In a very amusing cartoon, printed in the latter part of the year 1814 in an American paper, our cousin Johnnie Bull was represented flourishing a cutlass above his head and vainly endeavoring to defend himself from the attack of a nondescript-looking animal that had succeeded in running him through the body with its sting.

As was the custom in drawing cartoons at that time, the legend issued from the lips in a cloud, and Johnnie Bull appeared to be smoking out the words, “Save me, oh, save me from this vicious insect!”

The insect was supposed to be the United States sloop of war Wasp, of 18 guns, then on a most remarkable cruise in European waters. Under the command of Captain Johnston Blakeley her career had been smiled upon by good fortune.

In a cruise of under four months she had captured thirteen British merchantmen, and had engaged and caused to surrender two of the finest brigs in the service of Great Britain.

The value of her prizes was reckoned at not less than two hundred thousand pounds sterling.

On the 1st of May, 1814, the little sloop had set sail from Portsmouth, New Hampshire. She was manned by a crew of one hundred and seventy-three men, the majority of them being green hands, and many of them mere boys, for they averaged but twenty-three years in age.

Meeting with some severe weather when only a few days out, it is on record that one-third of her crew were sea-sick for a week. This fact, however, did not prevent them from becoming great fighters afterwards.

On the 28th of June, in latitude 48° 36´, longitude 11° 15´, she fell in with the Reindeer, sloop of war in His Majesty’s service, mounting 19 guns—sixteen 24-pound carronades, two long 9-pounders, and a shifting 12-pounder. She had on board a complement of one hundred and eighteen men.

In an action that lasted but nineteen minutes from the first broadside, the Reindeer was destroyed, her ports having been blown into one gaping streak of splintered wood. Not a boat was left, and her foremast fell the day after the action.

As it was found impossible to take her into port, the prisoners were removed from the Reindeer and she was set on fire. That she had been gallantly defended is evident from the reports of the action. William Manners, her commander, a brave, fearless man, was killed, and twenty-three officers and seamen with him. The first lieutenant and the master were severely wounded, and forty seamen were on the list also.

The Wasp lost five killed and twenty-one wounded. She was but slightly hurt, and within a few hours of the action could have commenced another.

Wishing to get rid of his prisoners as soon as possible, Captain Blakeley overhauled a Portuguese brig, placed them on board of her, and sent them to England.

No doubt the Wasp was one of the finest sailing craft of her day. Her lines are spoken of as being remarkably fine; and one of her officers writes, in a private letter, as follows:

“The Wasp is a beautiful ship, and the finest sea boat, I believe, in the world. Our officers and crew are young and ambitious. They fight with more cheerfulness than they do any other duty. Captain Blakeley is a brave and discreet officer, as cool and collected in action as at table.”

In those old days of sailing, given the weather-gage and the breeze that suited her best qualities, a handy vessel could boldly sail into view of a powerful fleet of the enemy, and she could actually present the tableau of an agile wolf following at the heels of a very angry herd of bulls, any one of which could toss her into the air or grind her under foot. So spry a sailer was the Wasp that she could slip away from even a towering seventy-four, given her best weather.

After a protracted and tedious stay in L’Orient, the little sloop made her way to sea on the 27th of August. On the 30th she captured the British brig Lettice, and on the next day the British brig Bon Accord.

The morning of the 1st of September dawned bright and clear. There was just the breeze that enabled the Wasp to show her finest form. Very early the lookout discovered a fleet of ten sail to the windward, away in advance. Plunging up and down lazily, scarcely moving in the light breeze, was a huge line-of-battle ship, and close to her was a bomb vessel.

The Yankee captain audaciously came down before the wind. In full sight of H. M. S. Armada, the seventy-four, and the other armed consort, Blakeley cut out the brig Mary. She was laden with brass and iron cannon and military stores from Gibraltar to England. As she was a slow sailer she was set on fire, after the prisoners had been removed.

Endeavor was made to take another of the convoy. The consternation and rage of the commander of the ship of line can well be imagined. There was not breeze enough for his great vessel to make headway by tacking, but the wind, changing a few points, enabled him to creep down towards the American, whereupon Blakeley swung about leisurely, and soon left the ponderous Englishman hull down.

When he had shaken off his pursuer he resumed his course, and at half-past six in the evening sighted four vessels at almost the same moment; two were to starboard and two off the larboard bow, the latter being farthest to windward. He picked out the nearest, a brig, and set all sail to come within gunshot of her.

At seven the chase commenced making signals with flags, and soon after with lanterns and rockets. It was past nine o’clock and quite dark when the Wasp came up within hailing distance.

To quote from a British account of the affair, dated Cork, September 7th: “The Englishman spoke first, and demanded to know who the silent on-comer was. The ‘Yankee,’ in reply,” says the account, “called through his trumpet, ‘Heave to, and I’ll let you know who I am.’ At the same time a gun was fired by the Avon, and the most sanguinary action commenced, which continued until eleven o’clock, when the American sheared off and said, ‘This is the Wasp.’” Then the British account, for some reason, adds: “She appeared to be in a sinking state and glad to get away.”

In Captain Blakeley’s letter to the Secretary of the Navy he mentions circumstances which may throw some light upon the actual happenings. After an hour’s sharp interchange of broadsides it was imagined that the Avon had struck, and orders were given to cease firing. Blakeley hailed, but received no answer. Suddenly the Britisher opened up with his guns again. It was twelve minutes past ten when he was hailed the second time. The enemy had suffered greatly, and had made no return to his last two broadsides. A cutter was lowered away, and as it was leaving the side of the Wasp to board the prize a second brig was discovered a little distance astern standing down before the freshening breeze. The crew were again sent to quarters, and everything was made ready for another action. A few minutes later the two other sail which had been off to windward were discovered also coming down towards the Wasp. The braces of the latter had been shot away, and it was necessary to keep off the wind until others might be rove. Blakeley did not endeavor to hasten. It was his intention to draw the second and foremost brig away from her companions and engage her as soon as they had reached a good distance from the others. To his surprise, however, the brig, which, from the English account, we make out to be the Castilian, hauled her wind as soon as she came within range, fired one broadside, and retraced her course to join her consorts, who were gathered about the Avon.

To Blakeley’s disappointment, he had to give up taking the prize, whose name and forces he did not know, as it had been impossible to distinguish the answer to his first hail.

The Wasp was struck by four shot in the hull, each of which shot was thirty-two pounds in weight, being one and three-quarter pounds heavier than any the American carried.

For a long time the fate of the vessel which she had been fighting was not known, but she sank a few hours after the action. The loss on board the Wasp was two killed and one wounded. From the English account, the loss on board the Avon was nine killed and thirty-three wounded. As she was sinking, the Tartarus, a sloop of war, came up and took on board forty of her crew.

In the list of the vessels of the American navy in commission during the war of 1812 the name of the Wasp is starred, with one or two others bearing the same mark, and, looking at the bottom of the page, we see this short comment, “Lost at sea.” This was the sad fate of the gallant little craft which caused John Bull so much trouble in her short career. It was never known what became of her. Some authorities on the British side stated that she had sunk from the injuries received in her action with the Avon; but of course we have the report of Captain Blakeley sent by a vessel spoken off the Western Isles.

In speaking of the disappearance a contemporary writes: “The most general impression is that she [the Wasp] was lost by one of those casualties incident to the great deep which have destroyed so many gallant vessels in a manner no one knows how.”

A strange circumstance, however, gives rise to a supposition. A British frigate put into Lisbon in a shattered condition. She reported having fallen in with a vessel and having engaged her through the better part of the night. She had made out that her antagonist was much smaller than herself, and evidently an American. She had not surrendered, and had disappeared suddenly, “as if the sea had swallowed her.” This may have been the Wasp.

The fact remains, however, that no trace of her or any of her crew was ever found after she spoke the vessel at the Western Isles. The first Wasp, captured with her prize (the British sloop Frolic) by an English ship of the line, was also lost at sea, after being refitted and commissioned in the English service.

Johnston Blakeley was an Irish-American. He was born in Ireland (in the village of Seaford, in the county of Down). When he was but two years old his father, John Blakeley, emigrated to America and took up his residence in Philadelphia, from whence he moved to the South. He had the misfortune to lose all of his children with the exception of Johnston, whom he sent to New York for his education. This was in the year 1790; but the young man, although he studied law with the intention of becoming a member of the bar, gave up all idea of it shortly after his father’s death. He left the University of North Carolina, at which he was a student, and succeeded in getting a midshipman’s warrant when he was nineteen years of age, much older than the average run of reefers.

Blakeley was a favorite with all who knew him, and his loss was mourned by all his countrymen.