The Constitution and the Guerriere: Lieutenant and American

But in doing this he came dead into the wind; his sails were taken aback; the vessel stopped; then, getting sternway, the Guerriere came up, her bows striking the former abeam. While in this position, the forward guns of the enemy exploded almost against the sides of the Constitution, setting the cabin on fire. This would have proved a serious event but for the presence of mind of the fourth lieutenant, Beekman Verplanck Hoffman, who extinguished it. As soon as the vessels got foul, both crews prepared to board. The first lieutenant, Morris, in the midst of a terrific fire of musketry, attempted to lash the ships together, which were thumping and grinding against each other with the heavy sea, but fell, shot through the body. Mr. Alwyn, the master, and Lieutenant Bush, of the marines, mounting the taffrail to leap on the enemy's decks, were both shot down, the latter killed instantly with a bullet through the head. Finding it impossible to board under such a tremendous fire, the sails of the Constitution were filled, when the vessels slowly and reluctantly parted. As the Constitution rolled away on the heavy swell, the foremast of the Guerriere fell back against the mainmast, carrying that down in its descent, leaving the frigate a helpless wreck, "wallowing in the trough of the sea." Hull, seeing that his enemy was now completely in his power, ran off a little way to secure his own masts and repair his rigging, which was badly cut up. In a short time he returned, and, taking up a position where he could rake the wreck of the Guerriere at every discharge, prepared to finish her. Captain Dacres had fought his ship well, and, when every spar in her was down, gallantly nailed the jack to the stump of the mizzen-mast. But further resistance was impossible, and to have gone down with his flag flying, as one of the English journals declared he ought to have done, would have been a foolish and criminal act.

A few more broadsides would have carried the brave crew to the bottom, and to allow his vessel to roll idly in the trough of the sea, a mere target for the guns of the American, would neither have added to his fame nor lessened the moral effect of his defeat. He therefore reluctantly struck her flag, and Lieutenant Read was sent on board to take possession.

On boarding the vessel the crew were found to be in a state of disgusting intoxication, Captain Dacres, on surrendering his ship, having told the men to go below and get some refreshments, which they liberally interpreted as a free permission to drink.

This vessel, as well as all the English ships, presented another striking contrast to the American. Impressment was so abhorred that British officers were afraid of being shot down by their topmen during an engagement, and hence dared not wear their uniforms, while ours went into action with their epaulettes on, knowing that it added to their security, for every sailor would fight for his commander as he would for a comrade.

Captain Hull kept hovering round his prize during the night; and at two o'clock "Sail ho!" was sent aft by the watch, when the Constitution immediately beat to quarters. The weary sailors tumbled up cheerfully at the summons, the vessel was cleared for action, and there is no doubt that if another Guerriere had closed with the Constitution she would have been roughly handled, crippled as the latter was from her recent conflict.

After deliberating for an hour, the stranger stood off. In the morning the Guerriere was reported to have four feet of water in the hold, and was so cut up that it would be difficult to keep her afloat. The prisoners were, therefore, all removed, and the vessel set on fire. The flames leaped up the broken masts, ran along the bulwarks, and wrapped the noble wreck in a sheet of fire. As the guns became heated, they went off one after another, firing their last salute to the dying ship. At length the fire reached the magazine, when the blew up with a tremendous explosion. A huge column of smoke arose and stood for a long time, as if petrified in the calm atmosphere, and then slowly crumbled to pieces, revealing only a few shattered planks to tell where that proud vessel had sunk. The first English frigate that ever struck its flag to an American ship of war had gone down to the bottom of the ocean, a gloomy omen of England's future. The sea never rolled over a vessel whose fate so startled the world. It disappeared forever, but it left its outline on the deep, never to be effaced till England and America are no more.