The Spirit of 1812

N the 1st of June, one hundred years ago, James Madison, President of the United States, sent a manifesto to the Senate and the House of Representatives, in which, after a long preamble dealing with Great Britain's theories on the rights of blockade and embargo, there occurs the following statement of the condition of affairs:

On the 17th of the month (the thirty-seventh anniversary of Bunker Hill) Congress declared war against Great Britain, an act that was approved on following day by the President. In act, which was but one hundred and fifty words in length, there were written some sentences the carrying out of which bore great results. But these sentences never appeared again, and never will appear in a declaration of international hostilities. They prove that, in the judgment of the members of Congress, the sea would be the theater of successful conflict. Thus run the words:

Despite the bitter political feelings of the time, the whole country rose almost unanimously in support. Even the advanced Federalists, who were supposed by some to be almost pro-British in their sympathies, backed up the government, and the Philadelphia Freeman's Journal, a decided Federal paper, came out with the following patriotic leader:

War is declared. It must be carried on with vigor and activity, commensurate with the expectations of the people. If any foreign nation has, for a moment, indulged a belief that they could profit by political divisions in this country they will now be convinced that such a belief was preposterous and that it must be abandoned forever.

Every daily journal and the every little weekly paper rang with fervid this approval; war-poets seemed to spring up everywhere. It was a great day for patriotic poetasters—they fluted, blared, and ranted and roared, according to the intensity of their feeling's. What appeared in the Trenton True American is a fair sample:

The inhabitants of the United States thus summoned in 1812 numbered approximately some seven million three hundred and fifty thousand souls—they had nearly doubled since the Revolution. The greater proportion lived on the sea-coast, or, in those days of slow travel, but two or three days' journey from it. Fired by patriotic fervor (and doubtless by a hope of reward), there was an actual scramble to get to sea, and it was the seamen who manned the little privateers, no less than the hardy tars of the little navy, who brought the war to a successful close and reflected what glory there was to our arms. The regular and the volunteer service between them captured on the high seas more than sixteen hundred British sail, with a total of three thousand and eighty-three guns and nearly twelve thousand prisoners of war. There were captured or destroyed by British ships forty-two American naval vessels, one hundred and thirty-three privateers, and five hundred and eleven merchant vessels, a total of six hundred and eighty-six.

While the newspaper editors of the day deplored the early blunders and disasters of our land forces on the Canadian frontier, the poets looking seaward had something to sing about.

What a subject for exultant verse was the career of the little privateer sloop Dart, which mounted two swivels and a brass six-pounder, could be propelled by sweeps, and came into port triumphantly mounted on the deck of her captured adversary, the British brig Diana! Many songs became historic: "Hull's Victory," "Bainbridge's Tid Ri Di," "Yankee Tars," "The Privateers"—good old sea songs they were. The newspapers were filled with highfalutin doggerel, and took on a rather gloating style in their news columns and editorials.

To the State of Virginia belongs the honor of taking the first prisoner and the first prize of the war. The former was a Captain Wilkinson, of the Royal Marine, who was captured in Norfolk while endeavoring to make his way out in a rowboat to a British man-of-war then hovering off the coast. The first prize was the schooner Patriot, bound from Guadaloupe to Halifax with a valuable cargo of sugar. She was taken by the cutter Jefferson, William Ham master, and arrived at Norfolk on June 26th.

The list of British war-ships on the Halifax station at the time of the breaking out of hostilities more than equaled the weight of armament of the regular navy of the United States. These vessels consisted of the Africa, a ship of the line of sixty-four guns, flying the flag of Rear-Admiral Herbert Sawyer; two receiving-ships, four frigates, nine sloops-of-war, and seven schooners. No wonder the little American navy needed the assistance of the privateers, if for no other purpose than to divert attention.

On the regular navy list in 1812 were sixteen vessels, only six of which rated over thirty-two guns; three only were frigates of the first class, rating forty-four. These were the United States, the Constitution, and the President. They were the oldest on the list; built in the year 1797, in the ports of Philadelphia, Boston, and New York, in the order named. There is hardly a school-boy who does not recall their deeds. Some private yachts afloat at the present day would almost equal their tonnage, which was but one thousand five hundred and seventy-six tons. Out of the list of sixteen ships, there were six others, rating from a hundred and sixty tons to twelve hundred and sixty-five, who lent their names to fame: the Chesapeake, 38; the Essex, 32; the Hornet, 18; the Wasp, 18; the Argus, 16; and the Enterprise, 12. But three of the sixteen were taken by the enemy, and only one surrendered after a single combat with a vessel of her own size. There were but twelve officers with the rank of captain in 1812, and the total of those of all grades holding commissions was but five hundred. Less than three thousand seamen were available for cruising war-vessels; the marine corps numbered fifteen hundred and twenty-three men and officers. During the war the personnel of the navy grew continually until it was between three and four times what it was at the beginning, the list showing nearly fifteen thousand of all grades on the nation's pay-roll in 1815.

Very early indeed were the doings of the ships made known to the public. Within a few hours after receiving news of the declaration of war in the city of New York a squadron of three frigates, one brig, and one sloop-of-war sailed from that port in quest of several of the enemy's frigates known to be cruising off the harbor. On the 3d of July the frigate Essex, under Captain Porter, went to sea from New York. The brigs Nautilus, Viper, and Vixen were cruising off the coast, and the sloop-of-war Wasp was on the high seas returning from France. On the 12th of July the Constitution, under the command of Captain Isaac Hull, put out from Chesapeake Bay. Efforts had been made to detain her, as it was held by some in the Navy Department that she was not in the proper condition for service. She was, however, equal to the most strenuous demands ever put upon the sailing qualities of any vessel that spread canvas, as will be seen. Let us tell it just as it was given to the public of that day. It has a modest introduction to a stirring, heart-lifting story. On the 1st of August there appeared in The National Intelligencer this paragraph:

The Boston Gazette, in the issue that appeared on the morning of the 27th of July, printed the following news item in large type:

Contemporaneous with General William Hull's surrender at Detroit in the middle of August, where he practically handed over his army to the British, followed a succession of brilliant achievements on the ocean which entirely dispelled the temporary gloom which pervaded the minds and filled with grief the hearts of the American people. The country was soon electrified by the news that an English frigate had surrendered to an American for the first time in history. Let us quote from one of the least exultant editorials published in The War:

We find in the columns of the Boston Patriot the following interesting detail:

The capture of the Guerriere took place on August 19th, two days after General Hull's surrender at Detroit. A month later the American sloop-of-war Wasp, Captain Jacob Jones, took the British sloop-of-war Frolic (she and her prize were almost immediately retaken by H.M.S. Poictiers, 74, and on top of this bit of news the country was set in commotion again by the appearance of the frigate United States, commanded by Stephen Decatur, at the entrance to Long Island Sound, with the captured British frigate Macedonian following in her wake. The New London Gazette, of the issue of Saturday, December the 5th, printed the following:

A local poet was immediately stirred into the following outburst, which was sung to the tune of "Ye Tars of Columbia." It ran on for some twenty stanzas, of which the following is one:

The story of the arrival of the flag of the Macedonian at Washington, brought by Lieutenant Hamilton, the son of the Secretary of the Navy, and his entry with the colors to the naval ball given to the officers of the navy and particularly to Captain Stewart, has been described many times. The Washington correspondent to a New York paper, under the date of December 10th, ends his pen-picture thus: "Such a scene as this occasion exhibited we have never before witnessed; and never, never, 'so long as memory holds her seat,' shall we forget it!"

Niles's Weekly Register ended its comment on the latest victory in the following words: "Let the navy be augmented—and impressments will cease. Let it be done quickly that the war may end with glorious safety."

On Monday, the 15th of February, 1813, the frigate Constitution, that had been cruising in southern waters, principally off the coast of Brazil, arrived in Boston harbor with the news that she had taken, on the 29th of December, his Britannic Majesty's frigate Java, of forty-nine guns and upward of four hundred men, commanded by Captain Lambert, and conveying Lieutenant-General Hislop, governor of Bombay, and his staff. A New York paper, under the date of February 23d, made the following announcement:

All the officers and seamen, taken in the Java were paroled by Commodore Bainbridge, and landed on the 3d of January at San Salvador, Brazil—thirty-two officers and three hundred and twenty-nine petty officers, seamen, and marines. In a private letter commenting upon the action Commodore Bainbridge makes this generous observation: "The Java was exceedingly well fought and bravely defended. Poor Lambert, whose death I sincerely regret, was a distinguished, gallant officer and worthy man. He has left a widow and two helpless children. But his country makes provision for such sad events."

After the action of two hours the Java had been completely dismasted, and so riddled that it was impossible to save her, and she was set on fire. Her losses had been sixty killed, including her gallant commander, and a hundred and seventy wounded; the Constitution losing nine killed and twenty-six wounded. The Boston Patriot printed a picturesque account of the arrival of Commodore Bainbridge and his reception by the populace:

England not only was surprised at the unexpected turn of events at sea, but her own newspapers took on a note of consternation, as is evident from this editorial in the London Times, March 20, 1813:

A year to a day after President Madison's manifesto to Congress, quoted in the opening of this article, the frigate Chesapeake—"the luckless Chesapeake," as the sailors called her—put out from Boston harbor to answer the challenge of the Shannon, made evident by her flaunting her flag off the entrance to the harbor. The latter ship, a 38, under command of Captain Philip Bowes Vere Broke, was at the top-notch of efficiency and preparation. Her commander had written a personal letter to Captain James Lawrence, challenging him to this meeting, and stating his complement and broadside strength; but this letter was never received, although it was a remarkable manifestation of a naval officer's outspoken manliness and candor. The story of the fight is well known; how the green crew of the Chesapeake was almost at the point of mutiny before the action, the rigging being newly rove and the men unacquainted with their officers; everything was in disorder.

Captain Lawrence was very early mortally wounded and carried below. Captain Broke, who led the boarding party that gained the Chesapeake's deck, was also severely shot in the neck and taken aboard his own vessel. Every one of the Chesapeake's officers was either killed or wounded. After her capture she was taken into the harbor of Halifax, where the bodies of Captain Lawrence and his gallant officers slain with him in battle were committed to the grave, attended by all the civil, naval, and military officers of the two nations who happened to be in the port.

Again a local poet was moved to do something better than the ordinary sea-faring rhyme, and two of his stanzas have some merit of feeling:

Despite this generous treatment and the display of grief on the enemy's part, England was sent into a mad rejoicing by the news that at last an American frigate had been taken in equal combat. Nearly two months later Woodworth's Journal referred to the singular demonstrations that took place in the following editorial:

Notwithstanding' this reverse, the successes continued, varied by a few small losses, until the war was over. Perry's victory on Lake Erie and McDonough's on Lake Champlain were the only "fleet actions," if so they could be called, of the war, and between them they saved New York State from invasion. A strange commentary on the slowness with which news traveled was that the treaty of peace had already been signed at The Hague in December, 1814, before the loss of the U.S.S. President, which was forced to surrender to a British squadron, January 15, 1815, and the capture of the Cyane and Levant by the Constitution in February. Of only one great land victory can the United States boast—New Orleans, fought, like the two last ship actions, after peace had been signed.

The spirit of 1812 lived on the sea; it reflected itself in catch-words and phrases that became traditional inheritances to the generation succeeding. The little frigate Essex, commanded by David Porter, after maintaining for hours in the harbor of Valparaiso an unequal combat against two vessels, the Phœbe and the Cherub, which, combined, were almost double her own armament, left "Remember the Essex!" as a heritage. The gallant Lawrence's last words, "Don't give up the ship!" would animate the gun-deck crew of any vessel, and, though the old-time sailor has disappeared and his successor is a machine-made product who must be instructed to know and to handle the complicated mechanism of the modern war-ship, the need, if need arises, is for the same class of men.

But the days of the privateersman, with his lightly built, oversparred craft, with the "Long Tom" amidships and a broadside battery that could be carried in the crown of one's hat, have gone. There will be no more privateers, nor is it possible to build a war-ship in three months. Ships must be ready and the crews must be prepared. But if this country has the misfortune to find herself at war again it will have to look to the sea, as heretofore, and may the spirit of 1812 be found still living!