Commodore Jesse D. Elliott: A Stormy Petrel of the Navy
(See page 773, September, 1928, Proceedings)
Dorothy G. Wayman—The decapitation of “Andrew Jackson,” as described in the September, 1928, issue of the United States Naval Institute Proceedings, was conceived and executed by men from the old whaling seaport of Falmouth, Massachusetts, and a detailed tradition of the deed still lingers in the old Cape Cod town.
Since it was sketched only lightly in the course of Professor Allan Westcott’s article, it may be of future historic interest to set down at this time the complete story as it is recalled in the home town of the actual perpetrator, Samuel Worthington Dewey.
Dewey’s father is said to have been a captain in the United States Army, at one time being in command of Fort Independence in Boston Harbor. His wife was a Miss Hallett, belonging to one of the old Pilgrim families of Cape Cod. For what reason Samuel Dewey came to Falmouth can only be conjectured, but in 1809 he was named as a member of the school committee and in 1810 he taught singing school in Falmouth.
An old house on Main Street, at the corner of Gifford Street, had been built in 1790 by a seafaring man of wealth, Captain Timothy Crocker, several of whose sons were noted sea captains. Captain Crocker, however, built this house as a marriage portion for his daughter Susannah, at the time of her wedding to the minister of the Congregational Church, the Reverend Mr. Henry Lincoln.
William and Henry Lincoln, sons of this couple, became ship-merchants in Boston, specializing in the West Indies trade, with an office on the old Central Wharf. It is said that after the death of the Army captain, Dewey, his widow kept a boarding house on School Street, Boston, where William Lincoln boarded on first going to Boston, and thus became friendly with the widow’s son, Samuel Worthington Dewey, who at that time was mate of the brig Delta, a New Orleans packet. Later, when the Lincolns became prosperous shipowners, Dewey was given command of the brig Delta, on a trading voyage to Pernambuco.
One June morning in 1834, when the figurehead of Andrew Jackson had been some three months installed on the Constitution by orders of Commodore Jesse D. Elliott, and public indignation was at fever-heat, as described by Professor Westcott, Captain Samuel Worthington Dewey returned to Boston from a voyage to the West Indies in a Lincoln vessel, with a cargo of sugar. Talking with the partners, Henry and William Lincoln, in their counting house, the news of Boston during the captain’s voyage was rehearsed and a lively picture of the “desecration of the Constitution” was sketched for Dewey’s benefit. Dewey remarked that he had a great mind to go over to the navy yard some dark night and cut off “Andrew Jackson’s” head. William Lincoln spoke up: “Dewey, if you do that, I’ll give you a hundred dollars.”
Dewey made a reconnoitering trip and satisfied himself that the exploit was feasible. On the night of July 2, favored by a violent thunderstorm, he rowed himself from Battery Wharf, in a flat-bottomed skiff, to Charlestown, where the Constitution was anchored.
He related afterwards that he was lucky enough to find a rope dangling, to which he made fast his skiff, and swarmed up the side, entering a porthole on the gun deck. Evading the sentries in the dark, he made his way forward to the bridle port under the bowsprit, through which he climbed, and made his way to the spar deck. Here he could see a marine sentry, by the flashes of lightning, and he stated afterwards that the sentry at times was within four feet of him.
Dewey found foothold on the bowsprit, fastened one end of a gimlet by his handkerchief in a buttonhole of his coat, and bored the gimlet into “Jackson’s head to serve as a handle.”
Drawing out a small saw he attacked the throat of the figurehead. His first incision ran foul of a copper bolt (Westcott says iron but Dewey always called it copper). Commencing again, near the chin, he succeeded in severing the head completely, and by his forethought in mooring it to his buttonhole by the handkerchief and gimlet, did not lose it when it came free.
Again eluding the sentries, he made his way with his booty back to his skiff, which he found almost swamped as he had made it fast, unwittingly, beneath the outlet of the lee scuppers, and the rain had been falling in sheets while he worked. He bailed as quietly as possible, with his hat, cut the skiff loose, and drifted until far enough away to take to his oars without attracting notice. On returning, thoroughly drenched, from this mad-cap expedition, he deposited the wooden head of the President of the United States in the woodshed of his mother’s boarding house on School Street, Boston.
When the hue and cry arose next morning on the discovery of the trespass and mutilation of the figurehead, Captain Dewey carried the head through the streets of Boston in a champagne basket to the West End residence of Henry Lincoln, senior partner of Dewey’s firm. Several prominent Whig merchants of Boston joined with William Lincoln in making up a subscription of $100, which was paid over to Dewey. The whole business, with the identity of the sawyer, appears to have been an open secret in Boston to everyone but the irate Commodore Elliott.
A dinner was actually given at Concert Hall, Boston, attended by the Lincolns and such well-known Whigs as Parker E. Pierce, at which the head of-Andrew Jackson on a silver salver, like that of John the Baptist, formed the chief table decoration. Later the head was the piece de resistance at a banquet at the Astor House in New York, where, according to tradition, Daniel Webster presided as toastmaster; and in Philadelphia Nicholas Biddle is said to have sponsored another feast of jubilation.
Captain Samuel Worthington Dewey accompanied the trophy on its triumphal progress and eventually capped his feat neatly by handing it over to Secretary of the Navy McLane at Washington, where he requested and received a receipt for it as “returned property of the United States.”
For many years in a garden on the shore of Lake Mascupie, Tyngsboro, Massachusetts, was to be seen a wooden statue of Andrew Jackson with a deep crack around the throat as though the head had been removed and later bolted back into place. It was the property of Jonathan Bowers, who maintained a pleasure resort called Willowdale. In 1925, after Mr. Bowers’ death, his sons held an auction of the property, and at that time, according to a report in the Boston Transcript of December 9, 1925, the statue was sold for $10,000 to a Max Williams, acting as agent for a purchaser whose identity was kept a secret.
Whether this is the same statue now on the terrace of Bancroft Hall at Annapolis or whether there are two statues of Andrew Jackson with rival claims to have figured in this incident, are points to be cleared up by more research.
Seagoing Customs
(See page 11, January 19, 1929, Proceedings)
Dr. Ing. Wladimir V. Mendl.—It was with great pleasure that I read the article of Mrs. Constance Lathrop which explains many of the customs in the life of a sailor. May I, however, be allowed to add a few words based upon my own observation.
Salutes: It is not an exclusive naval custom to place the cap and sword of an officer on the coffin during his burial service. It is just as well the custom in most if not all armies, and even for civilians the top hat is sometimes placed on the coffin, a custom originating, however, probably in the naval- military habit.
There is another custom to be recorded in this respect, one passed even into the regulations of several armies and navies: the salute to the dead. Any military person meeting a funeral procession in the street is obliged to give a military salute to the dead. This is again a habit which has passed into the civilian life of many a country. In these countries it is an unwritten law that everybody meeting a procession takes off his hat until the hearse has passed.
Starboard and port: It is interesting to note the explanation Mrs. Lathrop gives. In German the designation is backbord for port, seemingly of no relationship whatsoever, and steuerbord for starboard, being without any doubt akin. The explanation for both words is the following. The rowing vessels of the early Middle Ages had a rudder in form of a broad oar fixed on starboard, whence the designation steuerbord—steuer meaning “rudder.” The helmsman stood with his back turned towards the opposite board, whence the designation backbord. The same word has passed into other languages too, for instance, babord in French, and babor in Spanish.
Flag salute: The custom of the salute to the flag, when the colors are hoisted or hauled down, is not exclusively an American one, as one may perhaps understand from Mrs. Lathrop’s article. The salute to the flag is a custom of all the navies of the world and in some instances I have found that even lady visitors have been, very politely of course, requested to rise from their seat during the hauling down of the colors.
Pennants: The homeward-bound pennant is not a custom of the English-speaking navies only, but is worldwide. Probably it has been taken over from the Royal Navy or the United States Navy. But there is another custom in Germany deriving from it, worthy of being recorded. In this country the ends of the cap ribbons hang down the necks of the sailors. Now when a sailor is going back home after he has finished his service in the navy, he wears a cap ribbon, the ends of which hang down to his heels and which is called homeward-bound pennant, also.
Superstitions: It is very amusing to read of the American commodore who used to speak to his mizzenmast. It may be hard to believe of a modern man, but still I understand this officer but too well. For anybody whose heart is in the right place and who has heard the blows with which the last wedge block is driven out from under the ship on the blocks, and she begins to move gently down the ways—a real birth in fact—and makes the water foam at the impact of the down-moving stern; for anybody who has felt a rhythmical rolling mail steamer or packet under his feet; for anybody who has heard the groaning and moaning of a vessel’s upper works in a North Atlantic gale; for anybody who has ever stood on the forecastle of vessel pitching into a heavy seaway and rising again, shaking off the spray; for anybody who has ever had a sailing vessel’s helm in his hand and who has watched her sails fill and the ship begin to move in a rising breeze; for anybody who has seen a fast motor boat jump over the waves; for anybody who has felt the tension of a crowd waiting breathlessly for a liner slowly approaching her Hoboken pier: for all these it is beyond any doubt that a vessel is not merely an inanimate thing, but more than that, a being born, living, and dying just as ourselves!
Submarine Service for Profit and Pleasure
(See page 193, March, 1929, Proceedings)
Rear Admiral F. B. Upham, U. S. Navy.—I have derived both profit and pleasure from reading Lieutenant Kirkpatrick’s article on service in submarines. Happily brief as is that article, it conveys much to him who will reflect upon the professional advantages to be realized by service in these vessels.
Greater even than the advantages to be derived from technical training in the operation of Diesel engines and of electrical appliances is the opportunity offered for the early exercise of command—the hope, the aim, the ambition of every officer.
In no other branch of our service may a “J.G.” enjoy the command of a combatant vessel of the United States Navy. In no other branch will he so soon find himself in training, by the actual exercise of command, for larger commands. It is the first and best step up the ladder.
It is a veritable postgraduate course in command.
It has in training today a body of commanding officers.