Well-manned, but ill-fated at the last, were all the Yankee Wasps. They were swift of wing for their day, and the pain of their stings still rankles. But the first, the little Baltimore clipper of eight guns, was burned at Philadelphia to keep her out of the hands of the British invaders. The second, she that deluged the decks of the British brig Frolic with blood, was captured by a British liner, and then with a British crew sailed from port and never returned. The story of the third shall now be told.

She was a beautiful ship, a sloop-of-war called large and heavy in that day. Like her sister ships, the Peacock and the Frolic, of whose deeds something was told in the last chapter, she was designed to outsail and outweigh, and so conquer with ease, the sloops-of-war of the British navy. Her keel was stretched on blocks beside that of her sister, the Frolic, at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. On the day the Epervier, the first prize of her sister, the Peacock, reached Savannah on May 1, 1814, the new Wasp winged her way through the British blockaders that lay off Whaleback Reef, and headed away to the east, bound for the coast of England.

No finer crew by nature than that of the Wasp ever sailed from any port. She was commanded by Master-Commandant Johnston Blakeley, of Wilmington, North Carolina. He had not in any way especially distinguished himself thus far in the war, but that no mistake was made in giving him the command was evident later on. First Lieutenant James Reilly and Third Lieutenant Frederick Baury had served in the Constitution when she captured both the Guerrière and the Java, while Second Lieutenant T. G. Tillinghast was the second lieutenant of the Enterprise when she whipped the Boxer. Of the younger officers not a man but was worthy of his place, and as for the crew they were to a man Americans, and almost all of them Yankees of the Yankees—the typical New Englanders whose drawling, nasal style of speech has for time out of mind served English writers as an abundant source of amusement. That they talked about the “keows” and the “critters” need not be doubted. They were young haymakers and wood-choppers—very likely more than one-half of them were from the farms. As one of her officers wrote they were men “whose ages average only twenty-three years. The greatest part (are) so green, that is, unaccustomed to the sea, that they were sick for a week.” But that some of them had looked through the sights of a rifle at running deer, to the destruction of the deer, is also certain, as will appear farther on, and the back that could swing a scythe could lend vigor to the stroke of a cutlass or the lunge of a boarding-pike. They were not only good physically but mentally. They were from the “deestrict” schools, on one hand, and from “teown meetin’” on the other—they had common school educations, and they were independent-minded voters, while the traditions which their fathers had told them before the wide fireplaces of their log-cabin homes were of the deeds done along shore by British naval officers, beginning with that of the infamous Mowatt when nearby Portland (Falmouth) was burned in winter, and ending, very likely, when John Deguyo was taken by a press-gang from a Portland coaster when she was in the waters of New York Harbor. Unaccustomed to the sea they certainly were, but under such officers as they had, the training of a very few weeks served to fit them to meet “the pride of Plymouth” with honor to the gridiron flag. By the time the Wasp was in the mouth of the English Channel, the crew had forgotten their seasickness; they had learned that the stroke of the flail was not quite the best for a cutlass, though a pitchfork thrust was good enough for a boarding-pike. The men who had been accustomed to down the running deer and moose found no difficulty in hitting a target with either great gun or musket, even though the deck heaved and fell beneath their feet or their “roosting places” in the tops swayed through wide angles.

For a time the uncertainty as to the character of each ship sighted served to train their nerves, as the work of boarding the merchant ships, which were the only ones seen for a time, gave them experiences of another kind, and then came the day of trial—their first taste of blood.

It was on June 28, 1814. The early morning was dark and gloomy, but at 4.15 o’clock two sails were seen, and the Wasp spread all her canvas to a light northeast breeze and went slipping down for a look at them. A little later a new sail hove in sight on the weather beam and Captain Blakeley hauled up to look at her before pursuing the other two farther; for he was in the mouth of the English Channel and British war-ships of all sizes haunted all that region. The stranger was coming down for a look at the Wasp, and as she was plainly not a frigate the Wasp held up to meet her. And then, at 10 o’clock, the stranger hoisted English colors with private signals that Blakeley could not answer.

Thereafter the Yankee crew hauled and eased away and tacked in the hope of getting the weather gage of the enemy, but all in vain, for she was a handy brig and her captain was as able a seaman as was Captain Blakeley. Seeing this, at last, Captain Blakeley gave it up, and at 1.50 o’clock fired a gun to windward and hoisted the American flag. Instantly the stranger answered the challenge, and easing off her sheets she bore down upon the Wasp.

It was a gentle breeze that wafted her down over the greasy, dull-gray seas, but at 3.15 o’clock she was less than sixty yards away on the port (weather) quarter of the Wasp, and with a short twelve-pounder mounted on her forecastle she opened fire with both solid shot and grape. For eleven minutes her crew worked this gun while the Yankees stood at their stations in silence—the British fired five charges of shot and grape into the deck of the Wasp while the New England backwoodsmen under a Tarheel captain eyed the blasts unflinchingly. The Tarheel Blakeley had been waiting for the enemy to draw nearer. At 3.26 o’clock she had done so to his satisfaction, and shoving down his helm he luffed up as if to cross her bows and opened fire as his guns began to bear—the backwoods gunners had a target more than one hundred feet long lying less than sixty feet away. It was their first live sea target. They were not quite so firm-nerved as they were later—but for eight minutes they worked their guns with an energy and skill that were simply stunning, while the enemy with equal energy replied.

“The concussions of the explosions almost deadened what little way the vessels had on”—almost but not quite, and Blakeley hauled up his mainsail lest he cross the enemy’s bow too soon. The smoke rose up in huge volumes above the loftiest sails and rolled away in bulging clouds on every side, but the men at the great guns of the Wasp, peering through the sulphurous fog, hurled their shot with unerring accuracy, while those that were perched in the tops used their muskets to pick off the officers of the enemy, first of all.

It was a desperate struggle, but the weight of metal, as well as the superiority of marksmanship was found with the American crew. They had opened fire at 3.26 P.M., and at 3.34 P.M. the enemy’s sails had been so damaged that the Wasp’s mainsail was hauled up lest she drift clear across the stranger’s bow. And then for six minutes more the Yankees drove their shot through the splintering walls of the enemy “when, in consequence of her unmanageable state,” she “fell foul of the Wasp.” So says Allen, and so was the fact. “And in this position (she) became exposed to a destructive raking fire.”

But though disabled, the enemy was not yet conquered. Her captain had, early in the fight, been cut through the calves of both legs by a musket-ball that made a most painful wound. Of course, he stood to his post. And then, as his ship was fouling the Wasp, a grape shot—a round iron ball more than two inches in diameter—pierced both thighs. He fell to his knees, but he struggled up and, sword in hand, cheered on his men, and then calling away boarders he ran forward to lead them, and was climbing into the rigging when two musket-balls, fired simultaneously from the maintop of the Wasp, struck him in the top of the head and passed down through to come out beneath his chin. “Placing one hand to his forehead and with the other convulsively brandishing his sword, he exclaimed ‘Oh God!’ and dropped lifeless on his own deck.”

The end had come. The British seamen recoiled, as their leader fell, and Blakeley’s men who had gathered to repel boarders now boarded in turn and swept the crew of the shattered ship into her hold. It was exactly 3.44 P.M. and twenty-nine minutes had passed since the first gun was fired by the enemy, and but eighteen since the Wasp returned the fire.

And then the Yankees learned that they had captured the British brig-sloop Reindeer, commanded by Captain William Manners. “The captain’s clerk, the highest officer left, surrendered the brig.” Her captain and purser were dead; her first (and only) lieutenant and sailing-master were wounded. So were one midshipman, a boatswain and a master’s mate. Whether she had other midshipmen is not stated—probably she had none.

In this action between the Wasp and the Reindeer we have, at last, after describing a year’s fighting, a British crew of which British writers speak well. That they do so only because the Reindeer’s armament and the number of her crew were much under the Wasp is not to be doubted. Nevertheless it is a pleasure to note that James is willing to write that “the British crew had long served together, and were called the pride of Plymouth,” but he states their number as consisting of “ninety-eight men and twenty boys.” No crew ever fought more bravely than they did until Captain Manners fell; and when he was down they yielded exactly as did the crew of the Yankee Argus when her captain was shot down.

Being assured that the Reindeer had the best of British crews, we can form an estimate of their skill by considering the damage which they were able to do to the Wasp during the twenty-nine minutes they were firing at her—firing at a range that varied from sixty yards down to a point where the ships touched each other—a range which for eighteen minutes was under sixty feet.

With nine short twenty-fours in their broadside and one short twelve on a high pivot what damage does the uninformed reader suppose that this one of the ablest of British crews—a crew that could and did load and fire their guns every two minutes—was able to do? They hulled the Yankee with six round shot and put another in the foremast. They fired at least eighty-six shots at the Yankee—a target that was one hundred feet long, eight or ten feet high, and for eighteen minutes less than sixty feet away—and yet only seven struck home. With their grape, and their musketry, fired when the ships were grinding together, they killed and mortally wounded eleven Yankees and severely or slightly wounded fifteen more.

On the other hand, the Yankees had not “long served together.” Most of them were landsmen who were seasick for a week on leaving port. And yet because of native ability they had been easily trained; they stood in silence under fire for five shots, and in this, their first battle, they aimed their guns so accurately that “the hull of the Reindeer was literally cut to pieces and her masts were in a tottering state.” This quotation is from Allen. The fact is that she was so badly cut to pieces in the wake of her gun-ports that it was impossible to tell how many Yankee shots did strike her hull. A breeze that sprang up the next day at once toppled the foremast overboard, and, in short, she was so badly injured that she could not be carried into either of the nearby French ports, and she was accordingly fired and blown to pieces. The British lost in killed and mortally wounded thirty-three, and in wounded thirty-four, “nearly all severely.”

The Wasp measured 509 tons to the Reindeer 477. She fired eleven guns, throwing 315 pounds of metal to a broadside, where the Reindeer fired ten guns throwing 210 pounds of metal to a broadside. The Wasp had a crew of 173, mostly landsmen, who had been together less than two months; the Reindeer had 118 who were “the pride of Plymouth.”

While nothing that is written here can add to the fame of Captain Manners, of the Reindeer, it may be said that Anglo-Saxon republicans are proud of his skill, and are thrilled by the story of his magnificent gallantry just as the Anglo-Saxon nominal-monarchists are.

Having destroyed the Reindeer, Blakeley sailed with the Wasp to L’Orient, France, the port where of old the Yankee cruisers had refitted after cruising against British commerce in the English Channel. En route, three days after the battle, a number of the wounded prisoners were put on a Portuguese brig, called the Lisbon Packet, and sent to Plymouth.

The Wasp was detained at L’Orient until August 27th, refitting, and then she got away to continue her work on the high seas. It was her luck to fall in with another British brig-sloop, within four days—a sloop like the Reindeer—and few, if any, more instructive pages of history can be found than those that compare the two actions which the Wasp had with these vessels of the class she was designed to destroy with ease.

The second brig-sloop to meet her fate under the guns of the Wasp was the Avon, “commander the Honourable James Arbuthnot,” and the battle was fought on September 1, 1814.

That was a most interesting day in the lives of the Wasp’s crew. To begin the day they fell in with a fleet of ten merchantmen, guarded by the big seventy-four-gun British liner Armada and a bomb ship. The liner was an average ship of her class, but the lively Wasp dashed boldly into the fleet and cut out the brig Mary loaded with cannon captured from the Spaniards and other military stores.

Having effectually fired the Mary, the Wasp tried for another, but the Armada chased her away this time and she went hunting other game, and found it.

The covey included a fleet of four vessels, of which, as the event showed, three were British brig-sloops of the class of the beaten Reindeer, and a merchantman that had been recaptured from a Yankee privateer. The vessels were rather widely separated, one of them, the Castilian by name, having gone in chase of the privateer. What another of the brig sloops, the Tartarus, was doing is not told in any printed account, while the third, which was the Avon, Captain Arbuthnot, had started with the Castilian in chase of the Yankee privateer, but had not been fast enough to keep up with the procession. So it happened that she was right in the way as the Wasp came along in the first shades of night.

A fresh southeast wind was blowing and the Avon was bowling along toward the southwest. As the Wasp came on in chase, the Avon hoisted signal flags and then signal lights and fired some rockets. The Wasp, of course, was unable to answer these, and the Avon was cleared for action. No effort to run away having been made by the Avon—on the contrary she fired a shot from her stern chaser—the Wasp had arrived close on her port quarter by 9.20 o’clock when one of the officers of the Avon shouted:

“What ship is that?” Captain Blakeley replied by repeating the question. Again the Avon hailed, when Blakeley replied:

“Heave to and I’ll let you know who I am,” and then fired the little twelve-pounder he had taken from the forecastle of the captured Reindeer. At that the Avon set her foretop-mast studding sail and began firing her stern chaser.

Fearing she might escape, Captain Blakeley put up his helm, ran down under the Avon’s lee, and as he ranged up under her quarter, gave her a raking broadside of bar shot and (presumably) langrage that set her rigging adrift in every direction. Another broadside of these projectiles was still more effective, for it brought down the fore-and-aft mainsail of the Avon, and it fell over the lee guns abaft the mainmast—the guns that bore on the Wasp—and for the time, put them entirely out of action, while her speed was materially diminished.

It was a moonless night, but the crew of the Wasp “could see through the smoke and gloom of the night the black hull of the Avon as she surged through the waters; and aloft, against the sky, the sailors could be discerned, clustering in the tops.”

No backwoods gunner would ask for a better target than was then afforded by the enemy. With their rifles the Yankee marksmen began to pick the British sailors from the Avon’s tops as they had shot raccoons from the tree crotch, while those behind the great guns loaded with ball as the Wasp ran through her lee, and aiming at the white line which the smoother and spoon drift drew along the bow and waist of the Avon’s black hull, they fired with unerring precision. They had been under fire—they were veterans now, though but three months on board ship.

Meantime the crew of the Avon had returned the fire furiously—after the manner of the British sailors of that day. Their manner of fighting was described by Lord Howard Douglas as “uncircumspect gallantry.” The same author describes the handling of the Wasp and of her guns with the words “wary caution.”

As the Yankees with “wary caution” fired their second or third broadside of round shot, the mainmast of the Avon fell over the rail, and her fire gradually died away while the men of the Wasp with unabated vigor worked their guns. At 10 o’clock the fire of the Avon ceased altogether, and Captain Blakeley hailed to ask her if she had struck. In reply the Avon opened a feeble fire and for twelve minutes more the Yankee gunners continued their deadly work, when the Avon being again silent, Blakeley once more hailed, and this time had the satisfaction of learning that the enemy had struck.

An appalling work had been done, for it was the work chiefly of men who had in themselves never suffered visible wrong at the hands of the British. They had never been enslaved by a press-gang. They had never felt the lash of the cat. They struck at the enemy because of an inherited hatred—rather because of a hatred that came to them through tradition—and every blow struck home.

After the Avon struck, the luck of the Wasp turned. As the crew of the small boat were lowering it to the water in order to go over and take possession of the Avon, a new enemy appeared. The boat was at once hoisted in and the drums beat to quarters. Then the Wasp was sent away before the wind while the topmen hurried aloft to reeve off new rigging in place of some that had been shot away. A few minutes sufficed, but before everything was quite ready two more ships were seen bearing down and Blakeley wrote: “I felt myself compelled to forego the satisfaction of destroying the prize.”

As a matter of fact he had already destroyed her, as we learn from the reports of the ships of the enemy. The first of the vessels to come to the aid of the Avon was the Castilian. She bore down on the quarter of the Wasp and fired one broadside which whistled harmlessly over the Wasp’s quarter-deck. Then she tacked around and hastened back to the Avon, for the Avon was firing guns and making other signals of distress. The survivors of her crew were working desperately at the pumps and with plugs to stop the leaks, and the crew of the Castilian and those of the Tartarus as well came to their aid. But neither the strength of the men at the pumps nor the skill of the carpenters could avail to undo the work of the Yankee backwoodsmen done during the few minutes—perhaps twenty—that the Wasp lay on the Avon’s lee bow. At 11.55 the work of transferring the Avon’s crew began and at 1 o’clock the next morning, as the last boat was leaving her, the Avon’s bow sank down under water, her stern rose high in air, and down she went.

As it seems to a student of naval history at the end of the nineteenth century, it is both interesting and instructive to compare the Reindeer battle with the Avon battle. For while the Yankee crew in the first battle ruined the Reindeer, she was still able to float. She was cut to pieces in the wake of her ports and comparatively few shot struck the water-line or under. But in this battle with the Avon they had so far improved in their skill with great guns, that, although there was now a rolling sea and it was night, they were, nevertheless, able to shoot so many holes into her at the water-line and below it that all the efforts of three crews could not save her.

The men of the Wasp, though their story ends in a mystery, yet speak to their countrymen. For their battles proved that the first requisite of a sea power is the ability to strike. As long as the American people can reach out with good ships carrying good guns manned by clear-eyed marksmen, they shall have peace.

The Wasp was struck by four round shot in the course of the battle, and these killed two men. A wad from one of her guns that was aimed too high, hit a third man and hurt him some.

We have only the account of the favorite British naval history from which to obtain the number of the crew of the Avon and her losses. He puts it at “one hundred and four men and thirteen boys.” He says she lost ten killed and thirty-two wounded. It is worth while giving James’s opinion of the matter. He says:

“The gallantry of the Avon’s officers and crew cannot for a moment be questioned; but the gunnery of the latter appears to have been not one whit better than, to the discredit of the British navy, had frequently before been displayed in combats of this kind. Nor, judging from the specimen given by the Castilian, is it likely that she would have performed any better.”

Roosevelt figures that the Wasp used twelve guns firing 327 pounds of metal to the Avon’s eleven throwing 280 pounds. The crews are set down at 160 to 117 and the relative force at fourteen to eleven in favor of the Yankees, the loss of men being as forty-two to three. Then he adds:

“It is self-evident that in the case of this action the odds, fourteen to eleven, are neither enough to account for the loss inflicted, being as fourteen to one, nor for the rapidity with which, during a night encounter, the Avon was placed in a sinking condition.”

After the night battle the Wasp ran with a free sheet and a favoring current away to the south and west. A merchantman was captured on the 12th, and another on the 14th. On the 21st she took the Atalanta, of eight guns, that had been a Baltimore privateer named Siro—“a beautiful brig of two hundred and fifty-three tons, coppered to the bends and copper fastened, and has a very valuable cargo on board, consisting of brandy, wines, cambrics, etc.” So wrote one of the Wasp’s officers. The Atalanta was manned and placed under the command of Midshipman David Geisinger. All the crew wrote letters to their friends, and Captain Blakeley sent in her his official report of the battle with the Avon. Then the Atalanta sailed for home, reaching Savannah on November 4, 1814, and the letters she carried were the last ever received from any member of the crew of the Wasp.

Yet a brief glimpse of her subsequent career was found in the log of the Swedish bark Adonis. As the reader will recall, the gallant crew of the Essex had for the most part arrived in New York under parole on the Essex Junior. There were two, however, Lieutenant Stephen Decatur McKnight and Master’s-Mate Lyman, who were landed at Rio Janeiro by the Phœbe, and these started for home on the Swedish bark Adonis, but they did not arrive, and when the time of their absence grew long, their friends made inquiry. The Adonis had arrived, though without publicly reporting anything about her passengers, but when her log was searched the following entry was found:

“Oct. 9th. In lat 18° 35′ N., long. 30° 10′ W., sea account, at 8 o’clock in the morning, discovered a strange sail giving chase to us, and fired several guns; she gaining very fast. At half-past 10 o’clock hove to, and was boarded by an officer dressed in an English doctor’s uniform, the vessel also hoisted an English ensign. The officer proceeded to examine my ship’s papers, &c., &c., likewise the letter bags, and took from one of them a letter to the victualling office, London. Finding I had two American officers as passengers, he immediately left the ship, and went on board the sloop-of-war; he shortly after returned, took the American gentlemen with him, and went a second time on board the sloop. In about half an hour, he returned again with Messrs. McKnight and Lyman, and they informed me that the vessel was the United States sloop-of-war, the Wasp, commanded by Captain Bleaky, or Blake, last from France, where she had refitted; had lately sunk the Reindeer, English sloop of war, and another vessel which sunk without their being able to save a single person, or learn the vessel’s name—that Messrs. McKnight and Lyman had now determined to leave me, and go on board the Wasp—paid me their passage in dollars, at 5s. 9d., and having taken their luggage on board the Wasp, they made sail to the southward. Shortly after they had left, I found that Lieutenant McKnight had left his writing-desk behind; and I immediately made signal for the Wasp to return, and stood toward her; they, observing my signals, stood back, came alongside, and sent their boat on board for the writing-desk; after which they sent me a log line, and some other presents, and made all sail in a direction for the line; and I have reason to suppose for the convoy that passed on Thursday previous.”

The above is quoted by Cooper. It locates the Wasp say two hundred miles about northwest of the Cape de Verde Islands. Cooper adds:

“There is a rumor that an English frigate went into Cadiz, much crippled and with a very severe loss of men, about this time, and that she reported her injuries to have been received in an engagement with a heavy American corvette, the latter disappearing so suddenly in the night, that it was thought she had sunk.

“There is only one other rumor in reference to this ship that has any appearance of probability. There is little doubt that Captain Blakeley intended to run down toward the Spanish Main, and to pass through the West Indies, in order to go into a southern port according to his orders. It is said that two English frigates chased an American sloop-of-war, off the southern coast, about the time the Wasp ought to have arrived, and that the three ships were struck with a heavy squall, in which the sloop-of-war suddenly disappeared. There is nothing surprising in a vessel of that size being capsized in a squall, especially when carrying sail hard to escape enemies.

“She was a good ship, as well manned and as ably commanded as any vessel in our little navy; and it may be doubted if there was at that time any foreign sloop-of-war of her size and strength that could have stood against her in fair fight.”

During the last cruise made by the Constitution in the War of 1812 she was caught in a hurricane and strained so that she leaked badly, and at the last the carpenter, after sounding her well and finding the water gaining rapidly, went to Lieutenant Shubrick, the officer of the deck, and said:

“Sir, the ship is sinking.”

“Well, sir,” replied Shubrick, “as everything in our power is made tight, we must patiently submit to the fate of sailors, and all of us sink or swim together.”

The Constitution did not sink, but the words of the gallant Shubrick show us how the Yankee crew of the Wasp met their fate.