A United States Marine detachment of 31 enlisted men, commanded by First Lieutenant John M. Gamble, U. S. Marine Corps, shared in the glories and hardships that came to Captain David Porter during his Southern Pacific cruise in the U.S.S. Essex, 32. The cruise began October 27, 1812, and ended with the surrender of a battered Essex to two British ships in Valparaiso Harbor, after a long and bloody fight, March 28, 1814.
But Gamble and most of his men were not on board the Essex on the day her colors came down from her gaff. Gamble was far away having serious troubles of his own. Only Sergeant P. G. Small and 11 marine privates were on board and of these 3 were killed, while the rest were among the prisoners.
The Essex was well into the Pacific by February, 1813, after capturing only one British ship, the packet Notion, 10, during an uneventful South Atlantic and Cape Horn passage. But prizes began coming her way by the middle of March. She took the Peruvian privateer Nereyda, 16, and the British whalers Montezuma, Georgianna, and Policy, which carried letters of marque and were lightly armed, chiefly as protection against savage natives and pirates of the South Seas.
Marines were included in the prize crews, especially in the Georgianna which was converted into an armed tender. In May, another British letter of marque, the Atlantic, was captured and commissioned in the American Navy as the Essex Junior 20, and still another, the Greenwich, was turned over to Lieutenant Gamble as prize master.
It was Gamble’s seamanship and initiative shown while in command of the Greenwich that prompted Porter to trust him with a mission that was to lead the young marine officer into probably as adventurous a tour of duty as ever befell an officer of that famous corps.
On July 14,1813, the Essex, Georgianna, and Greenwich captured the British letter of marque whalers Seringapatam, New Zealander, and Charlton, with Gamble in the Greenwich taking an effective part in the victory by outmaneuvering the Seringapatam and preventing her from escaping.
The Essex and her sizable train of prizes cruised without further incident for a month and then she led her brood to an anchorage in Banks Bay. The frigate sallied forth on short cruises during the early autumn weeks, but captured only one more prize — another letter-of-marque whaler, the Sir Andrew Hammond.
In early October, the whole fleet left for the Island of Nukuhiva, reaching there in mid-November. Here Porter established a base. On November 18, the American flag was hoisted and the island was formally proclaimed a possession of the United States, and was renamed Madison Island in honor of President Madison, who had been re-elected.
After a brief refit, Porter sailed for Valparaiso, December 12, with the Essex and Essex Junior, leaving Lieutenant Gamble in command of the base and prizes Greenwich, Seringapatam, New Zealander, and Hammond. Gamble had a tiny garrison of 18 men to guard the ships and watch the natives, whose attitude toward the white men was most uncertain. To make his position the more precarious, Gamble’s force, of which only five were marines, also had to guard six Essex sailors who had made trouble on board and were under disciplinary sentences.
Porter left orders for Lieutenant Gamble to remain at the island 5 ½ months, at the end of which time, if the Essex had not returned or sent some word, he was to man two of the ships, if possible, after taking everything of value from the other and burning it.
Porter’s two ships had barely disappeared over the horizon when Lieutenant Gamble energetically turned his men and some of the more friendly natives to shifting whale oil from the other ships into the New Zealander. That ship left the island on February 28 for the United States with 1,950 barrels in her hold. She was sailed by her own captain and crew, the former having given his pledge to sail for an American port.
Under that date, February 28, Gamble also had to record two tragic events. The first was the death of John Witter, a marine private, who drowned in the surf. The other was the desertion of four men, the leader of whom was Isaac Coffin, one of the naval prisoners from the Essex. They stole a whaleboat and sailed out of the harbor at dark, after loading it with several muskets, a supply of ammunition, and food. When Gamble sought to pursue, he found the deserters had made unseaworthy the only other small boat available at the time.
By early April, the marine officer began to despair of the Essex’s return, and on the 12th, he started to rig the Sir Andrew Hammond and Seringapatam, and to shift the fittings from the Greenwich to the Seringapatam. This work was practically finished by May 1.
About this time the natives had begun to show a hostile attitude, their boldness and insolence finally compelling Lieutenant Gamble to land his entire force under arms, to recover several articles that the natives had stolen from the camp and ships. This mission was accomplished without firing a shot.
The work of fitting out the two ships, which Gamble had decided to take to sea in compliance with the orders of his captain, went on normally. But more trouble was brewing for the marine officer in the changed attitude of several of his own men whose tempers had been worn thin by the long isolation on the cheerless island. Sensing this ominous undercurrent, he had all muskets, other small arms, and ammunition stored on the Greenwich, where he still maintained his living quarters. Gamble also saw to it that Midshipmen Feltus and Clapp and his few marines were also quartered on board that ship. But an open mutiny came on May 7.
The events of that day are best set forth in Lieutenant Gamble’s subsequent report to the Secretary of the Navy, written in August, 1815:
On the 7th May, while on board the Seringapatam on duty which required my being present, I was suddenly and violently attacked by the men employed in that ship. After struggling a short time, and receiving many bruises, I was thrown down on the deck and my hands and legs immediately tied. They then threw me on the second deck, thence dragged me into the cabin, and confined me to the run, where in a few minutes Midshipman Feltus and Midshipman Clapp were thrown in, tied in the same manner as myself; the scuttle was then nailed down and a sentinel placed over it.
After spiking all the guns of the Greenwich, and of the fort, and those of the Sir Andrew Hammond that were loaded, plundering the ships of every thing of value—committing many wanton depredations on shore, taking arms and ammunition from the Greenwich; sending for Robert White, the man who was sent out of the Essex for mutinous conduct, and bending the necessary sails, they stood out of the bay, with a light wind off the land.
My fellow prisoners, and shortly after myself, were then taken out of the run, and placed in the cabin under the immediate charge of sentinels. Shortly after getting clear of the bay, one of the sentinels, though he had been cautioned against putting his finger on the trigger, fired a pistol, the contents of which passed through my heel a little below the ankle bone.
I had not received the wound a moment before the men on deck pointed their muskets down the sky-light, and were in the act of firing, when the sentinel prevented them by saying the pistol was accidentally discharged.
At 9 o’clock, the night dark, and the wind blowing fresh, after receiving, by request of myself, from the mutineers, a barrel of powder and three old muskets, I was put in a leaky boat where I found my unfortunate companions.
The three officers rowed and bailed the leaky boat, and finally negotiated the six miles back to the island, where they were welcomed on board the Greenwich by a handful of faithful men who were alarmed for their officers’ safety, and at the threatening attitude of the natives who were quick to take advantage of the trouble that invaded the camp of the white men, and were busily plundering the quarters ashore.
Finding it impossible to comply with Porter’s orders to remain at the island 5 ½ months, which time would have expired May 27, Lieutenant Gamble decided to sail for Valparaiso as soon as possible. The Sir Andrew Hammond was made ready to get under way on short notice, and then the little group of loyal Americans set about getting some of their possessions from the shore. In the midst of this hazardous work, the natives made a sudden attack that brought death to Midshipman Feltus and Able Seamen John Thomas, William Brudewell, and Thomas Gibbs. Private Peter Coddington, dangerously wounded, managed to swim out toward the Hammond in company with Able Seaman William Worth, also injured.
They were picked up by a boat manned by Midshipman Clapp and the three remaining men. The natives put off from shore to intercept the boat but were driven back when Lieutenant Gamble fired three guns previously loaded with grape and canister shot. Before the boat could get back to the ship, the natives began an attempt to board the Hammond, but were held at bay by the firing of another gun and several musket shots. Later, another attempt was made against the Hammond and one against the Greenwich, but cannon fire sent the native craft scuttling back to shore.
Gamble sent the boat to the Greenwich for Private John Pittenger, incapacitated by sickness, and to set fire to that ship. The boat had hardly returned when Gamble cut away his anchor since he did not have enough men to cat it, bent on jib and spanker, and worked out of the harbor with the help of a light breeze. He had but six cartridges left for his guns.
The plight of the little ship’s company was most distressing. The exertion had inflamed Lieutenant Gamble’s wound and brought on a fever. Others were incapacitated by wounds, injuries, or sickness, so that only Midshipman Clapp and two men were able to work the ship.1
Destitute of charts and unable to work to windward, Gamble ordered course set to run the trade winds down and if possible raise the Sandwich Islands in the hope of either falling in with some of the Canton ships, or of getting help from Kamehameha, the King of the Windward Islands.
By herculean efforts, the topsails were bent on and, with the help of fair weather, the Hammond made Whytetee Bay in the Sandwich group on the 30th, where Gamble let go his remaining anchor and thankfully found a couple of Canton ships whose captains quickly set about alleviating the sufferings of the Hammond’s little crew.
Gamble bargained with the natives for fresh meat, vegetables, and fruits, in return for which he agreed to take several of the chief men and their possessions to the Windward Islands, where he hoped to recruit some men to help work his ship to Valparaiso.
Gamble sailed on June 11, 1814, but was destined not to reach Valparaiso, for on the second day out his lumbering old whaler was overhauled and captured by the British sloop-of-war Cherub, 18, one of the two ships which, less than two months before, had taken the Essex.
From his captors, Gamble learned of the fate of the frigate and his shipmates, and he had much time to brood over the sad news, for he was doomed to several months of wandering over Pacific waters as a prisoner on board the Cherub before she finally put into Rio de Janeiro, December 15,1814, where news was received that the war between the United States and England had ended.
The prisoners were released by Captain Tucker of the Cherub, but it was May 15 before Gamble was able to take passage from Rio de Janeiro in a Swedish ship bound for Havre de Grace. On June 10 the American ship Oliver Ellsworth was spoken at sea and when it was learned she was bound for New York without further voyaging, the marine officer transferred to that ship and arrived in New York a few weeks later to learn that he had been made a captain.
Captain Gamble’s service either afloat or in the field was at an end, for his wound had left him permanently crippled. He served twice as commanding officer of marines at the New York Navy Yard; for eight years in command of the marine barracks at Philadelphia; and for a short time at the Portsmouth (New Hampshire) yard. He was promoted to major July 30, 1834, and died September 11, 1836, at the age of 46 years. No member of the Corps he loved bore him to his grave. New York State Militia furnished the escort, for all marines ashore had been sent inland to reinforce a tiny Regular Army involved in a badly scattered war with the rampant Seminole Indians.
The conclusion to be drawn from these reflections is that war in our time is bound to be a struggle for national existence, in which everything is risked, and in preparation for which, therefore, no conceivable exertion must be spared.—Wilkinson, War and Policy.
1. Those on board the Hammond, beside Lieutenant Gamble, were Midshipman Clapp, in good health; Private Benjamin Bispham, in good health; Private Peter Coddington, wounded in the head; Able Seaman William Worth, leg fractured; Ordinary Seaman R. Sansbury, almost helpless with rheumatism; Ordinary Seaman J. Burnham, an old man recently recovered from scurvy but able to help work ship, and Private John Pittenger, down with dysentery.