The two ships now blasted away at each other for several minutes. Suddenly, the chase gun on the
President
’s main deck (underneath where Rodgers was standing) exploded, hurling the commodore high enough into the air that his leg cracked as he landed. The bursting gun, in turn, ignited the passing box that served it with powder, causing an explosion that shattered the main and forecastle decks around it. Midshipman John Taylor was killed and thirteen others wounded, including the gun captain and a nineteen-year-old midshipman named Matthew Calbraith Perry, who had been standing next to Rodgers.
With the other starboard chase gun on the
President
’s forecastle put out of commission for a time, Byron won a temporary reprieve. Halifax was to leeward, and if Byron lightened his load enough, the
Belvidera
had a slim chance of escaping. But Rodgers was not about to let this prize slip away, and he refused to go below to have his leg treated. Ignoring the excruciating pain, he continued to direct the battle from the quarterdeck.
The
President
’s starboard chase guns might be useless, but her main deck guns were ready to fire with single shots, and so Rodgers decided to end the whole business with dispatch. Ordering the helm put to starboard, he fired a full broadside aimed at Byron’s spars and rigging to slow her down. Some of these balls damaged the
Belvidera
, but not appreciably. And the time consumed by turning to fire a broadside only allowed Byron to increase his lead.
The erratic wind was so light now that all the ships were moving in slow motion. Byron continued to pull away, however, even as he continued firing his stern guns. Rodgers countered “by altering [his] course a half point to port and wetting [his] sails to gain a more effective position” on Byron’s starboard quarter, but all he managed to do was lose more ground. A similar attempt to position the
President
on Byron’s larboard quarter brought no better result, so Rodgers simply steered directly for the
Belvidera
and blazed away with his serviceable bow chasers, aiming at her spars and rigging, trying to get close enough to turn and fire a conclusive broadside.
Watching the
President
yaw and launch broadsides puzzled Byron. Rodgers had the faster ship; he had no reason to lose ground by yawing, when he could have run up to the
Belvidera
, blazed away with his heavy guns, and forced a surrender. “I acknowledge I was much surprised at [the
President
’s] yawing repeatedly and giving starboard and larboard broadsides,” Byron would later write, “when it was fully in his power to have run up alongside the
Belvidera
.”
At five o’clock—with the
Belvidera
’s stern guns continuing to tear at the
President
’s sails and rigging—Rodgers finally pulled to within point-blank range. But once again, instead of running up alongside his prey, he attempted to end the fight by ordering the helm put to starboard. The
President
turned and let loose yet another broadside from the main deck guns, which did more harm but did not appreciably slow the
Belvidera
down.
Byron’s fore topsail yard was shot through, causing him some difficulty, but the wind was light and the sea smooth, and he lost little ground. Rodgers continued the chase, while Byron’s stern guns kept up their deadly fire until 6:30, when Rodgers, in view of the damage done to his spars, rigging, and main yard, by now hanging by the lifts and braces alone, gave the order to luff across
Belvidera
’s stern and fire two more broadsides. Again they were ineffective.
At one point, noticing something odd in the movement of the
President
’s head sails, Byron thought perhaps she had lost control of her helm, and he suddenly yawed to fire a broadside. When he saw Rodgers’s fast reaction, however, he quickly reversed himself and resumed his flight. To increase speed he threw overboard several boats (a barge, yawl, gig, and jolly boat); a number of anchors (one bower, one stream anchor, and two sheet anchors); and fourteen tons of water. Gradually the
Belvidera
crept away from her pursuers, who were weighed down with the heavy provisions required for an extended cruise.
By 6:45 Byron was out of range of the
President
’s bow chasers, and with a heavy heart Rodgers recognized that, in spite of his having superior power and speed, he had lost the chase. “I now perceive with more mortification than words can express,” he wrote in his journal, “that there was little or no chance left of getting within gunshot of the enemy again.” Nonetheless, he vainly continued the chase with all the sail he could muster until 11:30, by which time the
Belvidera
was miles ahead, and Rodgers gave up, signaling the rest of the squadron to do likewise.
The
President
had three men killed and nineteen wounded, sixteen of them from the bursting of the chase gun. The
Belvidera
had two killed and twenty-two wounded.
Decatur was unhappy. Watching the
Belvidera
’s sails disappear over the horizon was painful. Had the chase been conducted properly, he believed, she surely would have surrendered. “We have lost the
Belvidera
; [she] . . . ought to have been ours,” he wrote to his fiscal agent, Littleton Tazewell.
Figure Intro.1:
Escape of the
Belvidera
, June 23, 1812
(courtesy of U.S. Naval Academy Museum).
The
Belvidera
sailed on to Halifax, capturing three surprised American merchantmen along the way, none of whose captains had any idea war had been declared—the
Fortune
, out of Newburyport, Massachusetts; the
Malcolm
, from Portland, Maine; and the
Pickering
, of Gloucester, Massachusetts. When Byron dropped anchor in Halifax Harbor on June 27, however, Admiral Sawyer unexpectedly released the three prizes. He had yet to be officially notified that war had broken out, and so far as he was concerned, his orders were to placate the Americans. The
Times
of London later declared that Sawyer had acted “in furtherance of that spirit of amity and conciliation so repeatedly displayed” by the British government. This characterization of His Majesty’s policies toward America would have brought a sardonic grin to President Madison’s face, for they had, from his point of view, been just the opposite.
The clash between the
President
and the
Belvidera
was the opening battle in what Americans came to view as their second war of independence. Like all wars, once begun it took on a life of its own, lasting far longer than expected, producing one unpleasant surprise after another, stirring the most hateful passions, precipitating heinous crimes, and sacrificing enough young fighters on land and at sea to touch the hardest heart.
CHAPTER ONE
Road to War
F
OR PRESIDENT MADISON there was a certain inevitability about the War of 1812. Ever since his initiation into national politics during the latter stages of the Revolutionary War, he had found British policies toward their former colonies to be marked—except for brief periods—by enmity and condescension.
The roots of Britain’s hostility, of course, dated to well before the Revolution, when George III—who dominated the cabinet and Parliament—refused to acknowledge that his subjects in America had the same rights as those in Britain (with the exception of Irish Catholics, who had no rights). The refusal of American patriots to submit to unequal status eventually led to armed conflict at Lexington and Concord, and then, over a year later, to a Declaration of Independence. The obdurate king had fought back—hard—to make the American traitors submit and return to the empire. The lengthy war that followed gradually wore down the colonial rebels. Only the timely intervention of France—seeking revenge for her defeat in the Seven Years War—prevented George III from restoring America to his kingdom. Great-power rivalry thus gave the colonists their first taste of independence.
The Treaty of Paris, which ended the war in September 1783, hardly reconciled the king or his people to colonial liberty. Bitter about their humiliating defeat, the British watched with satisfaction as the thirteen states floundered without a central government under the Articles of Confederation. Many in London expected the American experiment in republican government to fail. Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger, who took office in December 1783 at age twenty-four, refused to send an ambassador to the United States or withdraw from the forts along the northern frontier with Canada, as required by the Treaty of Paris. And he vigorously enforced the navigation acts, which, among other things, excluded American ships from trading with British colonies in the West Indies. Thomas Jefferson, the American ambassador to France at the time, wrote that Britain was “the only nation on earth who wishes us ill from the bottom of her soul.”
Nor did Britain’s sour attitude diminish when the Constitution was approved in 1788 or when George Washington became president in 1789—the year the French Revolution began. Most Americans welcomed the changes taking place in France, believing that the French revolutionaries represented the future and Britain the past. But skeptics admired British constancy far more than French experimentation, and early in Washington’s first term two incipient political parties began developing unexpectedly, one of them, forming around Alexander Hamilton, the Treasury secretary, was pro-British, while the other, gathering around Thomas Jefferson, the secretary of state, and James Madison, the leader of the House of Representatives, was decidedly pro-French.
Hamilton admired in particular Britain’s mixed constitution, which supported a hierarchical, supposedly paternalistic government featuring a strong but limited monarch, as well as a hereditary aristocracy with enough political power to check both the king and society’s lower elements. More impressive yet was its House of Commons, elected by a small number of wealthy voters and thus representing the opinion of the country’s well-to-do in a reasonable fashion. Such structural elitism Hamilton considered indispensable to Britain’s liberty and well-being. Similarly he felt that a moneyed, well-educated, and morally upright business class in America would provide the necessary leadership for its new republican government, protecting it against the irrational impulses of the untutored masses.
The British economic system, too, appealed to Hamilton. In spite of her defeat in the American war, Great Britain remained an economic colossus, the world’s dominant nation. The sources of her strength were manifold: she led the world in technological innovation, which sustained a growing manufacturing base that made her the leader of the Industrial Revolution; she had a strong central government that encouraged economic development and protected the free flow of ideas; her manufacturers and traders were preeminent in the world’s commerce, well supported by strong merchant banking houses. Britain’s commercial fleet was the largest in the world, supported by a naval infrastructure of huge proportions, and her navy surpassed all rivals, particularly after Pitt revitalized it during the 1780s.
It seemed self-evident to Hamilton that friendship with Britain should be the cornerstone of America’s foreign policy. Ninety percent of the republic’s trade, after all, was with the British Isles. American merchants were most comfortable dealing in the same language with British counterparts they had been doing business with for years before the Revolution. And London banking houses, like Baring Brothers, were willing, as they had been in the past, to extend essential credit, which could not be said of Dutch and French bankers, whom American traders had burned too often. The business relationship between America and Britain was not about to change, as far as Hamilton was concerned, and it dictated close ties to London.
As Treasury secretary responsible for developing plans to put America’s fiscal house in order, Hamilton was ever mindful that customs revenue derived from British imports was critical to the financial health of the fledgling republic. The country was in dreadful financial condition when he came into office. He believed that the United States could never develop solid fiscal underpinnings without a close relationship with the British. It might not even survive.
Jefferson, unlike Hamilton, maintained a profound distrust of Britain, along with a great love for France. When the French Revolution began halfway through his final year as American ambassador in Paris, he cultivated its leaders and helped write the famous Declaration of the Rights of Man, inspired by his own Declaration of Independence. The prospect of France becoming the world’s second great republic alongside the United States thrilled him. He believed deeply that people in every country would thrive if only they could rid themselves of the artificial burdens of useless kings and aristocrats.