Porter continued to the second place of rendezvous, the wretched Portuguese penal colony at Fernando de Noronha, three hundred miles off the Brazilian coast, reaching it on December 13. He just missed Bainbridge, who had been there and left a message written in invisible ink, advising Porter to meet him at the next place of rendezvous, Cape Frio off Rio de Janeiro. Porter dutifully traveled down the coast of Brazil to Cape Frio, arriving on Christmas day, but Bainbridge wasn’t there either. Porter cruised off the coast until January 12, capturing only one small merchant schooner, the
Elizabeth
, before turning south for the penultimate rendezvous point, St. Catherine’s Island off the coast of Brazil, five hundred miles south of Rio. Again, Bainbridge was nowhere to be found.
After taking on what supplies were available, Porter decided not to go to the last place of rendezvous—the waters around the important British base at St. Helena. Instead, he chose to fulfill a long-standing dream of sailing into the Pacific. He left St. Catherine’s on January 26, 1813, and steered south, rounded hazardous Cape Horn, and, after nearly foundering, sailed up the coast of Chile to Valparaiso, standing into the harbor on March 15. The
Essex
was the first American warship to enter the Pacific.
When Porter set his hook in Valparaiso Harbor, he soon discovered that Spanish authority in Chile had collapsed. Instead of a frosty reception from Spanish officials, the revolutionary government of Jose Miguel Carrera greeted him warmly and gave him everything he needed to refurbish the
Essex
after her long voyage. Anxious to get on with his work, Porter remained in Valparaiso only a week. On March 22 he stood out from the half-moon-shaped harbor and steered north toward Peru, whose government was still loyal to the Spanish king, Ferdinand VII, even though he was Napoleon’s prisoner in France. Peru’s governor was pro-British and decidedly unfriendly. He was sending out privateers to attack the American whaling fleet in the eastern Pacific; British privateers and armed whalers were working with him.
Porter decided the best use of the
Essex
would be protecting American whalers by capturing or destroying the British whaling fleet and their privateers. Approximately twenty enemy whalers roamed the eastern Pacific, most of them well armed.
On the trip north, Porter captured the Peruvian privateer
Nereyda
and retook one of her prizes, the American whaler
Barclay
. The
Nereyda
had twenty-four American prisoners aboard from two captures. Porter liberated them, threw the
Nereyda
’s armament overboard, and sent the ship to Lima with a message for the governor of Peru, demanding the captain of the Nereyda be punished for his piratical conduct. Porter then headed for Lima himself, and after looking into the harbor and recapturing one of the American vessels as she was entering port, he put back to sea in search of Britain’s whaling fleet.
Finding nothing along the Peruvian coast, he sailed five hundred miles west along the equator to the Galapagos Islands, the prime fishing grounds for all whalers. Porter described the islands as “perhaps the most barren and desolate of any known.” He arrived on April 7 and remained, except for a brief trip back to the coast for water, until October 3. During those months he was remarkably successful, capturing twelve British whalers and disrupting their entire fleet. In the process, he acquired a large quantity of spermaceti oil, enough to fill three of the captured whalers. He sent them to the United States at various times. The prize money they would bring was potentially enormous. Unfortunately, enemy warships captured all three before they reached port. Captain Byron’s
Belvidera
picked up one of them.
Porter turned his finest capture, the whaler
Atlantic
, into a warship and christened her
Essex Junior
. He ordered John Downes, the
Essex
’s first lieutenant, to take command. Needless to say, Downes was delighted.
Essex Junior
’s armament was ten long sixes and ten eighteen-pound carronades. During the entire time he was in the Pacific, Porter supplied most of his needs, including food, from captured ships—a remarkable feat. Even more amazing was the extraordinary good health of his crew. Thanks to his assiduous efforts, only one case of scurvy appeared aboard the
Essex
during her odyssey.
Porter’s encounters with British captains and their crews in the desolate islands prompted him to contemplate the differences between the American and British navies. “It seems somewhat extraordinary,” he wrote in his journal,
that British seamen should carry with them this propensity to desert even into merchant vessels, sailing under the flag of their nation, and under circumstances so terrifying; but yet I am informed that their desertion while at Charles Island [in the Galapagos] has been very common, even when there was no prospect whatever of obtaining water but from the bowels of the tortoises. This can only be attributed to that tyranny, so prevalent on board their ships of war, which has crept into their merchant vessels, and is there aped by their commanders. Now mark the difference. While the
Essex
lay at Charles Island, one-fourth of her crew was every day on shore, and all the prisoners who chose to go; and even lent the latter boats, whenever they wished it, to go for their amusement to the other side of the island. No one attempted to desert or to make their escape; whenever a gun was fired, every man repaired to the beach, and no one was ever missing when the signal was made.
During the first week of October, Porter decided he needed a safe place not frequented by British men-of-war to overhaul his ship and refresh himself and his men. He sailed his fleet west for 2,500 miles to the isolated but thickly populated Marquesas Islands, 850 miles northeast of Tahiti. After so many months at sea the frigate needed her leaking seams caulked and her copper bottom repaired, and she was desperately in need of a thorough smoking to kill the army of rats who were eating the food and clothing, even chewing through the water casks. And the crew and officers were in need of the delightful diversions that Porter expected the Polynesians, particularly their young women, to provide.
On October 25, the
Essex
and her companions arrived off the island of Nuku Hiva, where the women and men greeted them warmly, Polynesian style. Porter remained on the island—the most important among twelve in the archipelago—until December 12, recuperating, enjoying the islanders’ extraordinary hospitality, and refitting the
Essex
. Although he would have preferred not to, he could not help getting embroiled in the strange tribal wars on the divided island. With his overwhelming firepower, he was able to cow the tribes, and he completed work on his ships.
Despite these battles, during his weeks ashore, Porter formed a strong attachment to the island and its people, coming to regard Nuku Hiva as a paradise. He regretted that the islanders had come in contact with white men at all. Viewing the natives as people in a state of nature, he claimed to be saddened that they could not remain so. The next best thing, he thought, was making them Americans. And without any authorization whatever, he annexed Nuku Hiva in the name of the United States, renaming it Madison Island. When the president heard later of Porter’s “conquest,” however, he was not flattered and rejected the idea. The United States never annexed the South Pacific paradise. That was left for France to do many years later.
Before leaving Nuku Hiva, Porter ordered Marine Lieutenant John Gamble to continue America’s presence on the island until he returned or until five months had elapsed. To support Gamble, Porter left three of the captured whalers and a surprisingly small number of men—Midshipman William Feltus, twenty-one volunteers, and six prisoners.
After easily thwarting a mutiny by a small number of men just before he was leaving, Porter set sail for Valparaiso in the refurbished
Essex
, intent on falling in with an enemy frigate. He knew British hunters were after him, and he meant to accommodate them. Lieutenant Downes and
Essex Junior
accompanied him. A stop at Valparaiso for supplies was unnecessary; Porter had enough to reach the South Atlantic safely or to sail west to East Asia, where he could have obtained provisions as well. He might also have been an important fighting force in either place. The need for supplies was not the reason he was going to Valparaiso. He was fixated on fighting a British frigate and achieving the glory that Isaac Hull had achieved—the very sort of wasteful dueling that Madison and Jones were dead set against.
After an uneventful voyage, Porter arrived at Valparaiso on February 3, 1814. He did not have to wait long for his fondest wish to be fulfilled. After midnight on February 8, lookouts spotted two enemy warships in the distance, and the following morning, the 36-gun
Phoebe
, under Captain James Hillyar, and the 28-gun
Cherub
, under Captain Thomas J. Tucker, sailed into the harbor prepared for battle. Porter was ready for them. But he did not know quite what to expect, since Valparaiso was a neutral harbor. The larger frigate sailed near enough to the
Essex
for her jib boom to sweep uncomfortably close to the
Essex
’s forecastle. But it did not touch any part of the ship. That was fortunate for Hillyar: Porter was ready to respond to any touching with a ferocious broadside of powerful carronades. Evidently Hillyar hoped to take Porter by surprise, but seeing that he had not, he backed off, pretending he was respecting the neutrality of the port. Porter held his fire and let Hillyar recover, something he deeply regretted later.
The
Phoebe
and the
Cherub
then took up stations outside the port to watch and perhaps to wait for more warships. Porter remained inside Valparaiso harbor. In the ensuing days and weeks he attempted to provoke Hillyar into a single-ship duel, but Hillyar would not accommodate him. Frustrated, Porter attempted a surprise night attack on the
Phoebe
using the
Essex
’s boats, but that too failed. During his attempts to lure Hillyar into battle, Porter discovered that the
Essex
was much faster than the
Phoebe
.
Porter now decided that since Hillyar was never going to fight him one-on-one, he would make a run for it, before more British warships arrived. An opportunity presented itself the afternoon of March 28, when a strong southerly wind parted the
Essex
’s port anchor cable, and the ship started dragging her starboard anchor out to sea. Porter reacted quickly, taking up the anchor and arranging his sails; he was convinced that this was his opportunity.
He took in the topgallants, which were set over single-reefed topsails, and braced up to pass to windward of the
Phoebe
and
Cherub
, who were in pursuit. Unfortunately, on rounding the western point of Valparaiso Bay, a sudden heavy squall carried away the
Essex
’s main topmast. Three men aloft fell into the sea and drowned. Porter decided to turn back and regain his original anchorage. But that proved impossible, and he was forced to put into the east side of the harbor within pistol shot of shore. Hillyar and the
Cherub
were right after him, and although Porter considered he was in neutral territory, Hillyar never hesitated, and a vicious battle developed.
The
Essex
had forty thirty-two-pound carronades and six long twelve-pounders. The
Phoebe
had twenty-six long eighteen-pounders, two long twelve-pounders, two long nine-pounders, fourteen thirty-two-pound carronades, and two eighteen-pound carronades. The
Cherub
had eighteen thirty-two-pound carronades, four eighteen-pound carronades, and four long nine-pounders.
The ever prudent Hillyar, who had obviously rehearsed for weeks how he was going to fight the
Essex
, used his big advantage in long guns to stay away from Porter’s deadly carronades. In the initial exchanges, however, Porter managed to use three of his long twelve-pounders so well that the
Phoebe
and
Cherub
had to haul off after thirty minutes to repair damages. Porter insisted that all his men “appeared determined to defend their ship to the last extremity and to die in preference to a shameful surrender.”
When Hillyar resumed the battle, he positioned the
Phoebe
out of range of
Essex
’s carronades, where Porter could not bring his long guns to bear either. Porter tried again and again to get springs on his cable, but he could not. The
Essex
was a sitting duck. Porter tried closing with Hillyar and boarding, but the
Essex
was so shot up he failed. Porter then tried to run the
Essex
on shore and destroy her, but when the wind would not cooperate, he had to give that up as well.
The grisly slaughter went on for two and a half hours before Porter finally surrendered at twenty minutes after six. His butcher’s bill was appalling. Out of a crew of 255 he had 58 killed, 39 severely wounded, 26 slightly wounded, and 31 missing. Hillyar had 5 killed and 10 wounded. Porter himself was unscathed, although he had been in the thick of the fight the entire time.
Theodore Roosevelt wrote that “history does not afford a single instance of so determined a defense against such frightful odds.” Porter said of his crew, “More bravery, skill, patriotism, and zeal were never displayed on any occasion.”