Note Mutiny on board the Essex — APPENDIX.

Note to Bass Fishing.—Mutiny on Board the Essex Frigate.—While the Essex was lying at the Marquesas Islands, recruiting and refreshing her crew from one of the long and arduous cruises in the Pacific, Commodore Porter was informed through a servant of one of the officers, that a mutiny had been planned, and was on the eve of consummation. That it was the intention of the mutineers to rise upon the officers—take possession of the ship—and, after having remained as long as they found agreeable at the island, to hoist the black flag and “cruize on their own account.”—Having satisfied himself of the truth of the information, Commodore Porter ascended to the quarter-deck, and ordered all the crew to be summoned aft. Waiting till the last man had come from below, he informed them that he understood that a mutiny was on foot, and that he had summoned them for the purpose of inquiring into its truth.—“Those men who are in favour of standing by the ship and her officers,” said the commodore, “will go over to the starboard side—those who are against them will remain where they are.” The crew, to a man, moved over to the starboard side. The ship was still as the grave. Fixing his eyes on them steadily and sternly for a few moments—the commodore said—“Robert White—step out.” The man obeyed, standing pale and agitated—guilt stamped on every lineament of his countenance—in front of his comrades. The commodore looked at him a moment—then seizing a cutlass from the nearest rack, said, in a suppressed voice, but in tones so deep that they rung like a knell upon the ears of the guilty among the crew—“Villain!—you are the ringleader of this mutiny—jump overboard!” The man dropt on his knees, imploring for mercy—saying that he could not swim. “Then drown, you scoundrel!” said the commodore, springing towards him to cut him down—“overboard instantly!”—and the man jumped over the side of the ship. He then turned to the trembling crew, and addressed them with much feeling—the tears standing upon his bronzed cheek as he spoke. He asked them what he had done, that his ship should be disgraced by a mutiny. He asked whether he had ever dishonoured the flag—whether he had ever treated them with other than kindness—whether they had ever been wanting for any thing to their comfort, that discipline and the rules of the service would allow—and which it was in his power to give. At the close of his address, he said—“Men!—before I came on deck, I laid a train to the magazine!—and I would have blown all on board into eternity, before my ship should have been disgraced by a successful mutiny—I never would have survived the dishonour of my ship!—go to your duty.” The men were much affected by the commodore’s address, and immediately returned to their duty, showing every sign of contrition. They were a good crew, but had been seduced by the allurements of the islands, and the plausible representations of a villain. That they did their duty to their flag, it is only necessary to say—that the same crew fought the ship afterwards against the Phebe, and Cherub, in the harbour of Valparaiso, where, though the American flag descended—it descended in a blaze of glory which will long shine on the pages of history. But mark the sequel of this mutiny—and let those who, in the calm security of their firesides, are so severe upon the course of conduct pursued by officers in such critical situations, see how much innocent blood would have been saved, if White had been cut down instantly, or hung at the yard arm. As he went overboard, he succeeded in reaching a canoe floating at a little distance and paddled ashore. Some few months afterwards, when Lieutenant Gamble of the Marines was at the islands, in charge of one of the large prizes, short handed and in distress, this same White, at the head of a party of natives, attacked the ship, killed two of the officers and a number of the men, and it was with great difficulty that she was prevented from falling into their hands. The blood of those innocent men, and the lives of two meritorious officers would have been spared, if the wretch had been put to instant death—as was the commodore’s intention. It will be recollected, that the Essex, in getting under way, out of the harbour of Valparaiso, carried away her foretop-mast in a squall, and being thus unmanageable, came to anchor in the supposed protection of a neutral port—nevertheless the Phebe, frigate, and Cherub, sloop-of-war, attacked her in this position—the former with her long guns, selecting her distance—cutting her up at her leisure—while the Essex, armed only with carronades, lay perfectly helpless—her shot falling short of the Phebe, although they reached the Cherub, which was forced to get out of their range. “I was standing,” said my informant, then a midshipman only fourteen years old, “I was standing at the side of one of our bow chasers, (the only long guns we had,) which we had run aft out of the stern port—when the Phebe bore up, and ran under our stern to rake us. As she came within half-pistol shot (!) she gave us her whole broadside at the same instant.—I recollect it well!” said the officer—“for as I saw the flash, I involuntarily closed my eyes—expecting that she would have blown us out of the water—and she certainly would have sunk us on the spot, but firing too high, her shot cut our masts and rigging all to pieces, doing little injury to the hull. Singular as it may seem, the discharge of our one gun caused more slaughter than the whole of their broadside, for while we had but one man wounded, the shot from our gun killed two of the men at the wheel of the Phebe, and glancing with a deep gouge on the main-mast, mortally wounded her first Lieutenant, who died on the following day.”