera, was cruising off Nantucket shore awaiting the French privateer, Marengo, hourly expected from New London. Captain Byron had heard of the likelihood of war from a New York pilot, and his crew was ready for emergencies. At eight o’clock next morning, the look-out on the President when off Nantucket Shoal, caught sight of a strange frigate. Every stitch of canvas was put on the masts and stays, and a race, which was kept up all day, was begun. The President, being just out, was heavily loaded, and, until afternoon, the Belvidera by lightening ship kept well ahead. When it became evident to Captain Byron, the British commander, that he must fight, he ordered the deck cleared, ran out four stern guns, two of which were eighteen pounders and on the main deck. He hoisted his colors at half past twelve. His cartridges were picked, but his fusing was not laid on. This was to avoid a President and Little Belt experience. By half past four, the President’s bow-chaser, or “Long Tom,” was within six hundred yards distance, and the time for firing the first gun of the war had come. The long years of patient waiting and self-control, under insults, were over. The question of the freedom of the seas was to be settled by artillery.
Commodore Rodgers desiring the personal honor of firing the first hostile shot afloat, took his station at the starboard forecastle gun. Perry, a boy of seventeen, stood beside ready, eager, and cool. Waiting till the right moment, the commodore applied the match. The ball struck the Belvidera in the stern coat and passed through, lodging in the ward-room. The corresponding gun on the main deck was then discharged, and the ball was seen to strike the muzzle of one of the enemy’s stern-chasers. The third shot killed two men and wounded five on the Belvidera. With such superb gunnery, the war of 1812 opened. A few more such shots, and the prize would have been in hand.
It was not so to be. Nothing is more certain than the unexpected. A slip came between sight and taste, changing the whole situation.
Commodore Rodgers with his younger officers stood on the forecastle deck with glasses leveled to see the effect of the shot from the next gun on the deck beneath them. It was in charge of Lieutenant Gamble. On the match being applied, it burst. The Commodore was thrown into the air and his leg broken by the fall. Matthew Perry was wounded, several of the sailors were killed, and the forecastle deck was damaged badly. Sixteen men were injured by this accident. The firing on the American ship ceased for some minutes, until the ruins were cleared away, and the dead and wounded were removed. Meanwhile the stern guns of the Belvidera were playing vigorously, and, during the whole action, this busy end of the British vessel was alive with smoke and flame. No fewer than three hundred shot were fired, killing or wounding six of the President’s crew though hurting the ship but slightly, notwithstanding that, for two and a half hours, she lay in a position favorable for raking. Having no pivot guns, but hoping to cripple his enemy by a full broadside, Commodore Rodgers, when the President had forged ahead, veered ship and gave the enemy his full starboard fire. Failing of this purpose, he delivered another broadside at five o’clock, which was as useless as the other. He then ordered the sails set and continued the chase. To offset this advantage in his enemy, the British captain, equal to the situation, ordered the pumps to be manned, stores, anchors and boats to be heaved overboard to rid the ship of every superfluous pound of matter. Fourteen tons of water were started and, lightened of much metal and wood, the British ship gained visibly on her opponent. This continued until six, when the wind, being very light, Rodgers, in the hope of disabling his antagonist, “yawed” again and fired two broadsides. These, to the chagrin of the gallant commodore, fell short or took slight effect. At seven o’clock, the Belvidera was beyond range and, near midnight, the chase was given up.
The escaping vessel got safely to Halifax carrying thither the news that war had been declared and the Yankee cruisers were loose on the main. Instead of the electric cable which flashes the news in seconds, the schooner Mackerel took dispatches, arriving at Portsmouth July 25th.
Following the trail left in the “pathless ocean” by the crumbs that fell from the British table—fruit rinds, orange skins and cocoa-nut shells, the American frigate followed the game until within twenty-four hours of the British channel. It was now time to be off. The West India prize was lost.
Turning prow to Maderia, Funchal was passed July 27th. Sail was then made for the Azores. Few ships were seen, but fogs were frequent. Baffled in his desire to meet an enemy having teeth to bite, Rodgers would have still kept his course, but for a fire in the rear. An enemy, feared more than British guns, had captured the ship.
It was the scurvy. It broke out so alarmingly that he was obliged to hurry home at full speed. Passing Nantasket roads August 31st decks were cleared for action. A strange ship was in sight. It was the Constitution which a few days before had met and sunk their old enemy the Guerriere, two of whose prizes the President had recaptured.
In this, his first foreign cruise in a man-of-war, full as it was of exciting incidents, Perry had taken part in one battle, and the capture of seven British Merchant vessels. Driven home ingloriously by the chronic enemy of the naval household, he learned well a new lesson. He gained an experience, by which not only himself but all his crew down to the humblest sailor under his command, profited during the half century of his service. In those ante-canning days, more lives were lost in the navy by this one disease than by all other causes, sickness, battle, tempest or shipwreck. “From scurvy” might well have been a prayer of deliverance in the nautical litany.
Perry was one of the first among American officers to search into the underlying causes of the malady. He was ever a rigid disciplinarian in diet, albeit a generous provider. To the ignorant he seemed almost fanatical in his “anti-scorbutic” notions, though he was rather pleased than otherwise at the nick-name savoring of the green-grocer’s stall which Jack Tar with grateful facetiousness lavished on him.
Across sea, the American frigates were described by the English newspapers as “disguised seventy-fours;” and, forthwith, English writers on naval warfare began explaining how the incredible thing happened that British frigates had lowered their flag to apparent equals. These explanations have been diligently kept up and copied for the past seventy-five years. As late as the international rifle match of 1877 the words of the naval writer, James, learned by heart by Britons in their youth, came to the front in the staple of English editorials written to clear up the mystery of American excellence with the rifle—“The young peasant or back-woodsman carries a rifle barrel from the moment he can lift one to his shoulder.”
On the eighteenth of October, Rodgers left Boston with the President, Constitution, United States and Argus. Perry, unable to be idle, while the ships lay in Boston harbor, had opened a recruiting office in the city enlisting sailors for the President. Each vessel of the squadron was in perfect order. On the 10th, without knowing it, they passed near five British men-of-war. They chased a thirty-eight gun ship but lost her, but, on the 18th off the Grand Banks of Newfoundland captured the British packet Swallow, having on board eighty-one boxes of gold and silver to the value of $200,000. On the 30th they chased the Galatea and lost her. During the whole of November, they met with few vessels.
Nine prizes of little value were taken. They cruised eastward to Longitude 22 degrees west and southward to 17 degrees north latitude. They re-entered Boston on the last month of the year, 1812. It is no fault of Rodgers that he did not meet an armed ship at sea, and win glory like that gained by Hull, Bainbridge and Decatur. For Perry, fortune was yet reserving her favor and Providence a noble work.
Leaving Boston, April 30, the President crossed the Atlantic to the Azores, and thence moved up toward North Cape. In these icy seas, Rodgers hoped to intercept a fleet of thirty merchant vessels sailing from Archangel, July 15. Escaping after being chased eighty-four hours by a British frigate and a seventy-four, Rodgers returned from his Arctic adventures, and after a five months’ cruise cast anchor at Newport, September 27. Twelve vessels, with two hundred and seventy-one prisoners, had
