The opening of the nineteenth century brought years of humiliation, in which American ideals of a neutral commerce, to be unrestricted except by incidents of actual war, collided with the passions of two nations engaged in a death-grapple between “the elephant and the whale”—the French army and the English navy. The established principles of international law were set aside, and fifteen hundred American merchantmen were made prize under a series of iniquitous Orders in Council and Decrees. American sailors were seized by British cruisers on the high seas, even on a duly commissioned American man-of-war. President Jefferson discovered that great nations at war are not moved by ideals of permanent self-interest, and that the rights and the friendship of little powers are not trump-cards.

Then the country entered into the War of 1812 at the inopportune moment when the snows of Russia were about to overwhelm Napoleon. In the war the Americans held a talisman which could sway even proud Albion: the victories of American cruisers, combined with the heroism of the privateers, convinced the English that, after all, David was a likely youth, whose sling might disturb the peace of the nations; and they agreed, in the Peace of Ghent, in 1814, to terms highly favorable to the United States. From that time down to the Civil War the United States had the respect of all European nations.

The War of 1812 seemed designed by Providence to teach the Americans that free institutions do not of themselves create trained soldiers or efficient officers. The field of land war was strewn with the dead reputations of commanding officers, and the nation underwent the deep humiliation of the destruction of the national capital, but the magnificent conduct of the American navy on the lakes and on the ocean showed what Americans could do in a disciplined service with men properly armed and supplied. Upon England especially the lesson that, ship against ship, the Americans were their equals as navigators and fighting-men was never lost. The naval victories, combined with the defeat of the British by Jackson in the closing days of the war, left on the minds of the Americans the impression of a second national success.—Prof. Albert Bushnell Hart, in National Ideals.

Oliver Hazard Perry, the hero of Lake Erie, inherited from his father a fearless, high-strung disposition, and early in life showed his longing for adventure. The elder Perry was a seaman from the time he could lift a handspike, and fought in the Revolutionary days, first as a privateersman on a Boston letter-of-marque, and afterward as a volunteer on board the frigate Trumbull and the sloop-of-war Mifflin. He was captured and imprisoned for eight long months in the famous Jersey prison-ship, where he succeeded in braving the dangers of disease, starvation, and hardship, and at last regained his liberty. Once more he became a privateersman, but ill-fortune followed him. He was captured in the English Channel, and confined for eighteen months in a British prison, whence he again escaped and made his way to the island of St. Thomas. From thence he sailed to Charleston, South Carolina, where he arrived about the time that peace was concluded. After that Perry found employment in the East Indian trade until 1798, when he was appointed to the command of the U.S.S. General Greene. He was the head of a large family, having married in 1783, the oldest of his children being Oliver Hazard. Of the four other sons, three of them also entered the navy and served with distinction.

Oliver Hazard as a boy was not physically strong; he grew tall at an early age, and his strength was not in keeping with his inches. Nevertheless, he declared himself positively in favor of taking up the sea as a profession, and in April of 1799, after his father had been in command of the General Greene for one year, to his delight young Perry received his midshipman’s warrant and joined the same ship.

The young midshipman made several cruises with his father to the West Indies; his health and strength increased with the life in the open air; he showed capacity and courage, and participated in the action that resulted in the reduction of Jacmel in connection with the land attack of the celebrated General Toussaint’s army. This was the last active service of the General Greene; she was sold and broken up, and upon the reduction of the navy in 1801 the elder Perry left the service. In 1803 his son returned from a cruise in the Mediterranean and was promoted to an acting lieutenancy.

In our naval history of this time the recurrence of various names, and the references made over and over again to the same actions and occurrences, are easily accountable when we think of the small number of vessels the United States possessed and the surprisingly few officers on the pay-rolls. The high feeling of esprit de corps that existed among them came from the fact that they each had a chance to prove their courage and fidelity. There was a high standard set for them to reach.

Oliver Hazard Perry went through the same school that, luckily for us, graduated so many fine officers and sailors—that of the Tripolitan war. After he returned to America, at the conclusion of peace with Tripoli, he served in various capacities along the coast, proving himself an efficient leader upon more than one occasion. The first service upon which the young officer was employed after the commencement of the war with England was taking charge of a flotilla of gunboats stationed at Newport.

As this service was neither arduous nor calculated to bring chances for active employment in the way of fighting, time hung on his hands, and Perry chafed greatly under his enforced retirement. At last he petitioned the government to place him in active service, stating plainly his desire to be attached to the naval forces that were then gathering under the command of Commodore Chauncey on the lakes. His request was granted, to his great joy, and he set out with all despatch. It was at an early period of the war that the government had seen the immense importance of gaining the command of the western lakes, and in October of 1812 Commodore Chauncey had been ordered to take seven hundred seamen and one hundred and fifty marines and proceed by forced marches to Lake Ontario. There had been sent ahead of him a large number of ship-builders and carpenters, and great activity was displayed in building and outfitting a fleet which might give to the United States the possession of Lake Ontario. There was no great opposition made to the American arms by the British on this lake, but the unfortunate surrender of General Hull had placed the English in undisputed possession of Lake Erie.

In March, 1813, Captain Perry having been despatched to the port of Erie, arrived there to find a fleet of ten sail being prepared to take the waters against the British fleet under Commodore Barclay—an old and experienced leader, a hero of the days of Nelson and the Victory.

Before Perry’s arrival a brilliant little action had taken place in October of the previous year. Two British vessels, the Detroit and the Caledonia, came down the lake and anchored under the guns of the British Fort Erie on the Canadian side. At that time Lieutenant Elliott was superintending the naval affairs on Lake Erie, and, the news having been brought to him of the arrival of the English vessels on the opposite side, he immediately determined to make a night attack and cut them out. For a long time a body of seamen had been tramping their toilsome march from the Hudson River to the lakes, and Elliott, hearing that they were but some thirty miles away, despatched a messenger to hasten them forward; at the same time he began to prepare two small boats for the expedition. About twelve o’clock the wearied seamen, footsore and hungry, arrived, and then it was discovered that in the whole draft there were but twenty pistols, and no cutlasses, pikes, or battle-axes. But Elliott was not dismayed. Applying to General Smyth, who was in command of the regulars, for arms and assistance, he was supplied with a few muskets and pistols, and about fifty soldiers were detached to aid him.

Late in the afternoon Elliott had picked out his crews and manned the two boats, putting about fifty men in each; but he did not stir until one o’clock on the following morning, when in the pitch darkness he set out from the mouth of Buffalo Creek, with a long pull ahead. The wind was not strong enough to make good use of the sails, and the poor sailors were so weary that those who were not rowing lay sleeping, huddled together on their arms, and displaying great listlessness and little desire for fighting. At three o’clock Elliott was alongside the British vessels. It was a complete surprise; in ten minutes he had full possession of them and had secured the crews as prisoners. But after making every exertion to get under sail, he found to his bitter disappointment that the wind was unfortunately so light that the rapid current made them gather an increasing sternway every instant. Another unfortunate circumstance was that he would have to pass the British fort below and quite close to hand, for he was on the Canadian shore. As the vessels came in sight of the British battery, the latter opened a heavy fire of round and grape, and several pieces of flying artillery stationed in the woods took up the chorus.

The Caledonia, being a smaller vessel, succeeded in getting out of the current, and was beached in as safe a position as possible under one of the American batteries at Black Rock, across the river; but Elliott was compelled to drop his anchor at the distance of about four hundred yards from two of the British batteries. He was almost at their mercy, and in the extremity he tried the effect of a ruse, or, better, made a threat that we must believe he never intended carrying into effect.

Observing an officer standing on the top of an earthwork, he hailed him at the top of his voice: “Heigh, there, Mr. John Bull! if you fire another gun at me I’ll bring up all my prisoners, and you can use them for targets!” he shouted.

The answer was the simultaneous discharge of all of the Englishman’s guns. But not a single prisoner was brought on deck to share the fate of the Americans, who felt the effect of the fire, and who now began to make strenuous efforts to return it. Elliott brought all of the guns on one side of his ship, and replied briskly, until he suddenly discovered that all of his ammunition was expended. Now there was but one chance left: to cut the cable, drift down the river out of the reach of the heavy batteries, and make a stand against the flying artillery with small arms. This was accordingly done, but as the sails were raised the fact was ascertained that the pilot had taken French leave. No one else knew the channel, and, swinging about, the vessel drifted astern for some ten minutes; then, fortunately striking a cross-current, she brought up on the shore of Squaw Island, near the American side. Elliott sent a boat to the mainland with the prisoners first. It experienced great difficulty in making the passage, being almost swamped once or twice, and it did not return. Affairs had reached a crisis, but with the aid of a smaller boat, and by the exercise of great care, the remainder of the prisoners and the crew succeeded in getting on shore at about eight o’clock in the morning. At about eleven o’clock a company of British regulars rowed over from the Canadian shore to Squaw Island and boarded the Detroit, their intention being to destroy her and burn up the munitions with which she was laden. Seeing their purpose, Major Cyrenus Chapin, a good Yankee from Massachusetts, called for volunteers to return to the island, and, despite the difficulties ahead, almost every man signified his willingness to go. Quickly making his selection, Major Chapin succeeded in landing with about thirty men at his back, and drove off the English before they had managed to start the flames. About three o’clock a second attempt was made, but it was easily repulsed.

The Detroit mounted six long six-pounders, and her crew numbered some sixty men. She was worth saving, but so badly was she grounded on the island that it was impossible to get her off, and, after taking her stores out, Elliott set her on fire to get rid of her. The little Caledonia was quite a valuable capture, aside from her armament, as she had on board a cargo of furs whose value has been estimated at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

But to return to the condition of affairs upon the arrival of Captain Perry. The fleet that in a few weeks he had under his command consisted of the brig Lawrence, of twenty guns, to which he attached his flag; the Niagara, of twenty guns, in command of Elliott; and the schooners Caledonia and Ariel, of three and four guns respectively. There were, besides, six smaller vessels, carrying from one to two guns each; in all, Perry’s fleet mounted fifty-five guns. The British fleet, under command of Barclay, consisted of the Detroit (named after the one that was wrecked), the Queen Charlotte, and the Lady Prevost. They mounted nineteen, seventeen, and thirteen guns, in the order named. The brig Hunter carried ten guns; the sloop Little Belt, three; and the schooner Chippeway, one gun; in all, Barclay had sixty-three guns, not counting several swivels—that is, more than eight guns to the good.

The morning of September 10th dawned fine and clear. Perry, with his fleet anchored about him, lay in the quiet waters of Put-in Bay. A light breeze was blowing from the south. Very early a number of sail were seen out on the lake beyond the point, and soon the strangers were discovered to be the British fleet. Everything depended now upon the speed with which the Americans could prepare for action. In twelve minutes every vessel was under way and sailing out to meet the on-comers; the Lawrence led the line. As the two fleets approached, the British concentrated the fire of their long and heavy guns upon her. She came on in silence; at her peak was flying a huge motto-flag—plain to view were the words of the brave commander of the Chesapeake, “Don’t give up the ship.”

The responsibility that rested upon the young commander’s shoulders was great; his position was most precarious. This was the first action between the fleets of the two hostile countries; it was a battle for the dominion of the lakes; defeat meant that the English could land at any time an expeditionary force at any point they chose along the shores of our natural northern barrier. The Lawrence had slipped quite a way ahead of the others, and Perry found that he would have to close, in order to return the English fire, as at the long distance he was surely being ripped to pieces.

Signalling the rest of the fleet to follow him, he made all sail and bore down upon the English; but, to quote from the account in the Naval Temple, printed in the year 1816, “Every brace and bowline of the Lawrence being shot away, she became unmanageable, notwithstanding the great exertion of the sailing-master. In this situation she sustained the action within canister distance upward of two hours, until every gun was rendered useless and the greater part of her crew either killed or wounded.”

It is easy to imagine the feelings of Perry at this moment. The smaller vessels of his fleet had not come within firing distance; there was absolutely nothing for him to do on board the flag-ship except to lower his flag. Yet there was one forlorn-hope that occurred to the young commander, and without hesitation he called away the only boat capable of floating; taking his flag, he quitted the Lawrence and rowed off for the Niagara. The most wonderful accounts of hair-breadth escapes could not equal that of Perry upon this occasion. Why his boat was not swamped, or its crew and commander killed, cannot be explained. Three of the British ships fired broadsides at him at pistol-shot distance as he passed by them in succession; and, although the water boiled about him, and the balls whistled but a few inches overhead, he reached the Niagara in safety.

There are but a few parallel cases to this, of a commander leaving one ship and transferring his flag to another in the heat of action.

The Duke of York upon one occasion shifted his flag, in the battle of Solebay; and in the battle of Texel, fought on August 11, 1673, the English Admiral Sprague shifted his flag from the Royal Prince to the St. George; and the Dutch Admiral Van Tromp shifted his flag from the Golden Lion to the Comet, owing to the former vessel being practically destroyed by a concentrated fire. This does not detract from the gallantry of Perry’s achievement. The danger he faced was great, and he was probably closer to the enemy’s vessels than any of the commanders above mentioned.

Perry’s younger brother, who was but a midshipman, was one of the seven other men in the boat. They left on board the Lawrence not above a half-score of able-bodied men to look after the numerous wounded. Owing to the opinions of many of the contemporary writers, who gave way to an intense feeling of partisanship, some bitterness was occasioned and sides were taken in regard to the actions of Master Commandant Elliott and his superior officer; but, looking back at it from this day, we can see little reason for any feeling of jealousy. It is hard to point the finger at any one on the American side in this action and say that he did not do his duty. As Perry reached the side of the Niagara the wind died away until it was almost calm; the smaller vessels, the sloops and schooners—the Somers, the Scorpion, the Tigress, the Ohio, and the Porcupine—were seen to be well astern. Upon Perry setting foot on deck, Elliott congratulated him upon the way he had left his ship, and volunteered to bring up the boats to windward, if he could be spared. Upon receiving permission, he jumped into the boat in which Perry had rowed from the Lawrence and set out to bring up all the forces. Every effort was made to form a front of battle, and the little gunboats, urged on by sweeps and oars, were soon engaged in a race for glory. In the mean time, however, the English had slackened their fire as they saw the big flag lowered from the Lawrence’s mast-head; they supposed that the latter had struck, and set up a tremendous cheering. This was hushed as they caught sight of the flash of oars and realized what was going forward. In a few minutes, out of the thick smoke came the Niagara, breaking their line and firing her broadsides with such good execution that great confusion followed throughout the fleet. Two of their larger brigs, the Queen Charlotte and Detroit, ran afoul of each other, and the Niagara, giving signal for close action, ran across the bow of one ship and the stern of the other, raking them both with fearful effect; then, squaring away and running astern of the Lady Prevost, she got in another raking fire, and, sheering off, made for the Hunter. Now the little one-gun and two-gun vessels of the American fleet were giving good accounts of themselves.

Although their crews were exposed to full view and stood waist-high above the bulwarks, they did no dodging; their shots were well directed, and they raked the Englishmen fore and aft, carrying away all the masts of the Detroit and the mizzen-mast of the Queen Charlotte.

A few minutes after 3 P.M. a white flag at the end of a boarding-pike was lifted above the bulwarks of the Hunter. At sight of this the Chippeway and Little Belt crowded all sail and tried to escape, but in less than a quarter of an hour they were captured and brought back by the Trippe and Scorpion, under the commands of Lieutenant Thomas Holdup and Sailing-Master Stephen Champlin. With a ringing cheer the word went through the line that the British had surrendered. The sovereignty of Lake Erie belonged to America. The question of supremacy was settled.

The events of the day had been most dramatic. This fight amid the wooded shores and extending arms of the bay was viewed from shore by hundreds of anxious Americans. The bright sunlight and calm surface of the lake, the enshrouding fog of smoke that from shore hid all but the spurts of flame and the topmasts and occasionally the flags of the vessels engaged, all had combined to make a drama of the most exciting and awe-inspiring interest. Nor was the last act to be a letting-down. Perry determined to receive the surrender of the defeated enemy nowhere else but on the deck of his old flag-ship that was slowly drifting up into the now intermingled fleets.

Once more he lowered his broad pennant and rowed out for the crippled Lawrence. He was received on board with three feeble cheers, the wounded joining in, and a number of men crawling up from the slaughter-pen of a cockpit, begrimed and bloody.

On board the Lawrence there had been left but one surgeon, Usher Parsons. He came on deck red to the elbows from his work below, and the terrible execution done by the concentrated English fire was evident to the English officers as they stepped on board the flag-ship. Dead men lay everywhere. A whole gun’s crew were littered about alongside of their wrecked piece. From below came the mournful howling of a dog. The cockpit had been above the water’s surface, owing to the Lawrence’s shallow draught, and here was a frightful sight. The wounded had been killed outright or wounded again as they lay on the surgeon’s table. Twice had Perry called away the surgeon’s aids to help work ship, and once his hail of “Can any wounded men below there pull a rope?” was answered by three or four brave, mangled fellows crawling up on deck to try to do their duty. All this was apparent to the English officers as they stepped over the bodies of the dead and went aft to where Perry stood with his arms folded, no vainglorious expression on his face, but one of sadness for the deeds that had been done that day. Each of the English officers in turn presented his sword, and in reply Perry bowed and requested that the side-arms should be retained. As soon as the formalities had been gone through with, Perry tore off the back of an old letter he took from his pocket, and, using his stiff hat for a writing-desk, scribbled the historic message which a detractor has charged he cribbed from Julius Caesar: “We have met the enemy and they are ours:—two ships, two brigs, one schooner, and one sloop.”

Calling away a small boat, he sent Midshipman Forrest with the report to Gen. William Henry Harrison.

A computation has been made by one historian of the number of guns directed against the Lawrence in the early part of the action. The English had heavier armaments and more long guns; they could fight at a distance where the chubby carronade was useless. The Lawrence had but seven guns whose shots could reach her opponents, while the British poured into her the concentrated fire of thirty-two. This accounts for the frightful carnage.

When the Lawrence was being shot through and through, and there were but three guns that could reply to the enemy’s fire, Lieutenant Yarnell, disfigured by a bad wound across his face from a splinter, came up to where Perry was standing. “The officers of my division have all been cut down,” he said. “Can I have others?” Perry looked about him and sent three of his aid to help Yarnell, but in less than a quarter of an hour the lieutenant returned again. His words were almost the same as before, but he had a fresh wound in his shoulder. “Those officers,” he said, “have been cut down also.”

“There are no more,” Perry replied. “Do your best without them.”

Three times was Yarnell wounded, and three times after his wounds had been hurriedly dressed he returned to his post.

Dulany Forrest, the midshipman whom Perry sent with the despatch to General Harrison, had a most remarkable escape. He was a brave lad who had faced death before; he had seen the splinters fly in the action between the Constitution and the Java. Forrest was standing close to Captain Perry when a grape-shot that had glanced from the side of a port struck the mast, and, again deflected, caught the midshipman in the chest. He fell, gasping, at Perry’s feet.

“Are you badly hurt, lad?” asked the latter, anxiously, as he raised the midshipman on his knee.

“No, sir; not much,” the latter answered, as he caught his breath. “But this is my shot, I think.” And with that he extracted the half-spent ball from his clothing and slipped it into his pocket.

Midshipman Henry Laub was killed in the cockpit just after having had a dressing applied to his shattered right arm. A Narragansett Indian who served as a gunner in the forward division of the Lawrence was killed in the same manner.

A summary of the losses on both sides shows that, despite the death-list of the Lawrence, the English loss was more severe. On board the American flag-ship, twenty-two were killed and sixty-one were wounded; on board the Niagara, two killed and twenty-five wounded; the Ariel had one killed and three wounded; the Scorpion, two killed; the Caledonia, three wounded; and the Somers and Trippe each showed but two wounded men apiece. In all, twenty-seven were killed and ninety-six wounded on the American side. The comparison of the loss of the rest of the fleet and that suffered by the Lawrence makes a remarkable showing. The English lost forty-one killed and ninety-four wounded altogether. A number of Canadian Indians were found on board the English vessels. They had been engaged as marksmen, but the first shot had taken all the fight out of them, and they had hidden and skulked for safety.

Perry’s treatment of the prisoners was magnanimous. Everything that would tend to relieve the sufferings of the wounded was done, and relief was distributed impartially among the sufferers on both sides. The result of this action was a restoration of practical peace along the frontier of the lake. The British evacuated Detroit and Michigan, and the dreaded invasion of the Indians that the settlers had feared so long was headed off.

Perry, who held but a commission of master commandant, despite his high-acting rank, was promoted at once to a captaincy, the date of his commission bearing the date of his victory. He was given the command of the frigate Java, a new forty-four-gun ship then fitting out at Baltimore. Gold medals were awarded to him and to Elliott by Congress, and silver medals to each of the commissioned officers. A silver medal also was given to the nearest male relative of Lieutenant Brooks, of the marines, and swords to the nearest male relatives of Midshipmen Laub, Claxton, and Clark. Three months’ extra pay was voted to all the officers, seamen, and marines, and, in addition, Congress gave $225,000 in prize-money, to be divided among the American forces engaged in the action. This sum was distributed in the following proportions: Commodore Chauncey, who was in command on the lakes, $12,750; Perry and Elliott, $7140 each—besides which Congress voted Perry an additional $5000; the commanders of gunboats, lieutenants, sailing-masters, and lieutenants of marines received $2295 each; midshipmen, $811; petty officers, $447 per capita; and marines and sailors, $209 apiece. No money, however, could repay the brave men for the service they had rendered the country. To-day the dwellers along the shores of Lake Erie preserve the anniversary of the battle as an occasion for rejoicing. While the naval actions at sea reflected honor and glory to their commanders and credit to the service, the winning of Lake Erie averted a national catastrophe.99