Eighty-four years ago, throughout the country, the name Decatur was toasted at every table, was sung from the forecastle to the drawing-room, from the way-side tavern to the stage of the city playhouse. Today, written or spoken, it stands out like a watchword, reminiscent of the days of brave gallantry and daring enterprise at sea.
Those writers who have been tempted by their Americanism and pride to take up the navy as a field have repeated over and over again, more than likely, everything that could be said about Stephen Decatur.
On his father’s side he was of French descent, as his name shows, his grandfather being a native of La Rochelle in France, and his grandmother an American lady from Rhode Island. He was named after his father, Stephen Decatur, who was born at Newport, but who had at an early age removed to Philadelphia, where he had married the beautiful Miss Pine.
On the establishment of an American navy he was appointed to the Delaware, sloop of war. This was after he had commanded one or two merchant vessels and had proved himself a seaman. When the frigate Philadelphia was built by subscriptions of loyal-hearted merchants, the command of her was tendered to the elder Decatur by the particular request of the subscribers. The value of inheritance could not be shown more strongly than by looking at the career of the son born to him on the 5th of January, 1779. At the time of the birth of Stephen Decatur, Jr., his parents were residing on the eastern shore of Maryland during the days the British were in possession of the town of Philadelphia. After the evacuation of that place they returned, and here their son was educated with the idea of making a sailor of him from the very first.
Young Decatur entered the navy in March, 1798, and joined the frigate United States, commanded by Commodore John Barry, who, by-the-way, was instrumental in securing the appointment for him. It was not long before he was promoted to be a lieutenant, and made a cruise on the Spanish Main on the brig Norfolk during the war against the French cruisers. Returning after the peace was concluded with France, he was ordered to the Essex as first lieutenant, and sailed with Commodore Dale’s squadron to the Mediterranean. This trip he made twice more, for on the return of that squadron he was ordered to the New York under Commodore Morris, who took the same station. After a short stay Decatur returned to the United States, and soon afterwards he was given his first command, the brig Argus, and with her proceeded to join Commodore Preble’s squadron, and was transferred to the command of the schooner Enterprise, exchanging vessels with Lieutenant Isaac Hull. The story of the capture and blowing up of the frigate Philadelphia, which under Captain Bainbridge had run ashore and been taken by the Tripolitans, has been described times without number. There is not space to write about it here. It is a tale in itself. But after the success of Decatur’s attempt, in which he overcame obstacles apparently insurmountable, the eyes of the country were turned upon him, and the great things that he afterwards accomplished were predicted.
Decatur was one of those men whose courage and lofty spirit make it impossible for them to remain spectators or mere directors of events in which they are interested. It was necessary for him to be in the midst of the fight, sword or pistol in hand, like a common seaman. The story of his duel with the Turkish commander in the harbor of Tripoli, where, with a sword broken at the hilt, he fought a hand-to-hand fight and emerged victorious, gives a little insight into his character. Upon his return to his country, after some short service he was appointed to the command of the Chesapeake, succeeding Commodore Barron, who had struck to the British frigate Leopard in 1807. It was here that the bad feeling between these officers that led to the tragic ending of Decatur’s life began. As soon as the frigate United States was put in commission, Decatur was relieved of his command of the Chesapeake (which, to tell the truth, he did not much relish), and thus found himself, on the outbreak of the war with Great Britain, with plenty of opportunities before him to add to his laurels.
In October of the year 1812 the frigate United States was one of a small squadron that was cruising not far from the island of Madeira. On the twelfth day of the month she parted with the President, 44, and later with the 16-gun brig Argus, both of which had sailed with her from the port of Boston, all well officered, well manned, and eager to meet the enemy. Bearing away southward into the paths of the British West-Indiamen, Decatur, on the United States, hoped to intercept a rich prize or two, or, better, if possible, to fall in with one of His Majesty’s vessels, which were constantly hovering in that neighborhood. Sharp lookouts were kept at the mast-head at all hours, and the crew were spoiling for action.
Sunday morning, the 25th, dawned bright and clear. There was a stiff breeze blowing, and the frigate was under easy canvas, steering a course southeast by east. An observation showed her to be in latitude 29°, longitude 29° 30´ west. As soon as daylight was fairly broad, off to windward, close to the horizon, the lookout descried a sail, and in a few minutes it was discovered that the stranger was an English ship of war carrying all but her lighter canvas. Quickly the United States blossomed out from the topgallant yard to her main-course; and although the breeze was strong, studding-sails were set, and, tossing the heavy sea to left and right, she was soon hard upon the chase. The United States was a good sailer—all of our ships were in those days—and long before seven o’clock it was seen that she was overhauling the enemy rapidly. So great was the enthusiasm of her officers and men that the cheers they gave were borne by the wind to the Englishman before a single gun of the action had been fired. Through the glass it could be seen that the enemy were at quarters. At nine in the morning Decatur luffed a little, took in his lighter sails, and fired his gun-deck battery; but the balls fell short. Both vessels were now on the same tack, close on the wind, and Decatur found that it was impossible for the United States to gain the weather-gage.
Broadsides were exchanged as the distance was lessened, and for half an hour the commanders continued firing, doing no vital damage. Suddenly the enemy changed his course, squared his yards, and crossed Decatur’s bows, letting drive his forward battery. Still the United States held on; and here the Englishman made a fatal error. It is given by some authorities that Captain John Carden, the commander of the Macedonian, supposed his opponent to be the Essex, which only mounted carronades; therefore he commenced action at long-range. It did not take long, however, to apprise him that he was out in his reckoning, for although the distance was so great that carronades and muskets were of no avail, almost every shot from the heavy metal of the American struck its mark, despite the pitching cross-sea. Finding it was too late to run, Captain Carden bravely bore down upon the United States to engage her at close quarters, as at the distance at which the action had commenced he was being literally chopped to pieces. It was reported that during the engagement, which then began in earnest, so incessant were the broadsides of the American vessel the Englishman supposed her to be on fire, and three or four times cheered in their turn as the news ran through the ship; but they were soon undeceived. The splendid gunnery of the Americans was apparent as the vessels neared. The rigging and spars of the Macedonian were riddled and cut, many of her guns were dismounted, and in a few minutes her mizzen-mast went by the board. Pitching to and fro, shrouded in the smoke which blew towards her from the enemy’s guns, the United States kept up her destructive fire. For an instant the smoke cleared away, and there hung the main-yard-arm of the English frigate in two pieces; her main-topmast was gone, her fore-topmast was tottering, and no colors were seen floating above her deck; her bowsprit was swaying to and fro, held only by the jib-forestay, and sailing was impossible. She ceased to gather headway, lurching and yawing to one side and the other helplessly.
Strange to say, the United States remained almost unhurt. Decatur ceased his fire as he saw the enemy’s plight, furled his mizzen-topsail (the mizzen-topmast being badly wounded), drew away, tacked, and came under the lee of the English ship. She gave him a feeble broadside, and Decatur luffed again across her bows. As he did so, Carden, perceiving further resistance to be vain, hauled down his colors, which had again been hoisted on a spar at the stump of the mizzen-mast.
Decatur, his face flushed with victory, hailed in person: “What ship is that?”
“His Majesty’s frigate Macedonian, thirty-eight, John S. Carden,” was the response.
Immediately a boat was lowered, and an officer was sent on board. In the two hours of the engagement she had suffered terribly. Not less than one hundred round-shot were counted in her hull, many of them between wind and water. She had nothing standing but her main-mast and fore-yard. Her boats were useless, with exception of one small quarter-boat; and out of the officers and crew, three hundred in number, thirty-six were killed and sixty-eight were wounded. The American loss was five killed and six wounded.
The Macedonian was but two years old, a fine vessel of her class, rated thirty-eight, and carrying forty-nine guns—eighteen on her gun-deck, and thirty-two-pound carronades above. The United States was heavier and stronger, both in metal and men, it cannot be denied, having a crew of four hundred and seventy-eight. But, even taking into account the disparity in the weight of metal and the number of crew, the action proved conclusively that American-built ships and American seamen were to open the eyes of the world in conflicts on the sea.
Now comes the courtesy, the almost stilted politeness, that always seems as if prepared especially for dramatic effect before translation into history. As the brave Carden stepped upon the deck of the United States he proffered his sword to Decatur.
“No, sir,” exclaimed the latter, doffing his cocked hat, “I cannot receive the sword of a man who has so bravely defended his ship; but,” he added, smiling graciously, “I will receive your hand.”
As an honored guest, Decatur led the vanquished to his cabin, where refreshments, to quote from another account of the affair, “were set out and partaken of in a friendly spirit by the two commanders.”
Contrary to the opinion formed by the first inspection, Decatur found his prize capable of being refitted, and he determined to bring her to an American port. The United States was speedily repaired. In charge of Lieutenant Allen, who had made a jury-rigging for the Macedonian turning her for the nonce into a bark, captor and captive set sail for the United States. On the 4th of December his prize entered the harbor of Newport, and it was upon this occasion that the old song was written from which the stanza at the head of this article is taken.
Nothing could be more dramatic than the way the victory was announced at Washington. Midshipman Hamilton, who was in the engagement with Decatur, and served with signal bravery, was sent with the captured flag of the Macedonian to present it to his father, Paul Hamilton, then Secretary of the Navy. He arrived in Washington on the evening of the 8th of December. A ball was in progress, and the Secretary of the Navy was present. The room was filled with beautiful women, with men in all the color and glory of gold lace, epaulets, and side-arms, when Hamilton entered. He carried the flag of the Macedonian wrapped about his shoulders. Instantly he was surrounded. The silk-stockinged dandies caught him up on their shoulders, and it is even on record that, strange to the customs of the times, dignity for once was cast aside, and a cheer rang through the ballroom. In the possession of the author is a letter (hitherto unpublished) written by Mrs. B. H. Latrobe, grandmother of the ex-Mayor of Baltimore, to Mrs. Juliana Miller. It gives such a graphic picture of the times that an extract from it cannot fail of interest. The letter is dated Washington, December 14th, and reads thus:
“The dulness of the city has, however, been removed in some degree by a splendid entertainment on board the frigate Constellation.” We were invited to be there at eleven, to pass the day. The vessel lay about half a mile from the shore, and two very elegant barges of twelve oars conveyed the company. This was the only unpleasant part of the amusement, for the day proved extremely cold, and a high wind was blowing. However, we all arrived safe about twelve, and the deck was closed in with flags, awnings, etc., and two stoves so effectually heated it as to make the temperature delightful. The dancing soon commenced, and continued till three, when the boatswain’s whistle called us to a magnificent dinner below. The President and Mrs. Madison were seated at the end of a very long table; but I cannot tell you all the company, and can only say that the number was said to be five hundred. After dinner the dancing commenced again, and continued till about six in the evening, when the company broke up. On Tuesday a very splendid ball was given to the navy officers Hull, Morris, Stewart, etc. My husband could not be absent, as he holds an office in the Navy Department, and I was not sorry we went, as it is not likely I shall ever witness such another scene. At about five in the evening my husband came home, and informed me that we must immediately illuminate our house, as the account of a victory gained by Commodore Decatur had just arrived. My house in ten minutes was prepared for lighting up, and we prepared for the ball. The Avenue was very brilliant on our way to the Capitol Hill, and, the company assembling, the crowd was immense. Mrs. Madison was there, but not the President. The evening went on, with crowding as usual upon the toes and trains of those that did not dance, when, about ten o’clock, a loud huzza announced the arrival of young Archibald Hamilton, who had that moment appeared with the colors of the Macedonian. He was borne into the room by many officers. Good little Mrs. Hamilton, his mother, stood by me, and was so much agitated at the sight of her son that she must have fallen had I not stepped forward and offered her my arm. The young man sprang into her arms, his sisters threw their arms around him, and the scene was quite affecting. The colors were then held up by several gentlemen over the heads of Hull, Morris, and Stewart, and ‘Hail, Columbia!’ played, and there were huzzas until my head swayed.
“The aforesaid colors were then laid at the feet of Mrs. Madison. O tempora! O mores! This was rather overdoing the affair. I forgot to say that the flag of the Guerrière was festooned on one side of the room, and of some other vessel. Now, between ourselves, I think it wrong to exult so outrageously over our enemies. We may have reason to laugh on the other side of our mouths some of these days; and as the English are so much stronger than we are with their navy, there are ten chances to one that we are beaten. Therefore it is best to act moderately when we take a vessel, and I could not look at those colors with pleasure, the taking of which had made so many widows and orphans. In the fulness of my feelings, I exclaimed to a gentleman who stood near me, ‘Good heavens! I would not touch that color for a thousand dollars!’ He walked quickly away, I hearing another gentleman say, ‘Is it possible, Mrs. Latrobe?’ I looked around, and it was a good stanch Federalist from Rhode Island, Mr. Hunter, so that I shall escape hanging after so treasonable a speech.”
Perhaps the circumstances were a valid excuse for the cheering; but this letter is a strange side light on some of the feeling of the times.
All through the country Decatur became the hero of the hour. With a record for intrepidity and gallantry behind him, gained by his actions during the war with Tripoli, handsome and young, he became the idol of the public. Congress, by a unanimous vote, gave him a gold medal. The legislatures of Massachusetts, New York, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Virginia gave him thanks. The city of New York gave him the freedom of the city and a magnificent sword, and tendered to his crew a banquet at the City Hotel. Four hundred seamen sat down at the long tables, and the memory of that feast of rejoicing was long kept green in the service. As a picture of the day, a short account, taken from a contemporaneous history, The War, of the banquet given to Commodores Hull, Jones, and Decatur is of interest. The entertainment was given on the day after the freedom of the city was presented to Captain Hull. He and Decatur were present; Jones was absent. At five o’clock about five hundred guests sat down at the tables, De Witt Clinton, the mayor, presiding. “The room had the appearance of a marine palace,” said an eye-witness. It was colonnaded around with masts of ships entwined with laurels, and having the national flags of the world. Every table had a ship in miniature with the American flag displayed. On the wall was a mainsail of a ship, and when the third toast, “Our Navy,” was given, with three cheers, this sail was furled, revealing “an immense transparent painting of the three naval engagements in which Hull, Jones, and Decatur were respectively engaged.” Too great to be spoiled, Decatur still remained the quiet, simple hero, before whose eyes were spelled two words—Country and Duty; the one he lived to serve, the other to fulfil. And, alas! he died a victim to that curious, strained sense of honor that kept men demanding explanations, and led them to shoot one another under God’s sky, surrounded by their friends, in a duel to the death. He was killed by Commodore Barron at Bladensburg, Maryland, on March 22d, 1820. Commodore Bainbridge was Decatur’s second, and he, with others, had made many ineffectual attempts to avert the unfortunate meeting.