September 10, 1813—In the most harrowing—and, finally, sweetest—of naval triumphs, Oliver Hazard Perry managed to overcome the loss of his flagship, casualties dropping right and left around him, and the bizarre behavior of his chief subordinate to beard the British lion at the Battle of Lake Erie.
Twenty-first century students of history, if they are lucky, may remember one sentence from Perry’s report to General William Henry Harrison on this key victory in the War of 1812: “We have met the enemy, and they are ours.” (Cartoon readers of a certain age might also recall the parody of this in Walt Kelly’s cartoon Pogo: “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”)
The battle deserves more attention, however, than simply an entry in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations or an answer to Jeopardy. Perry’s exploits are the kind of stuff inculcated into Annapolis cadets for years as they learn about what military historian John Keegan has called The Face of Battle.
Inveterate readers of this blog might remember my praise of Pierre Berton’s Flames Across the Border: 1813-1814. Sure enough, his chapter on Lake Erie is a gem, capturing the breathless energy of Perry as well as the atmosphere of this engagement, a seesaw engagement similar in atmosphere to how the Duke of Wellington famously described his victory over Napoleon at Waterloo: “a damn near-run thing.”
Begin with the months leading up to it. The Americans needed to gain control of the Detroit River and Lake Erie in order to secure their left flank, move troops to the eastern front and fracture the British-Native American alliance. Thus began a frenetic shipbuilding campaign on both sides.
Perry eventually built ships in Erie—a feat all the more jaw-dropping because the community had only 500 inhabitants and the builders of the ships had to be brought in from places as far afield as Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and Meadville. Locating this operation there, in what was still wilderness, in an area featuring still-shallow water, was, if you will, a riverboat gamble.
When Perry faced off against his opposite number, Capt. Robert Heriot Barclay, he had nine ships and 54 guns to six ships and 63 guns for the British. That initial advantage to the Americans, however, proved illusory: because of the inexplicable decision of Perry’s subordinate, Lt. Jesse Elliott, not to engage the British more quickly, Perry soon found himself on the Lawrence (so named for his dear friend, James “Don’t Give Up the Ship” Lawrence) facing the combined might of several British ships. At one point, Perry had to abandon the Lawrence, which was battered to a pulp.
At the height of the battle, the legend of “Perry’s Luck” sprang into being. While one man after another (including his second lieutenant, standing right next to him) was struck by enemy fire, Perry remained entirely unscratched. It continued to hold as he boarded the ship headed by Elliott, the Niagara, and took command of it, taking a leaf from Admiral Horatio Nelson’s playbook a decade ago and cutting right through the British line of ships.
Within 15 minutes, it worked. By 3 pm, Perry had won and the Americans were pinching themselves over what they’d accomplished: the first time in history that a British had been defeated and captured intact by the enemy, not to mention the first time an American commander had successfully shifted his flag in the midst of battle.
Perry’s campaign and battle were a victory of improvisation. Somewhat like fellow New Englander Benedict Arnold had done at the Battle of Valcour Island in the American Revolution, Perry had created a makeshift navy that achieved its strategic purpose. None of Perry’s hastily built ships set sail again.
One should not let this opportunity pass without mentioning the contribution of African-Americans to victory. About one-fourth of squadrons on the lake that day were black. Much like George Washington in the American Revolution, Perry overcame his initial opposition to African-Americans in the conflict and came to praise their contribution.
Twenty-first century students of history, if they are lucky, may remember one sentence from Perry’s report to General William Henry Harrison on this key victory in the War of 1812: “We have met the enemy, and they are ours.” (Cartoon readers of a certain age might also recall the parody of this in Walt Kelly’s cartoon Pogo: “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”)
The battle deserves more attention, however, than simply an entry in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations or an answer to Jeopardy. Perry’s exploits are the kind of stuff inculcated into Annapolis cadets for years as they learn about what military historian John Keegan has called The Face of Battle.
Inveterate readers of this blog might remember my praise of Pierre Berton’s Flames Across the Border: 1813-1814. Sure enough, his chapter on Lake Erie is a gem, capturing the breathless energy of Perry as well as the atmosphere of this engagement, a seesaw engagement similar in atmosphere to how the Duke of Wellington famously described his victory over Napoleon at Waterloo: “a damn near-run thing.”
Begin with the months leading up to it. The Americans needed to gain control of the Detroit River and Lake Erie in order to secure their left flank, move troops to the eastern front and fracture the British-Native American alliance. Thus began a frenetic shipbuilding campaign on both sides.
Perry eventually built ships in Erie—a feat all the more jaw-dropping because the community had only 500 inhabitants and the builders of the ships had to be brought in from places as far afield as Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and Meadville. Locating this operation there, in what was still wilderness, in an area featuring still-shallow water, was, if you will, a riverboat gamble.
When Perry faced off against his opposite number, Capt. Robert Heriot Barclay, he had nine ships and 54 guns to six ships and 63 guns for the British. That initial advantage to the Americans, however, proved illusory: because of the inexplicable decision of Perry’s subordinate, Lt. Jesse Elliott, not to engage the British more quickly, Perry soon found himself on the Lawrence (so named for his dear friend, James “Don’t Give Up the Ship” Lawrence) facing the combined might of several British ships. At one point, Perry had to abandon the Lawrence, which was battered to a pulp.
At the height of the battle, the legend of “Perry’s Luck” sprang into being. While one man after another (including his second lieutenant, standing right next to him) was struck by enemy fire, Perry remained entirely unscratched. It continued to hold as he boarded the ship headed by Elliott, the Niagara, and took command of it, taking a leaf from Admiral Horatio Nelson’s playbook a decade ago and cutting right through the British line of ships.
Within 15 minutes, it worked. By 3 pm, Perry had won and the Americans were pinching themselves over what they’d accomplished: the first time in history that a British had been defeated and captured intact by the enemy, not to mention the first time an American commander had successfully shifted his flag in the midst of battle.
Perry’s campaign and battle were a victory of improvisation. Somewhat like fellow New Englander Benedict Arnold had done at the Battle of Valcour Island in the American Revolution, Perry had created a makeshift navy that achieved its strategic purpose. None of Perry’s hastily built ships set sail again.
One should not let this opportunity pass without mentioning the contribution of African-Americans to victory. About one-fourth of squadrons on the lake that day were black. Much like George Washington in the American Revolution, Perry overcame his initial opposition to African-Americans in the conflict and came to praise their contribution.
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