Stories of Our Naval Heroes Part 12

Now the battle was on in earnest. The two s.h.i.+ps lay side by side, and for fifteen minutes the roar of cannon and the rattle of musketry filled the air, while cannon b.a.l.l.s tore their way through solid timber and human flesh.

Down came the mizzen-mast of the _Guerriere_, cut through by a big iron shot.

"Hurrah, boys!" cried Hull, swinging his hat like a schoolboy; "we've made a brig of her."

The mast dragged by its ropes and brought the s.h.i.+p round, so that the next broadside from the _Const.i.tution_ raked her from stem to stern.

The bowsprit of the _Guerriere_ caught fast in the rigging of the _Const.i.tution_, and the sailors on both s.h.i.+ps tried to board. But soon the winds pulled the _Const.i.tution_ clear, and as she forged ahead, down with a crash came the other masts of the British s.h.i.+p. They had been cut into splinters by the Yankee guns. A few minutes before she had been a stately three-masted frigate; now she was a helpless hulk. Not half an hour had pa.s.sed since the _Const.i.tution_ fired her first shot, and already the _Guerriere_ was a wreck, while the Yankee s.h.i.+p rode the waters as proudly as ever.

Off in triumph went the "Old Ironsides," and hasty repairs to her rigging were made. Then she came up with loaded guns. The _Guerriere_ lay rolling like a log in the water, without a flag in sight. Not only her masts were gone, but her hull was like a sieve. It had more than thirty cannon-ball holes below the water-line.

There was no need to fire again. Lieutenant Read went off in a boat.

"Have you surrendered?" he asked Captain Dacres, who was looking, with a very long face, over the rail.

"It would not be prudent to continue the engagement any longer," said Dacres, in gloomy tones.

"Do you mean that you have struck your flag?"

"Not precisely. But I do not know that it will be worth while to fight any more."

"If you cannot make up your mind I will go back and we will do something to help you."

"I don't see that I can keep up the fight," said the dejected British captain. "I have hardly any men left and my s.h.i.+p is ready to sink."

"What I want to know is," cried Lieutenant Read, "whether you are a prisoner of war or an enemy. And I must know without further parley."

"If I could fight longer I would," said Captain Dacres. Then with faltering words he continued, "but-I-must-surrender."

"Then accept from me Captain Hull's compliments. He wishes to know if you need the aid of a surgeon or surgeon's mate."

"Have you not business enough on your own s.h.i.+p for all your doctors?"

asked Dacres.

"Oh, no!" said Read. "We have only seven men wounded, and their wounds are all dressed."

Captain Dacres was obliged to enter Read's boat and be rowed to the _Const.i.tution_. He had been wounded, and could not climb very well, so Captain Hull helped him to the deck.

"Give me your hand, Dacres," he said, "I know you are hurt."

Captain Dacres offered his sword, but the American captain would not take it.

"No, no," he said, "I will not take a sword from one who knows so well how to use it. But I'll trouble you for that hat."

What did he mean by that, you ask? Well, the two captains had met some time before the war, and Dacres had offered to bet a hat that the _Guerriere_ would whip the _Const.i.tution_. Hull accepted the bet, and he had won.

All day and night the boats were kept busy in carrying the prisoners, well and hurt, to the _Const.i.tution_. When daylight came again it was reported that the _Guerriere_ was filling with water and ready to sink.

She could not be saved, so she was set on fire. Rapidly the flames spread until they reached her magazine. Then came a fearful explosion, and a black cloud of smoke hung over the place where the s.h.i.+p had floated. When it moved away only some floating planks were to be seen.

The proud _Guerriere_ would never trouble Yankee sailors again.

CHAPTER XIII

A FAMOUS VESSEL SAVED BY A POEM

"OLD IRONSIDES" WINS NEW GLORY

"_OLD IRONSIDES_ was a n.o.ble old s.h.i.+p, and a n.o.ble old s.h.i.+p was she."

Come, I know you have not heard enough about this grand old s.h.i.+p, so let us go on with her story. And the first thing to tell is how she served another British s.h.i.+p as she had served the _Guerriere_.

Four months after Captain Hull's great victory, the _Const.i.tution_ was in another sea and had another captain. She had sailed south and was now off the coast of Brazil. And William Bainbridge had succeeded Isaac Hull in command.

It was almost the last day of the year. Chilly weather, no doubt, in Boston from which she had sailed; but mid-summer warmth in those southern waters. It certainly felt warm enough to the men on deck, who were "spoiling for a fight," when the lookout aloft announced two sails.

The sailors who had been lounging about the deck sprang up and looked eagerly across the waves, as the cheerful "Sail-ho!" reached their ears.

Soon they saw that one of the vessels was coming their way as fast as her sails could carry her. The other had sailed away on the other tack.

The vessel that was coming was the _Java_, a fine British frigate. As she drew near she showed signals. That is, she spread out a number of small flags, each of which had some meaning, and by which British s.h.i.+ps could talk with each other. Captain Bainbridge could not answer these, for he did not know what they meant. So he showed American signals, which the captain of the _Java_ could not understand any better.

Then, as they came nearer, they hoisted their national flags, and both sides saw that they were enemies and that a fight was on hand.

Captain Bainbridge was not like Captain Hull. He did not wait till the s.h.i.+ps were side by side, but began firing when the _Java_ was half a mile away. That was only wasting powder and b.a.l.l.s, but they kept on firing until they were close at hand, and then the shots began to tell.

A brave old fellow was the captain of the _Const.i.tution_. A musket ball struck him in the thigh as he was pacing the deck. He stopped his pacing, but would not go below. Then a copper bolt went deep into his leg. But he had it cut out and the leg tied up, and he still kept on deck. He wanted to see the fight.

Hot and fierce came the cannon b.a.l.l.s, hurtling through sails and rigging, rending through thick timbers, and sending splinters flying right and left. Men fell dead and blood ran in streams, but still came the heralds of death.

We must tell the same story of this fight as of the fight with the _Guerriere_. The British did not know how to aim their guns and the Americans did. The British had no sights on their cannon and the Americans had. That was why, all through the war, the British lost so heavily and the Americans so little. The British shot went wild and the American b.a.l.l.s flew straight to their mark.

You know what must come from that. After while, off went the _Java's_ bowsprit, as if it had been chopped off with a great knife. Five minutes later her foremast was cut in two and came tumbling down. Then the main topmast crashed down from above. Last of all, her mizzen-mast was cut short off by the plunging shot, and fell over the side. The well-aimed American b.a.l.l.s had cut through her great spars, as you might cut through a willow stick, and she was dismantled as the _Guerriere_ had been.

The loud "hurrahs" of the Yankee sailors proved enough to call the dead to life. At any rate, a wounded man, whom everyone thought dead, opened his eyes and asked what they were cheering about.

"The enemy has struck," he was told.

The dying tar lifted himself on one arm, and waved the other round his head, and gave three feeble cheers. With the last one he fell back dead.

But the _Java's_ flag was not down for good. As the _Const.i.tution_ came up with all masts standing and sails set, the British flag was raised to the stump of the mizzen-mast. When he saw this, Bainbridge wore his s.h.i.+p to give her another broadside, and then down came her flag for good. She had received all the battering she could stand. In fact, the _Const.i.tution_ had lost only 34 men, killed and wounded, while the Java had lost 150 men. The _Const.i.tution_ was sound and whole; the _Java_ had only her mainmast left and was full of yawning rents. _Old Ironsides_ had a new feather in her cap.

Like the _Guerriere_, the _Java_ was hurt past help. It was impossible to take her home; so on the last day of 1812, the torch was put to her ragged timbers and the flames took hold. Quickly they made their way through the ruined s.h.i.+p. About three o'clock in the afternoon they reached her magazine, and with a mighty roar the wreck of the British s.h.i.+p was torn into fragments. To the bottom went the hull. Only the broken masts and a few shattered timbers remained afloat.

Such is war: a thing of ruin and desolation. Of that gallant s.h.i.+p, which two days before had been proudly afloat, only some smoke-stained fragments were left to tell that she had ever been on the seas, and death and wounds had come to many of her men.

After her fight with the _Java_ the _Const.i.tution_ had a long, weary rest. You will remember the _Bon Homme Richard_, a rotten old hulk not fit for fighting, though she made a very good show when the time for fighting came. The _Const.i.tution_ was much like her; so rotten in her timbers that she had to be brought home and rebuilt.