Quote of the Day (James Lawrence, With an Iconic—and Ironic--Naval Cry)

“Don’t give up the ship!”—attributed to mortally wounded James Lawrence, captain of the U.S.S. Chesapeake, by his attending physician, June 1, 1813

What amazes me about military history is how often defeat—no, even a downright debacle—can be converted to something inspirational. Dunkirk, transformed into a triumph of the human spirit with a blast of Churchillian oratory, narrowly averted a decimation of the British army. In perhaps the first attempt of a Yale man in the field of intelligence, Nathan Hale botched perhaps the only mission he ever had, but became a byword of patriotism for a gallows statement he probably didn’t make in the form we know it.  ("I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country" sure sounds much better than "I am so satisfied with the cause in which I have engaged that my only regret is that I have not more lives than one to offer in its service.")

Likewise with Captain James Lawrence, who has come down as one of the heroes of the War of 1812, even though his career was shorter and his judgment considerably lesser than many colleagues in the fledgling U.S. Navy. Accounts vary on his exact final words—some believe it was “Don't give up the ship; fight her till she sinks"; others think it was "Tell them to fire faster--don't give up the ship."

But you get the idea—and so did his friend, fellow naval commander Oliver Hazard Perry, who flew a bright blue banner emblazoned with Lawrence’s words at the masthead of a vessel named for the fallen sailor, USS Lawrence, at the Battle of Lake Erie.

Perry’s brilliant victory—and his dramatic use of the flag in the battle (he took it with him when the Lawrence was put out of commission in the fighting, then when he rejoined the fight unexpectedly)—did much to shine a kinder light on his friend. In his estimable The Naval War of 1812, Theodore Roosevelt noted: “I doubt if ever before a nation gained so much honor by a few single-ship duels.”

But the contest between the Chesapeake and its British counterpart, the Shannon, was a notable exception. Tom Halsted’s recent article in The Boston Globe on the circumstances surrounding the battle had to have been a hard pill for many to swallow, but most historians—including Roosevelt—have long concluded that, at very least, the British commander, Captain Philip Broke, used better tactics during the contest.

But it also appeared that Lawrence took an unnecessary risk. He had been ordered to slip out of Boston Harbor at the first opportunity and to begin picking off British merchant ships in the Gulf of St. Lawrence as the opportunity presented itself. He was not authorized to take on the Shannon, or any ship, mano-a-mano—particularly when he’d only been given command of the frigate a mere two weeks before, and he was helming a crew as untrained as it was demoralized (understandably, since they hadn’t been paid in weeks).

But Lawrence, seeing the enemy hanging out in the harbor, couldn’t resist taking the bait. It was all over shockingly fast. His famous plea notwithstanding, there simply was no officer at the conclusion of the battle to continue the fight. Fifteen minutes after the battle was joined, to the shock of the crowd of spectators on shore, the Chesapeake had struck its colors, with the ship and its crew—including the fatally wounded Lawrence—being hauled up to Halifax.  

Eventually, Lawrence’s remains—already buried by the enemy with full military honors—were returned to the United States. He is now laid to rest in the burial ground of New York’s Trinity Church, along with other notables such as Alexander Hamilton, Robert Fulton and Albert Gallatin. In its understandable zeal to honor the brave, Americans might well have questioned how much to honor occasions such as Lawrence’s last battle, when daring outweighs good judgment.

This Day in Naval History (The Battle of Lake Erie)

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.