Seeing that his ship was doomed, and probably sinking, Dacres called his officers, and they agreed that further resistance would be a needless waste of lives. Dacres fired a gun to leeward, indicating he had struck his colors. He could not actually haul them down because they had all gone over the side with the masts.
Hull, in the meantime, had ordered his sails filled and hauled off to repair damages to the braces and other rigging before returning to the fray; all the while he watched to see if Dacres had surrendered. It was impossible to find out; no enemy flags were visible. Hull heard the single cannon blast, but that could have been a stray gun going off. He needed to confirm if Dacres had actually given up. He hoisted out a boat and sent Third Lieutenant Read and Midshipman Gilliam over to the
Guerriere
under a flag of truce to determine if Dacres had surrendered, and if he had, to inquire if he needed assistance. Hull thought the
Guerriere
was sinking.
In twenty minutes Read returned with Captain Dacres, who confirmed the surrender and offered his sword to Hull. Without hesitating, Hull refused to take it from so gallant a foe and invited Dacres to his cabin. Having been badly wounded in the back by one of the
Constitution
’s sharpshooters, Dacres moved with great difficulty. Although he was grateful for Hull’s solicitude, he was shocked when he later discovered (or thought he did) that “a large portion” of the ship’s company were British seamen. There was no way he could prove they were, of course.
Before conferring with the defeated captain, Hull ordered all boats out to ferry prisoners, especially the wounded, over to the
Constitution
and get them and their baggage off the stricken ship before it sank. The butcher’s bill for the
Guerriere
was grim. Fifteen tars were dead and sixty-three wounded. An additional twenty-four were missing, presumed killed when the masts went by the board. Hull’s men and boats were at the depressing business of transferring the British crew all night and into the next day. The moans and cries of the injured men were heartrending.
Dacres later said, “I feel it my duty to state that the conduct of Captain Hull and his officers to our men has been that of a brave enemy, the greatest care being taken to prevent our men losing the smallest trifle, and the greatest attention being paid to the wounded who through the attention and skill of Mr. [John] Irvine, surgeon, I hope will do well.” Irvine was the
Guerriere
’s doctor. Dacres didn’t mention Amos Evans, the
Constitution
’s surgeon who tended the wounded as well. Most of them were British; the
Constitution
had only seven killed and seven wounded, one of them being Lieutenant Morris, who, in spite of his life-threatening injury, had remained on deck during the entire battle. When the firing ceased, he suddenly felt the full effects of his wound and went below to the cockpit to have it treated. He shortly became feverish. Doctor Evans feared for Morris’s life, but the patient continued breathing. If Morris survived, Evans thought it would be weeks before he recovered.
At daylight, it was clear the
Guerriere
could not be salvaged and taken triumphantly into Boston, which Hull badly wanted to do. He ordered the rest of the prisoners removed as quickly as possible so that he could burn her. By three o’clock in the afternoon all the British tars were safely aboard the
Constitution
, and Hull told Read to set the
Guerriere
on fire. The lieutenant spread gunpowder in her storerooms, with long trails leading to the ship’s side, and lit them. Flames soon engulfed the entire ship, and her guns started popping off one at a time. Then, suddenly, without warning, she blew up. Hundreds of jagged pieces of wood spewed into the air and then drifted slowly down to the water trailing smoke and fire, a spectacular, chilling sight.
In his report to Secretary Hamilton, Hull explained that the main action had taken only thirty minutes. During that time the
Guerriere
was reduced to a floating log, while the
Constitution
was practically unscathed. He also reported that at the height of the action, Lieutenant Charles Morris, although badly wounded, remained on deck in the thick of the fight. Hull credited Morris with being a key to victory, and he still feared for his life. Hull also credited the rest of his brave crew, including the African American sailors—“niggers,” he mindlessly called them. “They stripped to the waist and fought like devils,” he wrote, “seeming to be utterly insensible to danger and to be possessed with a determination to outfight the white sailors.”
The ship’s company was integrated, although not free of racial prejudice, as Hull’s remarks made clear. It was common for American warships to have 15 to 20 percent of their crews African American—free and slave. Hull appeared surprised that his black seamen performed as well as they did under fire—the supreme test.
Hull now made his way to Boston with over three hundred prisoners. Ten uneventful days later, he rounded Cape Cod and beat up toward the city against a stiff southwest wind. It took all night to reach Little Brewster Island and Boston Lighthouse, where he anchored on Sunday morning, August 29. The crew spent the day sprucing up the ship for what they expected to be a rousing welcome in the city. The following morning, however, they were jolted when lookouts spied five warships—four frigates and a brig—racing toward them.
Hull was enjoying his first complete night’s sleep in a long time, and he reluctantly rolled out of bed to prepare a run into the harbor and the protection of its forts. At eight o’clock, however, he trained his telescope on the approaching fleet and was relieved to see American flags hoisted. Commodore Rodgers’s
President
was in the lead. He was returning from his unsuccessful chase after the Jamaica convoy.
Rodgers had spotted the
Constitution
at daylight, but being too far away to identify her, he cleared for action, hoping she was a British frigate. Midshipman Matthew Calbraith Perry recorded in his journal, “At daylight discovered a frigate lying in Nantasket Roads, cleared ship for action and stood for her. At 7:00 she proved the frigate
Constitution
from a cruise, having captured the British frigate
Guerriere
.”
The
Constitution
led a parade of nearly the entire American fleet into town. The reception was tremendous. The Washington artillery fired one salute after another, while people gathered on the wharves, the rooftops, and the ships in the harbor to cheer and applaud.
Rodgers knew the ovation was for the
Constitution
. He appeared to have accomplished little on his lengthy cruise. And making matters worse, he had been forced to return prematurely because of scurvy. It was inexcusable to have a mission aborted because of widespread scurvy. Although the cause of the disease had not been identified, and would not be until the twentieth century, measures to prevent it were well-known. The
President
managed to complete the voyage without suffering a single case; the
United States
and the
Congress
should have been able to do the same. Six men had died on the two frigates, and thirty-three had to be taken to the hospital. Forty-one others had symptoms but did not need hospitalization.
At first glance, Rodgers’s cruise paled in comparison to Hull’s. Rodgers failed to capture the
Belvidera
when she was within his grasp, and he could not find the Jamaica convoy. The nine vessels he did capture were insignificant compared to the
Guerriere
. Nonetheless, Rodgers did perform a signal service, which the general public may not have appreciated, but President Madison and secretaries Hamilton and Gallatin certainly did.
Rodgers explained to Hamilton, “Even if I did not succeed in destroying the convoy, . . . leaving the coast in the manner we did would tend to distract the enemy, oblige him to concentrate a considerable portion of his most active force and at the same time prevent his single cruisers from laying before any of our principal ports from their not knowing to which port or what moment we might return; and it is now acknowledged even by the enemies of the administration that this disposition has been attended with infinite benefit to our returning commerce.”
Indeed it was. By diverting Broke’s squadron, Rodgers allowed hundreds of American merchant vessels to reach their home ports safely. A remarkable 250 got into Boston, and 266 more put into New York, Baltimore, and Philadelphia. It was plain to Madison and Gallatin that Rodgers had prevented a disaster. In his annual message to Congress the president noted with satisfaction that the merchant fleet had reached home safely “having been much favored in it by a squadron of our frigates under the command of Commodore Rodgers.” The fact that Rodgers did it by disobeying orders wasn’t mentioned.
The British paid scant attention to Rodgers’s achievement, but when news of the
Constitution
’s victory reached London during the first week of October, it caused at first disbelief and then widespread alarm. The
Times
wrote that the loss “spread a degree of gloom through the town, which it was painful to observe.” The paper declared that far more than a single ship was lost. The invaluable reputation of the Royal Navy was undermined with incalculable consequences. In fact, the
Times
said that it knew “not any calamity of twenty times its amount that might have been attended with more serious consequences to the worsted party.” George Canning told Parliament the defeat of the
Guerriere
threatened “the sacred spell of the invincibility” of the Royal Navy.
When the British had more time to think about it, they rationalized the defeat by pointing out that the
Constitution
was more of a line-of-battle ship than a frigate. They maintained that the
Guerriere
would have been justified in refusing combat with an obviously superior foe. Captain Dacres had a different excuse. At his court-martial he testified that the
Guerriere
’s weak condition before going into battle caused the defeat. Her mizzen mast went by the board early in the battle, he claimed, because it was in need of repair, and her mainmast fell from decay, not enemy fire. The court completely exonerated him.
Reaction in the United States was one of surprise and then widespread acclaim. Even disgruntled Federalists in New England applauded. For years they had supported a strong navy against determined opposition from Republicans, who took it as an article of faith that American warships could never succeed under any circumstances against the Royal Navy. Captain Hull’s triumph proved they were wrong, and Federalists delighted in saying, “We told you so.” And Madison, who over many years—going back to Washington’s presidency—had consistently fought against building a respectable navy, grappled on to Hull’s victory like a lifeline, basking in the public acclaim, using it to offset his sagging popularity and to give his reelection campaign a much needed boost. He never imagined that the navy would be an important political asset.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ripe Apples and Bitter Fruit: The Canadian Invasion
W
HILE THE BLUE-WATER fleet was performing brilliantly, Madison’s Canadian campaign was experiencing one difficulty after another. The president’s notion that America could prepare quickly for war after it had been declared turned out to be a pipe dream. A new army did not instantly materialize, nor did volunteers sign up in significant numbers, nor did the untrained militiamen, who were called suddenly to arms, perform as seasoned veterans. Jefferson’s ripe apple began looking more like a prickly pear.
Key players in Madison’s invasion appeared unacquainted with his strategy and their roles. On July 16, nearly a month after the president signed the declaration of war, Army Lieutenant Porter Hanks, commander of strategically important Fort Michilimackinac on Mackinac Island, had not been favored with any new orders from the War Department. He had not even received notice that war had been declared.
He knew something was up, however. For the past two weeks an unusual number of warriors—Sioux, Chippewa, Winnebago, Menominee, Ottawa, and others—had paddled canoes passed his fort. He naturally wondered why. He assumed they were traveling to St. Joseph Island, forty miles away on the Canadian side of the border, where a tiny force of British regulars occupied decrepit Fort St. Joseph. The warriors’ dress and weaponry indicated they were not traveling for a peaceful powwow. Clearly something was going on, but he didn’t know what it was.
Hanks was naturally concerned about the defense of Mackinac Island, located at the western end of Lake Huron. It guarded the entrance to the Straits of Mackinac, connecting Lake Huron with Lake Michigan, a key point in the fur trade and in communications with the western Indian nations. The British prized the fur trade, as did the Native Americans, but of much greater importance now was whose side the tribes of the Northwest would fight on. The defense of Upper Canada, and indeed all of Canada, depended on whether the Indians would stand with the British or remain neutral.
What Hanks needed more than anything else was a pair of armed schooners to protect his island from a seaborne attack. He did not have the soldiers or weapons to defend Mackinac against an amphibious assault. A warship or two patrolling the surrounding waters would have secured Fort Michilimackinac. Hank’s superior, Brigadier General William Hull, had requested naval support from Washington long ago but was ignored. An administration that did not even think to tell Hanks a war was on could not be expected to provide naval support, nor could it furnish the soldiers and armament he required.