Stories of Our Naval Heroes Part 13

Then she went a-sailing again, under Captain Charles Stewart, as good an officer as Hull and Bainbridge; but it was more than two years after her last battle before she had another chance to show what sort of a fighter she was.

It is a curious fact that some of the hardest fights of this war with England took place after the war was at an end. The treaty of peace was signed on Christmas eve, 1814, but the great battle at New Orleans was fought two weeks afterward. There were no ocean cable then to send word to the armies that all their killing was no longer needed, since there was nothing to fight about.

It was worse still for the s.h.i.+ps at sea. n.o.body then had ever dreamed of a telegraph without wires to send word out over the waste of waters, or even of a telegraph with wires. Thus it was that the last battle of the old _Const.i.tution_ was fought nearly two months after the war was over.

The good old s.h.i.+p was then on the other side of the ocean, and was sailing along near the island of Madeira, which lies off the coast of Africa. For a year she had done nothing except to take a few small prizes, and her stalwart crew were tired of that sort of work. They wanted a real, big fight, with plenty of glory.

One evening Captain Stewart heard some of the officers talking about their bad luck, and wis.h.i.+ng they could only meet with a fellow of their own size. They were tired of fis.h.i.+ng for minnows when there were whales to be caught.

"I can tell you this, gentlemen," said the captain, "you will soon get what you want. Before the sun rises and sets again you will have a good old-fas.h.i.+oned fight, and it will not be with a single s.h.i.+p, either."

I do not know what the officers said after the captain turned away. Very likely some of them wondered how he came to be a prophet and could tell what was going to take place. I doubt very much whether they believed what he had said.

At any rate, about one o'clock the next day, February 20, 1815, when the s.h.i.+p was gliding along before a light breeze, a sail was seen far away in front. An hour later a second sail was made out, close by the first.

And when the _Const.i.tution_ got nearer it was seen that they were both s.h.i.+ps-of-war. It began to look as if Captain Stewart was a good prophet, after all.

It turned out that the first of these was the small British frigate _Cyane_. The second was the sloop-of-war _Levant_. Neither was a match by itself for the _Const.i.tution_, but both together they thought themselves a very good match.

It was five o'clock before the Yankee s.h.i.+p came up within gunshot. The two British s.h.i.+ps had closed together so as to help one another, and now they all stripped off their extra sails, as a man takes off his coat and vest for a fight.

Six o'clock pa.s.sed before the battle began. Then for fifteen minutes the three s.h.i.+ps hurled their iron b.a.l.l.s as fast as the men could load and fire. By that time the smoke was so thick that they had to stop firing to find out where the two fighting s.h.i.+ps were. The _Const.i.tution_ now found herself opposite the _Levant_ and poured a broadside into her hull. Then she sailed backward--a queer thing to do, but Captain Stewart knew how to move his s.h.i.+p stern foremost--and poured her iron hail into the _Cyane_. Next she pushed ahead again and pounded the _Levant_ till that lively little craft turned and ran. It had enough of the _Const.i.tution's_ iron dumplings to last a while.

This was great sailing and great firing, but Captain Stewart was one of those seamen who know how to handle a s.h.i.+p, and his men knew how to handle their guns. There were never better seamen than those of the _Old Ironsides_.

The _Levant_ was now out of the way, and there was only the _Cyane_ to attend to. Captain Stewart attended to her so well that, just forty minutes after the fight began, her flag came down.

Where, now, was the _Levant_? She had run out of the fight; but she had a brave captain who did not like to desert his friend, so he turned back and came gallantly up again.

It was a n.o.ble act, but a foolish one. This the British captain found out when he came once more under the American guns. They were much too hot for him, and once more he tried to run away. He did not succeed this time. Captain Stewart was too much in love with him to let him go, and sent such warm love-letters after him that his flag came gliding down, as his comrade's had done.

Captain Stewart had shown himself a true prophet. He had met, fought with, and won two s.h.i.+ps of the enemy. No doubt after that his officers were sure they had a prophet for a captain.

That evening, when the two British captains were in the cabin of the _Const.i.tution_, a mids.h.i.+pman came down and asked Captain Stewart if the men could not have their grog.

"Why, didn't they have it?" asked the captain. "It was time for it before the battle began."

"It was mixed for them, sir," said the mids.h.i.+pman, "but our old men said they didn't want any 'Dutch courage,' so they emptied the grog-tub into the lee scuppers."

The Englishmen stared when they heard this. It is very likely their men had not fought without a double dose of grog.

We have not finished our story yet. Like a lady's letter, it has a postscript. On March 10, the three s.h.i.+ps were in a harbor of the Cape de Verde Islands, and Captain Stewart was sending his prisoners ash.o.r.e, when three large British men-of-war were seen sailing into the harbor.

Stewart was nearly caught in a trap. Any one of these large frigates was more than a match for the _Const.i.tution_, and here were three in a bunch. But, by good luck, there was a heavy fog that hid everything but the highest sails; so there was a chance of escape.

Captain Stewart was not the man to be trapped while a chance was left.

He was what we call a "wide-awake." There was a small chance left. He cut his cable, made a signal to the prize vessels to do the same, and in ten minutes after the first British vessel had been seen, the American s.h.i.+p and its prizes were gliding swiftly away.

On came the British s.h.i.+ps against a stiff breeze, up the west side of the bay. Out slipped the Yankee s.h.i.+ps along the east side. Captain Stewart set no sails higher than his top sails, and these were hidden by the fog, so the British lookouts saw nothing. They did not dream of the fine birds that were flying away.

Only when Stewart got his s.h.i.+p past the outer point of the harbor did he spread his upper sails to the breeze, and the British lookouts saw with surprise a cloud of canvas suddenly bursting out upon the air.

Now began a close chase. The _Const.i.tution_ and her prizes had only about a mile the start. As quick as the British s.h.i.+ps could turn they were on their track. But those were not the days of the great guns that can send huge b.a.l.l.s six or seven miles through the air. A mile then was a long shot for the largest guns, and the Yankee cruisers had made a fair start.

But before they had gone far Captain Stewart saw that the _Cyane_ was in danger of being taken, and signaled for her to tack and take another course. She did so and sailed safely away. For three hours the three big frigates hotly chased the _Const.i.tution_ and _Levant_, but let the _Cyane_ go.

Captain Stewart now saw that the _Levant_ was in the same danger, and he sent her a signal to tack as the _Cyane_ had done. The _Levant_ tacked and sailed out of the line of the chase.

What was the surprise of the Yankee captain and his men when they saw all three of the big British s.h.i.+ps turn on their heels and set sail after the little sloop-of-war, letting the _Const.i.tution_ sail away. It was like three great dogs turning to chase a rabbit and letting a deer run free.

The three huge monsters chased the little _Levant_ back into the island port, and there for fifteen minutes they fired broadsides at her. The prisoners whom Captain Stewart had landed did the same from a battery on sh.o.r.e. And yet not a shot struck her hull; they were all wasted in the air.

At length Lieutenant Bullard, who was master of the prize, hauled down his flag. He thought he had seen enough fun, and they might hurt somebody afterwhile if they kept on firing. But what was the chagrin of the British captains to find that all they had done was to take back one of their own vessels, while the American frigate had gone free.

The _Const.i.tution_ and the _Cyane_ got safely to the American sh.o.r.es, where their officers learned that the war had ceased more than three months before. But the country was proud of their good service, and Congress gave medals of honor to Stewart and his officers.

That was the last warlike service of the gallant _Old Ironsides_, the most famous s.h.i.+p of the American Navy. Years pa.s.sed by and her timbers rotted away, as they had done once before. Some of the wise heads in the Navy Department, men without a grain of sentiment, decided that she was no longer of any use and should be broken up for old timber.

But if they had no love for the good old s.h.i.+p, there were those who had; and a poet, Oliver Wendell Holmes, came to the rescue. This is the poem by which he saved the s.h.i.+p:

THE OLD IRONSIDES.

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!

Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar; The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more!

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread Or know the conquered knee; The harpies of the sh.o.r.e shall pluck The eagle of the sea!

O! better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave; Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave; Nail to the mast her holy flag, Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the G.o.d of storms, The lightning and the gale.

There was no talk of destroying the _Old Ironsides_ after that. The man that did it would have won eternal disgrace. She still floats, and no doubt she will float, as long as two of her glorious old timbers hang together.

CHAPTER XIV

THE FIGHT OF CAPTAIN JACOB JONES

THE LIVELY LITTLE "WASP" AND HOW SHE STUNG THE "FROLIC"

NO doubt most of my readers know very well what a wasp is and how nicely it can take care of itself. When I was a boy I found out more than once how long and sharp a sting it has, and I do not think many boys grow up without at some time waking up a wasp and wis.h.i.+ng they had left it asleep.

The United States has had three _Wasps_ and one _Hornet_ in its navy, and the British boys who came fooling in their way found that all of them could sting. I will tell you about the time one of our _Wasps_ met the British _Frolic_ and fought it in a great gale, when the s.h.i.+ps were tossing about like chips on the ocean billows.

Not long after the _Const.i.tution_ had her great fight with the _Guerriere_, a little sloop-of-war named the _Wasp_ set sail from Philadelphia to see what she could find on the broad seas. This vessel, you should know, had three masts and square sails like a s.h.i.+p. But she was not much larger than one of the sloops we see on our rivers to-day, so it was right to call her a sloop. For captain she had a bold sailor named Jacob Jones.

The first thing the _Wasp_ found at sea was a mighty gale of wind, that blew "great guns" for two days. The waves were so big and fierce that one of them carried away her bowsprit with two men on it. The next night, after the wind had gone down a little, lights shone out across the waves, and when daylight came Captain Jones saw over the heaving billows six large merchant s.h.i.+ps. With them was a watch-dog in the shape of a fighting brig.