The Essex, with her consort, the Essex Junior, got up anchor at Nukahiva on December 12, 1813. For two days they were in the offing and then they sailed for the coast of South America. They sighted the Andes early in January, and after getting water at San Maria and calling at Concepcion, went to Valparaiso, where they arrived on February 3, 1814. There Porter learned that the British frigate Phœbe, Captain James Hillyar, had been on the coast some time looking for the Essex. So Porter determined to await her at Valparaiso.

To make the time pass pleasantly a grand reception was given to the officials of the city and their friends on the night of the 7th, the Essex Junior, meantime, having been stationed outside to watch for the enemy. As it happened the enemy was seen next morning while yet the men of the Essex were taking down the bunting with which the ship had been decorated. But when Captain Porter came to read the signals on the guard-ship he found that two ships were in sight instead of the one looked for. After a time the two appeared and displayed British colors, and the Essex Junior was obliged to come into the port. And what made matters still more uncomfortable was the fact that half of the crew of the Essex were on shore enjoying life sailor fashion.

This last fact had not escaped the eye of the patriotic mate of an English merchantman lying in the harbor, and jumping into a small boat he rowed outside to tell his countrymen about the crew of the Essex. As it appeared very soon after this, the two British ships outside were the Phœbe already mentioned and the eighteen-gun war-ship Cherub, Captain Tucker.

Captain Hillyar, of the Phœbe, very naturally assumed that the Yankee sailors on shore were already so full of the excellent native wine of the country that even if got on board they would not be able to make a fight. The wind was in just the right direction to enable him to take his two ships into port and handle them there with certainty. It was true that Valparaiso was a neutral port, but that fact was considered unimportant. Captain Hillyar had been sent there expressly to capture the Essex, and the opportunity to do it comfortably seemed to have been made as if to order. So he cleared his ship for action, and, leaving the Cherub outside, steered boldly for the Essex.

But when the Phœbe swept up beside the Yankee ship Captain Hillyar experienced a very great revulsion of feeling. He had approached the Essex under the quarter, where not one of her guns could bear on him, and then slightly shifting his helm he ranged up alongside and within fifteen feet of her. And then to his utter discomfiture he found the Yankee guns fully manned, and every man save one was fit and eager for fight.

The warlike ardor of the Englishman instantly evaporated, and he remembered that he had met Captain Porter some years before on the Mediterranean station, and that they had exchanged friendly visits. Instead of ordering his men to fire he jumped on a gun, where he could get a better view of the deck of the Essex, and said, with marked politeness:

“Captain Hillyar’s compliments to Captain Porter, and hopes he is well.”

And Captain Porter, who had never felt better in his life than at that moment, replied:

“Very well, I thank you; but I hope you will not come too near for fear some accident might take place which would be disagreeable to you.” And with that he waved his trumpet toward some of the crew forward who, with ropes in hand, were awaiting the signal, and they instantly triced a couple of kedge anchors out to the weather yard-arms ready for dropping on the enemy to grapple him fast in reach of the well-trained Yankee boarders, armed with sharpened cutlasses and dirks made from old files.

Indeed the Yankee forecastlemen were so eager that they swarmed to the rail as the anchors rose to the yard-arms, while one of them, a quarter-gunner named Adam Roach, with his sleeves rolled up and cutlass in hand, climbed out on the cathead and stood there, in plain view of the British marines, awaiting the moment when the ships should come together.

But they did not come together, yard-arm to yard-arm, either then or afterward. Captain Hillyar hastily braced his yards aback and “exclaimed with great agitation:”

“I had no intention of getting on board of you—I had no intention of coming so near you; I am sorry I came so near you.”

“Well,” said Porter, “you have no business where you are. If you touch a rope yarn of this ship, I shall board instantly.” Then he hailed the Essex Junior, that was lying handy by, and ordered Lieutenant Downes to prepare to repel the enemy.

The Phœbe fell off with her jib-boom over the American deck, her bows exposed to the broadside of the American guns, and her stern exposed to the broadside of the Essex Junior.

At that moment the one member of the crew who had come on board the Essex drunk, narrowly escaped precipitating the battle. He was a big boy and served as powder-monkey. While standing beside his gun with a slow-burning match in hand waiting for orders, “he saw, through the port, someone on the Phœbe grinning at him.” He was deeply offended at once.

“My fine fellow, I’ll stop your making faces,” he said, and leaned over to put his match to the gun’s priming. The lieutenant in charge saw the move and knocked the youth to the deck. Had he fired the gun a fight would have followed and the Phœbe would have been taken. As it was she passed free, although some of her yards overlapped those of the Essex, and a little later she came to anchor half a mile away.

“We thus lost an opportunity of taking her, though we had observed the strict neutrality of the port under very aggravating circumstances.” So wrote Farragut, but no American at this day regrets the action of Captain Porter. It was, indeed, “over-forbearance, under great provocation,” but it showed the high sense of honor of a typical American officer, and every American reads the story of the Essex with unalloyed pleasure. Such exhibitions as this of the American spirit have done more than cannon-shot to promote and to preserve peace between the nations. Captain Hillyar was so much impressed by it that he promised Porter that he, too, would respect the neutrality of the port, and he would have done so, very likely, only that he was handicapped by his orders from the Admiralty, which compelled him to “capture the Essex with the least possible risk to his vessel and crew.” Hillyar was a cool and calculating man of fifty years. As he said to his first lieutenant, Mr. William Ingram, he had gained his reputation in single-ship encounters and he only expected to “retain it by an explicit obedience to orders.”

That he was going to take “the least possible risk” appeared a few days later when Porter asked him to send the Cherub to the lee side of the harbor and meet the Essex with the Phœbe alone. The Phœbe and the Cherub had by that time replenished their stores and taken a station outside. Hillyar at first agreed to do so, and made preparations for the fight. Among other things he had a huge flag painted with a motto in answer to Porter’s burgee containing “Free Trade and Sailor’s Rights.” The British motto read: “God and Country; British Sailors’ Best Rights; Traitors Offend Both.” It was a day when such displays were fashionable among sailors, and Porter at once painted another which he hoisted to the mizzen, where it read: “God, our Country and Liberty; Tyrants Offend them.”

Such things seem rather silly now, but they were inspiring to Jack in those days. With his banners flaunting before the Yankee eyes Captain Hillyar hove his main-yard aback off the weather-side of the harbor, having previously sent the Cherub a fair distance to leeward. Then he fired a gun to invite the Essex out. Captain Porter accepted the invitation and stood out of the harbor. He found he could outsail the Phœbe, and he got near enough to fire several shots from his long twelves that almost reached her, but she squared away for the Cherub, and Porter had to let her go.

Meantime Porter “had received certain information” that the frigate Tagus and two others were coming after him, while the sloop-of-war Raccoon, that had gone to the northwest coast of North America to destroy the fur-gathering establishment of John Jacob Astor, was to be expected at Valparaiso at any time. So Porter determined to sail out of the harbor, trusting to the speed of the Essex to carry him clear of the superior force. Should he succeed in drawing the enemy clear of the harbor the Essex Junior was at once to make sail also.

But the day after arriving at this determination a heavy squall came on from the south, the port cable of the Essex broke, and she began dragging the starboard one right out to sea. Without delay Porter made sail, setting his top-gallant sails over reefed top-sails, and stood out of the harbor. As he opened up the sea he saw that he had a chance for sailing between the southwest point of the harbor and the enemy—passing to windward of them, in fact, and so getting clear without trouble. The top-gallant sails were at once clewed up and the yards braced to sail close hauled. The Essex was making a course that was just what Porter wanted, and he was just clearing the point when a sudden squall from around the corner of the land struck the ship, knocking the maintopmast over the lee rail into the sea, and the men who were still aloft furling the top-gallant sail were lost.

At once both of the enemy’s ships gave chase, and Porter, after clearing the wreckage, turned to beat back to his old anchorage. But because he was crippled, and because of a sudden shift of wind, he could not make it, and so he “ran close into a small bay about three-quarters of a mile to leeward of the battery on the east side of the harbor,” and there let go his anchor “within pistol-shot of the shore.”

Here he was as much in neutral waters as he would have been at the usual anchorage, but the enemy, with mottoes and banners in abundance flying, came down to attack the cripple. The Cherub came cautiously to the wind off the bow of the Essex, the Phœbe, with equal caution, off her stern, and at 3.54 P.M., on March 28, 1814, in the presence of the whole population of Valparaiso, who thronged to the bluffs, the battle, that was to end the career of the Essex as an American frigate, began. To fully appreciate the fight that followed, the reader should recall the fact that in spite of the protests of Captain Porter the Essex had been compelled to sail with a battery of forty short thirty-twos in place of the long twelves that he wanted. In addition to these she carried six long twelves, three of which, when this fight began, were arranged to fight at the bow and three at the stern. Her crew numbered two hundred and fifty-five when she dragged her anchor, but of these at least four were lost from the top-gallant yard. The exact number is not given.

On the other hand the Phœbe, under the circumstances, was alone in weight of metal superior to the Essex. On her main deck were thirty long eighteens, to which were added sixteen short thirty-twos, one howitzer, and in the tops six three-pounders. In all she carried fifty-three guns. She carried more guns than ships of her class usually did, because she had been fitted out especially to catch the Essex with as little risk as possible. Her crew numbered three hundred and twenty, the usual number having been added to, when she was taking in supplies, by gathering sailors from the British ships in port. The Cherub mounted eighteen short thirty-twos, eight short twenty-fours, and two long nines. Her crew, with the additions received in port, numbered one hundred and eighty men.

But this was a battle fought at long range. Captain Hillyar obeyed his instructions to take as little risk as possible, and he held his ships beyond the range of Porter’s short thirty-twos. It was therefore a fight in which five hundred men were pitted against two hundred and fifty-one, and the fifteen long guns in the broadside of the Phœbe and both of the long guns of the Cherub—in short, seventeen long guns, throwing two hundred and eighty-eight pounds of metal, were pitted against six long guns, throwing by actual weight only sixty-six pounds of metal. That was the actual preponderance when the battle began, but even that did not satisfy the ideas of the British captains in their desire to obey their orders to take as little risk as possible, for the Cherub, finding her position off the bow of the Essex too hot, wore around and took a station near the Phœbe, where Porter could bring only three guns, throwing together but thirty-three pounds of metal, to bear on the two of them with their seventeen long guns throwing two hundred and eighty-eight pounds of metal. Rarely in the history of the world has a fight been maintained against such odds as these. The Englishmen did, indeed, draw in closer at one time of the battle, but it was for only a brief time. The short guns of the Essex soon made them withdraw to a safer distance.

When the first gun was fired at 3.54 P.M., Porter had not yet been able to get a spring on his cable and could not bring a gun to bear on either ship. For five minutes the Essex lay as an idle target. But as the spring was made fast and the cable veered, the long twelves began to bark and it was then that the Cherub made haste to get clear of the fire from forward, and take a place near the Phœbe. They both delivered a raking fire which “continued about ten minutes, but produced no visible effect,” to quote Hillyar’s report to Commodore Brown of the Jamaica station. But if the British fire produced no “visible effect,” the fire of the guns of the Essex was so well directed that Hillyar “increased our distance by wearing,” and he confesses that “appearances were a little inauspicious.” In fact, at the end of half an hour both the British ships sailed out of range to repair damages alow and aloft. The Phœbe alone had seven holes at the water-line to plug and she had lost the use of her mainsail and jib, her fore, main, and mizzen stays were shot away, and her jib-boom was badly wounded. This much the British admit.

But it had been a losing fight on the Essex, nevertheless. The springs on the cable were shot away three times and could be renewed only after delays that prevented working the guns under full speed, and the heavy shot of the enemy’s long guns had been cutting down the crew. And then the enemy returned once more to the fight. Brave Lieutenant William Ingram, of the Phœbe, wanted to close in and carry the Essex by boarding. The two British ships had at this time more than two men to the one of the Essex, but Hillyar refused, quoting the orders he had received from his superiors as a reason, and saying he had “determined not to leave anything to chance.” He would not face Yankee cutlasses wielded in defence of the Essex. So the safest possible positions were chosen, and fire was again opened at 5.35 P.M. It was “a most galling fire, which we were powerless to return.” Even the Essex’s “stern guns could not be brought to bear.”

At this juncture, the wind having shifted, Captain Porter ordered his crew to slip the cable and make sail; and it was then found that the running gear had been so badly cut that only the flying jib could be spread.

Did the courage and hope of the brave American falter at this? Not at all. Spreading that one little triangle of canvas by halyard and sheet to the wind, he loosed the square sails, and with their unrestrained and ragged breadths flapping from the yards, the Essex wore around, and while the shot of the enemy filled the air above her deck with splinters, she bore down upon them until her short guns began to reach them, and the Cherub was driven out of range altogether, while Hillyar made haste to obey his orders about taking as little risk as possible—made haste to spread his canvas and sail away to a point where he would be clear of the deadly aim of the Yankee gunners. The Phœbe “was enabled by the better condition of her sails to choose her own distance, suitable for her long guns, and kept up a most destructive fire on our helpless ship.” So says Farragut.

But fearful as was the scene on the doomed Essex, the story of the deeds of her heroic crew stir the blood as few other stories of battle can do. “Dying men who had hardly ever attracted notice among the ship’s company, uttered sentiments worthy of a Washington. You might have heard in all directions: ‘Don’t give her up, Logan’—a sobriquet for Porter—‘Hurrah for Liberty!’ and similar expressions.”

A man named Bissley, a young Scotchman by birth, on losing a leg, said: “I hope I have this day proved myself worthy of the country of my adoption. I am no longer of any use to you or to her, so good-by!” And with that he plunged through a port. And John Ripley, who had suffered in like fashion, also went overboard deliberately. John Alvinson, having been struck by an eighteen-pound shot, cried: “Never mind, shipmates; I die in defence of free trade and sailors’ ri——” and so his spirit fled while the last word quivered on his lips. William Call lost his leg and was carried down to the berth-deck. As he lay there weltering in his blood awaiting his turn with the doctor, he saw Quarter-Gunner Roach—he who had so bravely headed the boarders—skulking, and “dragged his shattered stump all around the bag-house, pistol in hand, trying to get a shot at him.”

And there was Lieutenant J. G. Cowell. He had his leg shot off just above the knee and was carried below. The surgeon on seeing him at once left a common sailor to attend to him, but Cowell said:

“No, doctor, none of that; fair play is a jewel. One man’s life is as dear as another’s; I would not cheat any poor fellow out of his turn.” And so he bled to death before his turn came.

In the record kept by young Farragut we have a wonderful story of a battle as seen by a lad of twelve. “I performed the duties of captain’s aid, quarter-gunner, powder-boy, and in fact did everything that was required of me,” he wrote.

“I shall never forget the horrid impression made upon me at the sight of the first man I had ever seen killed. He was a boatswain’s mate, and was fearfully mutilated. It staggered and sickened me at first, but they soon began to fall around me so fast that it all appeared like a dream, and produced no effect on my nerves. I can remember well, while I was standing near the captain, just abaft the mainmast, a shot came through the waterways and glanced upwards, killing four men who were standing by the side of the gun, taking the last one in the head and scattering his brains over both of us. But this awful sight did not affect me half as much as the death of the first poor fellow. I neither thought of nor noticed anything but the working of the guns.

“On one occasion Midshipman Isaacs came up to the captain and reported that a quarter-gunner named Roach had deserted his post. The only reply of the captain, addressed to me, was, ‘Do your duty, sir.’ I seized a pistol and went in pursuit of the fellow, but did not find him.

“Soon after this, some gun-primers were wanted, and I was sent after them. In going below, while I was on the ward-room ladder, the captain of the gun directly opposite the hatchway was struck full in the face by an eighteen-pound shot, and fell back on me. We tumbled down the hatch together. I struck on my head, and, fortunately, he fell on my hips. I say fortunately, for, as he was a man of at least two hundred pounds’ weight, I would have been crushed to death if he had fallen directly across my body. I lay for some moments stunned by the blow, but soon recovered consciousness enough to rush up on deck. The captain, seeing me covered with blood, asked if I was wounded, to which I replied, ‘I believe not, sir.’ ‘Then,’ said he, ‘where are the primers?’ This first brought me completely to my senses, and I ran below again and carried the primers on deck. When I came up the second time I saw the captain fall, and in my turn ran up and asked if he was wounded. He answered me almost in the same words, ‘I believe not, my son; but I felt a blow on the top of my head.’ He must have been knocked down by the windage of a passing shot, as his hat was somewhat damaged.”

With such scenes as these on deck Porter strove to overtake the enemy. The picture of that American ship, with her unsheeted sails flapping in the wind as she struggled to get within range, is among the most heroic known to history. It was a vain struggle. The wind veered once more. The shot from the long guns of the enemy were ripping her hull to pieces, and, in the language of the British first lieutenant, murdering her crew. The brave American commander was baffled but was not yet conquered. Putting up his helm he turned once more toward the shore, determined to beach the ship, broadside on, fight to the last gasp, and then blow her to pieces.

Firing from his stern guns as he ran, he reached out for the sands until they were but half a mile away, and then once more the treacherous wind shifted, and catching the sails aback, wrapped their torn folds as a shroud about the masts. A hawser was bent to the sheet-anchor, which was then let go. That brought her head around where the long guns would bear, but the hawser broke a minute later, and once more the Essex drifted offshore a helpless target.

And then came an explosion below. The ship was on fire, and the men came rushing up on deck, “many with their clothes burning.” The men on deck hastened to rip the burning garments from their shipmates, but some whose clothes were flaming were ordered to “jump overboard and quench the flames.” Smoke was rolling up the hatches, and “many of the crew, and even some of the officers, hearing the order to jump overboard, took it for granted that the fire had reached the magazine, and that the ship was about to blow up; so they leaped into the water, and attempted to reach the shore.”

Hope had at last fled from the doomed ship. The decks were strewn with the dead and wounded. There were twenty-one bodies in one pile on the main deck. The long-range shot of the enemy were sinking her. The hold was in flames. The captain called for his lieutenants to ask their opinion of the condition of affairs, and found but one, Lieutenant McKnight, to answer the call. Of the two hundred and fifty-one men who began the fight only seventy-five, including officers and boys, remained on the ship in condition fit for duty. Further effort was useless, “and at 6.20 P.M. the painful order was given to haul down the colors.”

At that, Benjamin Hazen, a Groton seaman (who, though painfully wounded, had remained at his post, and at the last had joined in the request to haul down the flag to save the wounded), bade adieu in hearty fashion to those around him, said he had determined never to survive the surrender of the Essex, and jumped overboard. He was drowned.

In what has been said regarding the handling of the Phœbe there was no desire to cast a slur upon the personal character of Captain Hillyar. He had proved his bravery in previous contests. The point to be made clear is that his superiors had so far learned to respect Yankee prowess that he was under definite order to take no unnecessary risks. He conducted the fight in the only way that insured certain victory. Every fair-minded American will grant what Sir Howard Douglas, in his text-book on gunnery (page 108), claims—that “this action displayed all that can reflect honor on the science and admirable conduct of Captain Hillyar and his crew,” save only so far as he broke his word of honor pledged to Captain Porter. And that is to say that it is admitted that a sneer at the “respectful distance the Phœbe kept” is “a fair acknowledgment of the ability with which Captain Hillyar availed himself of the superiority of his arms.”

The losses of the Essex were fifty-eight killed and mortally wounded, thirty-nine severely wounded, twenty-seven slightly wounded, and thirty-one missing, the most of whom, if not all, were drowned in trying to swim ashore when the Essex was on fire. These numbers were given by the American officers. Hillyar reported that the Essex lost one hundred and eleven in killed or wounded. The difference in these official reports is unquestionably due to the fact that Hillyar, naturally enough, did not count as wounded those of his prisoners who had received minor scratches and contusions, even though these wounds had temporarily disabled the men during the battle. Nevertheless, the favorite British historian James, although he had read Hillyar’s letter, wrote:

“The Essex, as far as is borne out by proof (the only safe way where an American is concerned), had twenty-four men killed and forty-five wounded. But Captain Porter, thinking by exaggerating his loss to prop up his fame, talks of fifty-eight killed and mortally wounded, thirty-nine severely, twenty-seven slightly.”

And Allen, whose latest edition appeared in 1890, follows the false statement of James.

The British loss was, of course, trifling. They had five killed and ten wounded. But it is not unconsoling to reflect that the Phœbe received in all eight shot at and under the water-line, and that she and the Cherub were not a little cut up aloft—in short the damage inflicted by the Essex was greater than the British Java, Macedonian, and Guerrière all together inflicted on the American ships in their battles. Captain Hillyar had good reason for writing to his superior that “the defence of the Essex, taking into consideration our superiority of force and the very discouraging circumstance of her having lost her maintopmast and being twice on fire, did honor to her brave defenders.”

As Roosevelt says, “Porter certainly did everything a man can do to contend successfully with the overwhelming force opposed to him. As an exhibition of dogged courage it has never been surpassed since the time when the Dutch Captain Kaesoon, after fighting two long days, blew up his disabled ship, devoting himself and all his crew to death, rather than surrender to the hereditary foes of his race.”

While no one can justly criticise Captain Hillyar for his handling of his ship during the battle, there is something to be said about his having made an attack on the American ship under the circumstances. And this cannot be better said than in the words of Roosevelt, whose fairness has been acknowledged by the English in the most emphatic manner. He says:

“When Porter decided to anchor near shore, in neutral water, he could not anticipate Hillyar’s deliberate and treacherous breach of faith. I do not allude to the mere disregard of neutrality. Whatever international moralists may say, such disregard is a mere question of expediency. If the benefits to be gained by attacking a hostile ship in neutral waters are such as to counterbalance the risk of incurring the enmity of the neutral power, why then the attack ought to be made. Had Hillyar, when he first made his appearance off Valparaiso, sailed in with his two ships, the men at quarters and guns out, and at once attacked Porter, considering the destruction of the Essex as outweighing the insult to Chili, why his behavior would have been perfectly justifiable. In fact, this is unquestionably what he intended to do; but he suddenly found himself in such a position that, in the event of hostilities, his ship would be the captured one, and he owed his escape purely to Porter’s over-forbearance, under great provocation. Then he gave his word to Porter that he would not infringe on the neutrality; and he never dared to break it, until he saw Porter was disabled and almost helpless! This may seem strong language to use about a British officer, but it is justly strong. Exactly as any outsider must consider Warrington’s attack on the British brig Nautilus in 1815 as a piece of needless cruelty, so any outsider must consider Hillyar as having most treacherously broken faith with Porter.”

Fair as this statement must seem to candid minds, there is yet a word to be said for Captain Hillyar. A fair interpretation of his orders demanded that he break his faith and attack the ship, and as an officer accustomed to obey all orders from his superiors, he believed his obligation to the Admiralty and his country was greater than his obligation to keep his word. Captain Hillyar believed that his country demanded that he break faith with Porter, and the proof that the British nation has ever since approved of his treachery toward an American is found in the fact that “the naval medal is granted for the capture” of the Essex (see Allen); that the officer who sailed her to England was at once promoted, and that every British writer who has referred to the action has praised Captain Hillyar in the highest terms, and refers to Captain Porter as James did when he said: “Few, even in his own country, will venture to speak well of Captain David Porter.”

After the battle the Essex was repaired and sent to England, where she was added to the British Navy. It is worth noting that she was built in 1779 by the people of Salem, Massachusetts, and the surrounding country, who were enthusiastic in their desire to revenge the injuries done by French cruisers to American commerce. She was the product of the Federalist party ardor, and Rear-Admiral George Preble says, “the Federalists considered it a patriotic duty to cut down the finest sticks of their wood lots to help build the ‘noble structure’ that was to chastise French insolence and piracy.” They gave her as a present to the nation, and as armed at that time she was probably the most efficient ship of her size afloat.

The Essex Junior was disarmed and the American prisoners were put into her, and she was sent as a cartel to New York. Off the east coast of Long Island, on July 5, 1814, she was detained by British cruisers so long that the Americans were lawfully released from their parole, when Porter and a boat’s crew escaped ashore aided by a fog, and that was the only occasion during that cruise of this Yankee captain, that weather did aid him. He landed in Long Island, where he had to show his commission before the people would believe his story. He was then carried to New York by enthusiastic admirers, and was there received with every mark of honor. Meantime, the Essex Junior was allowed to come in also.

A few words will tell the fate of Lieutenant Gamble and the men left at Nukahiva with the captured whalers Seringapatam, Greenwich, and Sir Andrew Hammond. Immediately after Porter sailed away the natives began to rob the Americans of everything they could carry away, and Gamble had “to land and overpower them.” On February 28, 1814, one man was drowned accidentally. A week later four men deserted in a whale-boat to join their native sweethearts. On April 12th Gamble rigged the Seringapatam and the Hammond for sea, intending to burn the Greenwich, but the men became mutinous. So Gamble removed all the arms, as he supposed, to the Greenwich; but when he boarded the Seringapatam on May 7th, the men there attacked him, shot him in the foot with a pistol, set him adrift in a native canoe, and then sailed away with the Seringapatam, leaving Gamble with but eight men.

Two days later the natives came off to assault the ship. They were repulsed, but Midshipman William W. Feltus was killed, and three men wounded. The fight occurred on the Hammond. The following night the survivors went to sea. They eventually reached the Sandwich Islands, where they were captured by the Cherub, and were detained on her seven months. They finally reached New York in August, 1815.

The voyage of the Essex ended in disasters all around, due solely to the misfortune of losing a top-mast in a squall off the Point of Angels at Valparaiso. But she had captured twelve British ships, aggregating 3,369 tons, armed with one hundred and seven guns and carrying three hundred and two men. She had maintained herself for more than a year entirely from supplies captured from the enemy—she did not cost the national treasury a cent after her first outfit. A great fleet of British ships were sent at large expense to search for her. On the whole her cruise damaged the enemy millions of dollars—Porter estimated the damage at $6,000,000—and her crew, from master to boy, had “afforded an example of courage in adversity that it would be difficult to match elsewhere.”

Porter was, indeed, defeated, but the victory of the enemy was like those obtained at Bunker Hill and on Lake Champlain during the war of the Revolution. It was a British victory but it strengthened the power of the young republic, and gave renown to the defeated leaders.

Captain Porter aided in the defence of Baltimore after his return home. After the war he served as a commissioner on naval affairs, and in 1826 resigned his commission. He was afterward American Minister to Turkey, and died at Constantinople in 1843. His body was brought to America and was eventually buried in Woodlawn Cemetery, Philadelphia.