upon its return, brought on board a seaman of the Madagascar's, who had contrived to buoy himself up on some shells of blocks, and profiting by a turn of the tide, to drift down to the Constitution. This man was asked what countryman he was, and he answered in a strong Irish accent, "An American, your honor." He was sent below, with orders to take good care of him.
The next day the deserter was inquired after by the British commander, and it was intimated that as he had declared himself an American he could not be given up. It is believed, however, that no formal demand was made for the Irishman, though it was rumoured on shore that there would be trouble when the Constitution attempted to go to sea, as it was known that she was about to do that night.
In the course of the day two frigates came and anchored near her; when, disliking his birth, the American commanding officer got under weigh, and dropped out about a mile to seaward. So close were the British ships at the time, that the pilot expressed his apprehension of getting foul of one of them—and he was told to go foul if he could do no better. By careful handling, however, the ship went clear. A frigate followed the Constitution to her new anchorage. About 8 o'clock, captain Hull, who was now on board, ordered the ship cleared for action. The battle-lanterns were lighted fore and aft, and the crew went to their quarters by beat of drum. It is not easy to portray the enthusiasm that existed in this noble ship; every officer and man on board believing that the affair of the Chesapeake was about to be repeated—so far, at least, as the assault was concerned. The manner in which the men took hold of the gun-tackles has been described as if they were about to jerk the guns through the ship's sides. An officer, who was passing through the batteries, observed to the men that if there was an occasion to fight, it would be in their quarrel, and that he expected good service from them.
"Let the quarter-deck look out for the colors, and we will look out for the guns," was the answer.
In short, it was not possible for a ship's company to be in a better humor to defend the honor of the flag, when the drum beat the retreat, and the boatswain piped the men to the capstan bars. Home came the yielding anchor to the tune of Yankee Doodle—and the ship, casting to starboard, stood over to the French coast without a follower. Were the English frigates satisfied that the lion might be humbled in a single-handed attack with the gallant frigate? Perchance the echo of the tune that drowned the wailing of the dying soldiers at Bunker Hill, was still familial to their ears. Be this as it may, the noble stranger was permitted to bid the cliffs of Dover good night alone.
The next day, while beating across the channel, several sail of English men-of-war were seen in chase, and it was the impression on board the American ship that the vessels were sent in pursuit. The Constitution, however, outsailed all the strangers but one, a frigate, that weathered upon her. After leading this ship a long distance ahead of the others, captain Hull hove to, beat to quarters, and, beneath the flag that was so soon to wave in glory above her quarter-deck, awaited to know the stranger's object. It unfortunately proved amicable. On reaching the entrance of the port of Cherbourg, the English vessel kept close to the American frigate—and while the latter was turning into the roads, with a fresh breeze and thick weather, bore up also. The private signal agreed upon be fore the Constitution left France, however, was not made, and the battery fired a gun. The shot struck the Constitution in the bends. It was followed by a second, that flew between the masts. A third past through the hammock nettings, and stove one of the boats over the main hatch. The steadiness of the frigate now induced the French to pause; and an opportunity offering soon after to display the signal, the Constitution glided into port, while the English frigate hauled her wind, and made the best of her way to join the channel fleet. In this brush, a midshipman of the Constitution was killed by the wind of a shot. Thus did this old cruizer dash along the English channel, bandy words, and give tit for tat to the British admiral beneath his thousand guns, and then return to the United States to fire the first gun in the second war with the mistress of the sea.[1]
THE CHASE.
On the 12th of July, 1812, the frigate Constitution, under her former commander, captain Hull, having, on her return from Europe, shipped a new crew, sailed from Annapolis on a cruize to the northward. On the 17th of July—on a Friday, be it remembered—while out of sight of land, though at no great distance from the coast, with a light breeze from the N. E., and under easy canvas, she made four sail to the northward, heading westward. At 3, P. M., while captain Hull and his officers were at dinner, the midshipman of the watch came down and reported that a squadron of men-of-war was in sight.
"Mr. Morris beat to quarters," said the gallant commodore, as he repaired to his state-room to put on the symbols of his rank.
- ↑ I have taken Cooper's note to his Naval History, as my guide in this chapter.
