Late in the fall of 1813 a little American brig made her way up the coast with a cargo that had once been consigned to some British merchants in the West Indies.

The little brig had also, a few months previously, flown the British flag, but now she came drifting into the harbor of New York under a prize-master and his crew, for she had been taken in the Gulf of Mexico by one of the privateers that had outfitted from New York.

She brought the news that only a short time before her capture three smart English vessels had stopped at the port in which she had lain at anchor. Two of these three vessels were sent from England on a special mission; it was intended that they should round the Horn and cruise in company in the Pacific Ocean in search of the frigate Essex, that had spread terror from China to South America, and had chased the British shipping off the western ocean.

On the 27th of October, 1812, the Essex, under the command of David Porter, a fearless and persistent fighter, had set sail from the United States on a cruise to the southward, his orders being to join Bainbridge, his superior in the Constitution. The coast of Brazil was then the cruising-ground for a large force of English ships of war.

Porter, hearing that Bainbridge, after his action with the Java, had been forced to return to the United States, determined to make his way around the continent into the blue waters of the Pacific. He had made one important capture a few days before arriving at this last decision, having taken the Nocton, one of King George’s packets. On board of her were found eleven thousand pounds in specie.

After suffering severe hardships and meeting with many adverse winds and tides in rounding the Horn, Porter at last made his way along the harborless western coast, and arrived at Valparaiso on the 14th of March, 1813.

The Essex’s crew had been on short allowance of water and small rations, but not a murmur of dissatisfaction had been raised throughout the voyage.

Having rested and victualled his ship, in a short time Porter hoisted his anchors, spread his sails, and sailed out to sea again.

He had been out but a few days when he came across a Peruvian corsair. Ordering her to heave to, he boarded her, and found, to his astonishment, that she had on board twenty-four American sailors, the crews of two whaling ships which she had taken on the coast of Chili. When asked to explain his conduct, the Peruvian captain answered that, in view of the fact that his country was an ally of Great Britain, and that war was soon to be declared between Spain and America, he had taken matters into his own hand. Porter, much incensed, released the American sailors, and having thrown all the ammunition and guns of the rather previous pirate overboard, he was let go, with a letter to the Viceroy, complaining of his conduct.

Just before the Essex entered the harbor of Lima she overhauled one of the corsair’s prizes, replaced her crew on board of her, and sent them on their way to New Bedford rejoicing.

For a year the Essex cruised up and down the coast of South America, extending her voyages far to the westward, to the various islands, which were visited then infrequently by traders and whaling vessels.

During this cruise she frightened British commerce entirely from these waters, and the strange spectacle of seeing one ship in control of a vast territory was presented to the eyes of the world. The British Admiralty were vexed and astounded beyond measure. Here one day and there the next, Porter appeared to be in command of a fleet instead of a single frigate.

He had fitted one of the captured British whalers as a tender, and named her the Essex Junior, placing her under the command of Lieutenant Downes, giving her an armament of ten 18-pound carronades and ten short sixes, with a complement of sixty men.

At last, tiring of capturing merchantmen and glutted with the spoils of easy victories, Porter decided to look for larger game; for the news had been brought to him that the vessels which the little brig had reported at New York so long before were on their way, sailing under orders to find him at all hazards.

His ship required repairing, and therefore he sailed, accompanied by his convoy of prizes, to the island of Nookaheeva, one of the Washington group, that had been discovered by Captain Ingraham, of Boston. Porter took possession in the name of the United States, renaming it “Madison Island.”

Here he cached many of his stores, and anchored three of the prizes well inshore. Erecting a small battery in a good position to command the small harbor, Lieutenant Gamble, of the marines, and twenty-one men were left with orders to proceed to Valparaiso after a certain period. Two of the captures were given up to the prisoners and sent to England. Three had been sent to America, and some were already anchored in the neutral port of Valparaiso. It was December 12th when Porter set sail from Madison Island for the coast of Chili. The Essex Junior followed in his wake.

He arrived safely in the harbor, and had been there but a short time, overhauling his spars and running-gear, when two sail came in from the westward; they were the Phoebe, under the command of Captain Hillyar, and the Cherub, sloop of war—both strongly armed and manned with picked crews—the very ships that had been sent out to look for the Essex.

No sooner had they come into sight of the long headland than they found the frigate they were so eager to meet, within a short distance of them. Then it was plain that they were not going to allow her to escape.

The British vessels, as they came down the harbor upon their first entrance, sailed quite close to the American—so close, indeed, that, in endeavoring to come about, the Phoebe missed stays and fell afoul of the Essex, presenting herself in position to be raked fore and aft; but Porter respected the neutrality of the port and restrained his fire.

Had he known what was going to happen within the next few weeks, there probably would have been a different termination to the Essex’s glorious cruise.

The divisions were all at quarters, matches burning, and it was with difficulty that the feverish seamen could be held in check.

So close were the ships that the men standing at the guns on the British vessels could be easily seen, even taunts were exchanged and grimaces were made over the bulwarks and through the open ports.

Sailing across to the other side of the harbor, and tacking again, the British vessels anchored near the entrance.

Now for some time ensued a remarkable condition of affairs. The commanders met on shore and exchanged gravely the courtesies which navy men extended to one another in those days, belligerents though they were. The shore parties of both forces meeting in town, under strict orders, for a wonder, managed to keep from fighting, but they were itching to be at it.

Porter had long flown a flag of his own with the motto, “Free Trade and Sailors’ Rights.”

But, as if not to be outdone, the British commander threw to the air his strips of bunting with a motto of his own: “God and Country. British Sailors’ Best Rights. Traitors Offend Both.” (It was a fallacy of the British that our ships were manned by deserters from the royal service.)

The sail-maker and his assistant were soon at work on board the American, and from the mizzen-mast of the Essex appeared the next morning:

“God, Our Country, and Liberty. Tyrants Offend Them.”

Many times had Porter tried to get a challenge from Captain Hillyar (as the Essex was the weaker vessel, he was not in a position to offer the challenge himself), and he let it be well understood that he would meet the Phoebe, in open combat, and would agree that the Essex Junior should take no hand, on the condition that the Cherub also should remain inactive.

The prudence of Captain Hillyar cannot but be commended. He was under strict orders not to run any risks; he knew his enemy was at his mercy; but the Essex had been put down, as most of our cruisers were in those days, as “a dangerous nondescript,” to quote from the British press of the time. In fact, many British frigates in the Atlantic waters, where the Constitution had gained her laurels, kept near to the great towering battle-ships—guard-ships, they were called.

It was all arranged that if the Essex should show a tendency to make her way to sea, the Phoebe and Cherub would attack her simultaneously. That was their idea in sailing in each other’s company.

Fearing that Porter might take advantage of a favorable wind to slip past them if they remained at anchor, Captain Hillyar left the harbor, and with the Phoebe proceeded to sea, where both ships patrolled up and down like sentries at a prison gate.

The united force of the English vessels amounted to eighty-one guns and five hundred men, in addition to which they had taken on board for the nonce the crew of an English letter-of-marque that was then lying in port.

The force of the Essex consisted of 46 guns, all of which, except six long twelves, were 32-pound carronades, and useless except in close fighting. Her crew, much reduced by the manning of her many prizes, consisted of but two hundred and fifty men. The armament of the Essex Junior we have named before.

It was evident that as long as the British vessels remained where they were, the Essex was as good as captured. Something must be done, and with such a commander as Porter the boldest plan was the most attractive.

Many incidents had occurred to break the monotony of the blockade. Many times had he left his anchorage, spread his sails, and made a feint of leaving the harbor, and in all these trials he had found that his ship could give the others points and beat them, so far as sailing went.

On one occasion the British ships stood boldly in before the wind and bore down upon the Essex, part of whose crew had been given shore leave; but before the tars had gone far into the town they saw the approaching sails, and some crowded into the little native boats that were hauled up along the shore; many even started to swim back to their vessel.

The drum rolled and flags went up to the Essex’s mast-heads; but Hillyar at that moment respected the international law, hauled his wind, and went back to his blockading.

After a consultation with Lieutenant Downs, it was decided by Porter that the period of inaction must be broken. A rendezvous was appointed, and it was agreed that the Essex should allow the British ships to chase her offshore, and give the Essex Junior a chance to make her escape.

The very next day after arriving at this decision the wind came on to blow fresh from the southward, and then followed a chapter of accidents as disastrous as ever happened to any one unlucky vessel.

Even in yacht-racing the best boat does not always win; no allowances are made for accidents, hard luck is an element that cannot be forestalled, and thus it will always be in naval warfare. It must be confessed that the fates were against America on this day, the 28th of March.

The wind, which had started with a fresh breeze, grew stronger and stronger, and, the anchorage being hard ground, the Essex began to drag her anchors seaward. Suddenly her larboard cable parted, and she went, stern foremost, at a good rate of speed towards the harbor entrance. The adventure could be put off no longer. Trusting in the superior sailing of the Essex to be able to work to windward, Porter hoisted his topgallant-sails, braced around his yards, and came close upon the wind.

The British vessels, off to leeward, crowded on all sail. In the white-caps there was very little sea, for the fitful wind was new and off the land.

It looked as if the Essex were going to escape; but just as she rounded the point, the muzzles of her guns almost in the water, another link in the chain of unfortunate circumstances was forged; there was a crash, and the main-topmast went by the board, broken short above the top. The men who were then lying out upon the yards went down with the great spar over the side, and all were drowned. The Essex brought up as if she had struck a shoal.

The English ships were now coming fast. Porter had no alternative but to endeavor to get back to the protection of the port; but he could not reach his former anchorage, hampered as he was by the wreckage at his side. Therefore he made secure all sail upon his foremast and ran for shore, anchoring there about a pistol-shot distance from the beach, and three-quarters of a mile to leeward of the battery on the east side of the harbor. Here he worked industriously to clear his decks and cut away the tangled wreckage, but in the midst of this the crew of the Essex saw that they were not to be unmolested.

Hillyar had determined to take advantage of the moment the Phoebe and Cherub came down before the breeze, which was now dying away, and, breaking all precedent of neutrality, they opened up their broadsides upon their almost helpless antagonist. It was nearly four o’clock when the first gun was fired.

Porter, seeing that the action was going to begin, endeavored to get a spring upon his cable, and bring a broadside to bear upon the British ships. He hoisted every flag he had, at every point where he could reeve a halyard, awaiting quietly the nearer onslaught, and praying for close quarters.

The Phoebe placed herself under the stern, and the Cherub on his starboard bow; but so hot was the Essex’s answer to the latter that she bore up and ran under his stern also; and now followed such slaughter as has hardly been equalled in naval warfare. From their positions they raked the hull of the Essex through and through, cutting long gashes in her sides, and aiming with precision, as if they were firing for practice at a helpless hull. Against all this destructive cannonade Porter could only bring to bear three long 12-pounders, which he had run out of the stern ports and the cabin-windows, and well were they manned and served.

Two or three times did he manage to get a spring upon his cable, and had half turned his broadside towards the enemy, but every time was the hawser shot away, and the poor ship drifted back to her almost defenceless position. Some of the round shot and whole charges of grape from the Phoebe’s guns swept the Essex’s decks from stern-post to the heel of her bowsprit. Whole crews were slaughtered as they worked the few guns able to be brought to bear; but as fast as the men were shot or blown away their places were filled by others. At one gun fifteen men were killed, and as many wounded and carried below.

At this point in the combat Hillyar signalled the Cherub, and they both drew off to repair their damages, that were far from slight.

Again in a few minutes they came down before the wind, and took a new position athwart the Essex’s bows. To this fire Porter could not bring a single gun to answer. Again the decks of the Essex were red with blood; there had been no time to move the wounded, and the dead lay huddled about in all directions. Now the shots even entered the cockpit, and the men were killed as they lay on the operating-tables under the doctor’s knife. To add to the horror, the Essex had caught on fire forward and aft.

Still undismayed, Porter determined to close with the enemy. The only sail that could be hoisted, owing to the mangled condition of the rigging, was the flying-jib. He raised this, cut his cable, and ran down on both ships, with the intention of boarding the Phoebe if possible.

At the prospect of being able to fight back, his men revived again, and a cheer ran along the shattered decks.

As the running-gear of the enemy was still intact, they easily kept out of the Essex’s way, the Phoebe edged off, and, choosing her distance, kept up her tremendous firing. Putting his helm hard down, Captain Porter, finding the wind had shifted slightly, determined to run his ship on shore, land the crew, and blow her up. He approached once more within musket-shot of the sandy beach, when, in an instant, the wind shifted from the land, as if the British had bribed the elements, and once more the Essex was driving down upon the Phoebe. But her tiller-ropes were shot away, and the poor hulk was totally unmanageable.

At this moment one of the strangest incidents of the whole affair occurred.

Lieutenant Downes of the Essex Junior, which still lay at her old anchorage under the guns at the battery, loaded one of his boats and rowed through the fierce fusillade down to his superior officer. He came on board through a port, but his services could be of no avail. After a consultation, Porter ordered him to return to his own ship, and be prepared for defending her or destroying her in case of an attack. So Downes loaded his boat with wounded, and, leaving some of his crew on board the Essex to make room for them, he started to make his way back to his own little vessel. The enemy did not respect his cargo or his gallant action, but opened a hot fire upon him as he returned. Luckily, however, the small cutter escaped swamping, and the men at the long oars jumped her through the water at a rapid rate, despite the plashing of the bullets all around them.

Horrible now was the position of the American frigate. Her commander, in his desperation, persisted in the almost hopeless conflict, and succeeded, by bending a hawser to the sheet-anchor, in bringing his ship’s head around; the few remaining guns of his broadside opened once more, and, strange to say, the Phoebe, which received this last and almost expiring effort, was beaten off; but the hawser parted, and with it failed the last hope of the Essex.

The flames that had started on her gun-deck and in her hold were bursting up the hatchways; a bundle of cartridges exploded, killing two men; and word was given out that the fire was near the magazine! Every boat was cut to pieces; it was three-quarters of a mile from shore.

Thinking that the ship might blow up at any moment, Porter gave orders to those who could swim to jump overboard and make for land.

The few remaining on board with the commander extinguished the fire. Porter immediately summoned a consultation of his officers, and was surprised to find that only one responded—Acting Lieutenant Stephen Decatur McKnight; the others were killed, or below, disabled by their wounds.

The late Admiral Farragut, who was a midshipman on board the Essex, had displayed wonderful courage throughout the engagement. He was one of the few midshipmen who were able to keep the deck.

Nothing could be done. The enemy in the smooth water had chosen their distance, and were firing by divisions in a deliberate, careful way, with coolness and accuracy. Almost every shot struck, and at twenty minutes past six Captain Porter, almost weeping from the excess of his grief, gave orders to strike the colors. It is probable that the enemy did not perceive his action; for ten minutes longer the terrible destruction continued; and once more, thinking that Hillyar was going to show no quarter, the brave American was about to hoist his flag again and fight until he sank, when the fire of the enemy suddenly ceased.

Thus ended one of the most bloody and obstinately contested actions in naval record. Out of the 255 men composing her crew, the Essex had but 151, including some of the wounded, able to stand on her decks; 58 were killed outright, 50 wounded, and 31 had been drowned.

The inhabitants of the city during the action had crowded to the shore. Their sympathies had been all with the American. When they had seen the various times when the Essex appeared to gain a slight advantage their cheers could be heard coming across the water. So close had the action been fought that many of the round shot from the Phoebe’s guns had struck the land, and some of the spectators had been wounded.

When the first British officer boarded the captured vessel, so shocking was the sight that met his eyes that, used to scenes of carnage though he was, he staggered back and almost fainted, struck with the sickening horror.

The loss on the Phoebe and Cherub has never been ascertained, but it must have been severe. The former had received eighteen 12-pound shot below her water-line; her first lieutenant was killed, and her spars were badly wounded. It was with some difficulty that she had been kept afloat, but it was with more difficulty still that the Essex could be prevented from going to the bottom.

Captain Porter and his crew were paroled, and permitted to return to the United States in the Essex Junior, her armament having previously been taken out. When off New York Harbor they were overhauled by a razee frigate, the Saturn, of His Majesty’s service, and the authority of the commander of the Phoebe to grant a passport to his prisoners was questioned.

All night the Saturn held the unarmed Essex Junior under her lee; but the next morning, taking advantage of a slight gray fog, Porter put off in his boat and rowed thirty miles to the shore, landing safely on Long Island.

To quote from the contemporaries again:

“His reception in the United States has been such as great service and distinguished valor deserve. The various interesting and romantic rumors that had reached this country concerning him during his cruise in the Pacific had excited the curiosity of the public to see this modern Sindbad; and, arriving in New York, his carriage was surrounded by the populace, who took out the horses and dragged him, with shouts and acclamations, to his lodgings.”

The American commander’s own account of the affair, which appears in a little volume entitled Porter’s Narrative, shows well the spirit of this doughty old seaman, who, to use the expression applied to him, “had rather have fought than ate.”

So virulent, however, were his tirades against the conduct of Captain Hillyar that it is only just to take into consideration that the latter commander, by refusing to take advantage of the many circumstances, would have missed entirely the object of his sailing from England; and his conduct has found many defenders among the writers of history on the other side of the water.

The honor rolls of the United States navy show the records of many a family history, and the name Porter has been associated with the service from the Revolution to the present day. The late Admiral David D. Porter was the younger son of the David Porter of Essex fame, and he had been named after his father, who was a doughty old sea-captain of the Revolution.

The second David Porter was born at Boston on the 1st of February, 1780. Thus he was but thirty-two years of age at the outbreak of the war with Great Britain, and his school of training had been the same as that of all the younger officers who now found themselves for the first time in command. He was with Bainbridge in the Philadelphia when that frigate was captured by the Tripolitans in 1803, and he suffered imprisonment with the rest of the officers during the time that Preble was endeavoring to liberate them. He had the honor of making the first capture of a regular navy vessel of the war, when, in July, the Essex compelled the Alert, of 20 guns, to lower her flag.