I received my appointment as midshipman in the Texas navy with orders to report for duty on the flagship Austin in May, 1842. The Austin was then lying in the Mississippi River at New Orleans. The navy at that time consisted of the following vessels: the Austin, sloop-of-war, twenty guns; the two 18-gun brigs Wharton and Galveston; and the three topsail schooners San Antonio, St. Bernard, and San Jacinto. The armament of the schooners consisted of six 6-pounders each and a long gun on a traverse circle amidships. These vessels were constructed by a firm of Baltimore shipbuilders, and were in beauty, speed, and other seagoing qualities unequalled. There was also an old side-wheeler, the Zavala, but at that time she was not in commission. Soon after my joining the Austin, the brig Wharton arrived and anchored below us. The United States sloop-of-war Ontario was anchored a short distance further up the river; so that there was the unusual sight of three men-of-war anchored off New Orleans, as well as the revenue cutter Hamilton.
The officers of the Austin were Commodore E. W. Moore, in command; Jas. Moore, commodore's secretary; Alfred Gray, first lieutenant; Cyrus Cummings, second; — Snow, third; Wilbur, fourth; Wm. H. Glenn, master; Norman Hurd, purser; Alfred Walker, Robert Clements, Fairfax Gray, Andrew J. Bryant, Geo. F. Fuller, Robert Bradford, and Edward Mason, midshipmen. The officers of the Wharton were Captain Lothrop, First Lieutenant Lansing, Second Lieutenant Lewis, and Third Lieutenant Wilbur; midshipmen, Culp, White, Faysoux, and Middleton. The two other ward room officers of the Austin were Surgeon Anderson and his assistant, Surgeon Peacock. The Austin was a ship of five hundred tons. Her battery of medium 24's was on the spar deck. Below were the berth deck, the steerage, and the ward room. Under the latter was the magazine, under the steerage were the spirit room and purser's stores, and under the berth deck the provisions and water tanks. The bread was stowed in a locker on the starboard side of the steerage, which had a storage capacity of 20,000 lbs. of sea biscuit. The bulwarks of this ship, from the deck to the top of the hammock rail, were eight feet high, the top of the hammock rail coming flush with the top of the poop chain, and forward with the deck of the to'gallant forecastle. The sleeping arrangements of the commodore's cabin consisted of two swinging cots. The ward room furnished eight staterooms for the lieutenants, surgeon, and purser. All the other occupants of the ship slept in hammocks, which were swung at night and taken down to be stowed in the hammock sails in the morning.
The warrant officers in all navies are the boatswain, the gunner, the sail-maker, and the carpenter, who are not officers in line of promotion. The petty officers are numerous. They are the , captains of the tops, captains of the forecastle, master-at-arms, armorer, purser's steward, boatswain's yeoman, and the cook, who outranks all the others. The rules and regulations of the service were precisely the same as those in the United States navy, and copied from them, as the latter were from the English. In fact, the incidents described in the nautical tales by Capt. Marryat seventy or eighty years ago might have happened as naturally on the Austin as on an English sloop-of-war. The daily routine was as follows: a few minutes before eight bells in the midwatch—or in land phraseology—a few minutes before 4 a. m., the drum and fife rouse up the sleepers with the “reveille” immediately after which, eight bells having been struck, the pipes of the boatswain and his mates are heard, followed by the cry of “All hands”—then the call, “Up all hammocks.” The midshipman of the watch reports eight bells at the ward room, and then drops down into the steerage, shakes his sleeping successor and bawls into his ear “Eight bells! I'll thank you to relieve me.” The sailors straggle up from the berth deck, each one shouldering a hammock, which is rolled and lashed. These hammocks are handed up to the hammock rail, where they are stowed “rip rap” by one of the quarter-masters. Now pails of water, buckets of white sand, and holy-stones appear, and the holy-stoning of the decks is commenced. On this thoroughly scrubbed deck water is thrown and squilgeed out of the scuppers. The squilgee is a nautical hoe with two blades of strong sole leather. It is pushed. After this process the deck is laboriously swabbed. When dry, the running rigging is carefully “flemished” down, that is, laid in flat coils on the deck like door mats. The quarter-master of the watch touches his hat to the midshipman and says, “Eight bells, sir.” The latter reports this to the officer of the deck, who says, “Report it to the commodore, sir.” The commodore, apprised of the fact, says, “Make it so, sir, and pipe to breakfast.” The officer of the deck “makes it so” by ordering the quarter master to strike the bell eight. It is done, and if the night has been rainy, the top-sails and courses are dropped from the yards to dry. The jack rises from the bowsprit, the flag rises to the gaft, the night pennant flutters down, and the stop being broken by a sharp jerk of the halyards the broad pennant floats out from the mast-head. All these movements are simultaneous. Now is heard the boatswain's pipe followed by the single word, “Grog.” The purser's steward appears at the larboard gangway with the grog-tub on which are three little tin cups. Each holds the “tod” allowed to the sailor. The men come down the larboard side of the main deck, each takes his “tod,” the steward constantly refilling the little tin cups. One or two sailors after draining the cup turn it up side down, and if a drop falls into the palm of their hands they rub it into their hair. To oversee this rite is one of the duties of the master's mate of the berth deck. Breakfast follows this. At 10 a. m. the first lieutenant appears on deck. The surgeon meets him holding in his hand a small square of white paper, which has been carefully passed all around the interior of the cook's coppers. If it should show the slightest soil, the cook would receive a dozen lashes at the gangway. He is too careful, and the paper always came out unspotted. Now it is announced that the berth deck is ready for inspection. The first lieutenant descends the hatchway followed by the master's mate. He minutely inspects every crack and crevice. If he is in ill humor, he will declare the berth-deck to be in a frightful condition; if amiable, he will grunt approval. There was nothing on earth so clean as the old sailing man-o'war.
Put seven or eight midshipmen in one room, and disputes are inevitable. This sometimes ends in a fisticuff. The officer of the deck jumps down and getting between the combatants receives some of the blows, which a looker-on would say were intentionally bestowed. No deadly quarrels arose on the Austin, but on the Wharton, two duels were engendered. Mr. White challenged Mr. Culp. They went ashore, fought, and the latter was killed. Faysoux and Middleton met on the field of honor, and, as they were both dead shots, it was predicted that they would both fall at the first fire. The result almost tempted one to believe with Buffon that chance is “the ruler of the universe.” Is was the fraction of a second only that saved both lives. Faysoux fired first as Middleton was cooly and carefully lowering his pistol to the mark. The bullet from Faysoux's pistol struck the hammer of his adversary's weapon and glancing from that shattered Middleton's cheek-bone. As the bullet struck the lock it caused a premature discharge of Middleton's pistol, and the bullet thus hastened by the fifth of a second, struck the rim of Faysoux's cap, and came out at the top of it. Faysoux told me that he felt the bullet pass over the hair of his head. Afterwards, in Walker's time, Faysoux commanded the whole Nicaraguan navy, consisting of one schooner, with which he blew up the whole Costa Rican navy, which was represented by one brig. He was afterwards the mate of the Creole in the famous Cuban expedition, his commanding officer being no other than Lewis, formerly third lieutenant of the Brig Wharton of the Texas navy.
Chance played another part with two officers of the Lone Star navy. The schooner San Antonio arrived at New Orleans to revictual and recruit. After a stay of a few days her captain made sail on a cruise after waiting a few hours for his second lieutenant who was on shore. The schooner was about half a mile away when the absent officer came down in a shore boat. The San Antonio was beating down against the wind. The commodore ordered the second cutter to be called away and sent the delinquent to his own vessel. The boat returned with Tennyson, the third lieutenant of the Wharton, who had been sent on board the schooner to replace the belated man. Tennyson was saved, and the other officer was lost. The San Antonio sailed from her port and was never heard of more. It was supposed that she was lost in the great September gale of 1843.
It is greatly to the honor of Commodore Moore that he kept the navy afloat by his own credit at this time. The Republic did nothing, and Sam Houston was, and always had been, bitterly opposed to the navy. Just as Moore had succeeded in revictualing and manning the Austin and the Wharton, there appeared a commissioner, Mr. Morgan, bringing peremptory orders from President Houston to Moore to sail for Galveston and abandon his intention of seeking the enemy. Morgan was talked over, and he sailed on the ship on this, which proved to be the last, cruise of the Texas navy. Everything being in readiness, a tug boat picked up both vessels one evening, passed up the river a short distance, and then turned. The crew of the Ontario manned the rigging and gave us three cheers, which were heartily returned and under this encouragement we commenced our cruise.
The routine of action is different at sea from what it is in port. At sea, the crew keeps watch and watch and the “dog watch,” from 4 to 6 and from 6 to 8; and changes the hours of watch each day to prevent the injustice that would be done if the same half of the crew constantly kept the mid—or midnight watch.
We left the Southwest pass at night, a moonless night, as black as a crow's wing. I have only a vague recollection of my first night at sea on the Austin. The first lieutenant took charge of the deck and wore ship. The breeze was light, and the motion of the vessel scarcely perceptible. When I turned out in the morning the ship was under a cloud of canvas. The ocean was blue, the sky was blue, and all hands blue when it became apparent that the Wharton has disappeared. One of the afterguard coming aft with a bucket of water sang out “Sail ho!” as he reached the quarter deck. “Where away?”, said Cummings, who was the officer of the deck. “Broad off the weather beam, sir.” Cummings, after ordering the man to stop where he was, hailed the lookout and rated him for his neglect of duty. As the sail was a mere speck on the horizon he saw at once that the afterguard who sang out “Sail ho!” must be a seaman. He questioned him, and the man confessed that he had enlisted as a landsman, as he would have an easier time in pulling and hauling about deck than in laying aloft. Instinct betrayed him. He was put in his right place, stationed in the main-top, and proved to be one of the most effective and active of top men.
It was either on this day, or the following day, that the sentence of a court-martial was carried out on board the ship. I think it was in March or April, 1842, that a mutiny broke out on the San Antonio. The crew rose, killed the officer of the deck, Lieutenant Fuller (son of the proprietor of Fuller's Hotel in Washington, D. C.), seized the boats, and made for the shore. Six of them were captured. Four of these were sentenced to be hanged, and two to receive a hundred lashes each on the bare back. Preparatory to carrying out the execution of the decree four lines were suspended from the foreyard after the foresail had been furled. There was not a man of the whole crew on board from the boatswain down who knew how to make a hangman's knot, which of course was affected ignorance. Gray, the first lieutenant, who was a thorough marlingspike sailor, exclaimed in a mildly sarcastic tone, “I'll show you how to make a hangman's knot!”, which he did. The four lines from the weather and lee yard arms, led through blocks to the deck, were “married” together and passed through leading blocks aft to and around the main mast and forward to a point under the yard. One half of the crew were to walk aft with the line, the other half to walk forward. The officers were all on deck, each with side arms. The prisoners were brought forth and the ropes were passed around their necks. The commodore gave the signal, a shot from the bow gun, and the crew started on their death march. The four culprits were raised to the yard arm, and must have been strangled in the ascent; for they neither struggled nor made the slightest motion. The bodies were taken down, the surgeon read the funeral service over them, and they were committed to the deep. This melancholy but necessary act of justice had a depressing effect on every man and boy on board. But the crime of mutiny accompanied with murder can not possibly be condoned. It is discipline alone that ensures the safety of the officers, that enables them to control the crew which outnumbers them so greatly—twenty officers to perhaps three hundred and fifty sailors. Many now living will recall the mutiny, or rather the plot to seize the vessel, for fomenting which young Spenser, a midshipman and a son of the secretary of the United States treasury, was tried by court-martial as the ringleader, sentenced, and hanged on board the brig. This man o'war, was, if I am not mistaken, called the “Somers,” and its captain, McKenzie. I had always vowed that I would never witness the hanging of a human being, but fate compelled me to see four men hanged at the same moment.
The day following this dread execution saw the punishment of one of the two remaining mutineers sentenced to receive a hundred lashes. The man was served up at the gangway, naked to the waist. The boatswain gave the first blow with the “cat,” with its nine cords; a reddish tinge appeared as the cat was raised for the second stroke; the marks on the back assumed, as the punishment continued, a purple hue; then the blood flowed. The surgeon stood by with his hand on the culprit's wrist. At the end of fifty lashes he made a sign that signified, “The man can bear no more,” which caused his release. A shirt was thrown over his back, and he was led forward. He did not, at any time afterwards, receive the other fifty lashes, nor did the other mutineer receive one. Perhaps the commodore judged that the lesson to his crew was quite sufficient.
The commodore sailed on this last cruise a day or two earlier than he intended. He had received information that the two Mexican frigates were to re-coal at a little obscure port on the Mexican coast. For this point he made, but on arrival there found that the birds had flown. To our great delight, however, we found the Wharton off the place. Seen at a distance, we could not restrain our admiration at the picture she presented, with her graceful hull and raking masts—a thing of beauty, the model of a perfect man-o'war. Once more the two vessels, reunited, headed for Campeche. In running down the coast and nearing our destination, sail was reduced, the commodore wishing to arrive in the morning and not at night. We were under the three topsails, jib, and spenser. They were heaving the log when the commodore came on deck and asked, “What is she making?” “Eleven, six” was the reply of the midshipman. “A mistake, sir. Try again.” A second trial showed the same result. Eleven, six knots an hour in a light breeze and under such short sail was certainly wonderful speed. The ship was finally hove to and anchored off the coast of Yucatan. At early daylight the following morning, just as “All hands up anchor” was called, the Mexican fleet hove in sight—six vessels headed by the two steam frigates. The anchor was up like a flash, and our two vessels bore down on the enemy; the land breeze was blowing steadily, and the enemy, miles away, were slightly to windward. At a distance of nearly three miles the leading frigate opened fire. The shot fell short. The next one, however, passed completely over the ship. The fire was returned from the bridal port of the Austin, Cummings sighting and firing the gun. Suddenly the Austin grounded and slightly heeled over to leeward. The watchful enemy immediately got over to leeward. Lothrop hailed from the Wharton's deck, “Shall I heave to?” To which Moore replied, “No, sir, keep on to your anchorage.” I think this cool contempt for the foe must have astonished them. We were in sight of Campeche when we grounded, and we were not much displeased to see the Yucatan gun-boats coming out to our assistance, their sails white in the glistening sun, suggesting hurrying sea-gulls. They came down to leeward of the ship and opened on the Mexican fleet with their long 18-pounders. A freshening of the breeze together with all sail packed on the ship forced her over the shoal. We bore away for Campeche with our escort of gun-boats, and the enemy retired to their anchorage five miles from that city, off a little town called, I think, Llerma. This little skirmish occurred April 30, 1843.
In explanation of the appearance of allies from such a quarter, it must be known that Yucatan was in the throes of one of those peculiar revolutions so common in Mexican departments, and was in arms against the mother country. The city was blockaded, and a force of 5000 men had commenced a siege, erecting batteries in the outlying suburbs. Our arrival opened the blockade. We anchored three miles from the mole, for the land shoals so gradually that no vessel of any considerable size can approach nearer to the shore.
The city of Campeche was built by the Spaniards in the early days of the 16th century. It is a walled town, the walls being about forty feet high, with open scarp and no ditch. It was intended as a defense against the natives rather than against a civilized foe. Its battery consisted of 42-pounders, mounted en barbette. The town had many years ago commenced clambering over the walls and sprouting into suburbs. The country about, abounded in tropical fruit, and here my eyes were first regaled with the sight of the growing cocoa-nut. The town has no harbor, but faces an open roadstead. The bay of Campeche I think contains more sharks of all sorts and sizes than are to be found in any other portion of the watery world. Perhaps this is accounted for by the extraordinary abundance of edible fish to be found in such objectionable company. The shark, however, is universally eaten in Campeche, and the fish market makes a great display of them, from baby sharks to the large ones, which are sold by the pound.
We received a hearty welcome in Campeche, and the Mexicans, as if in satirical mood, commenced bombarding the city, which they kept up for three days and nights, with slight intermissions for refreshment in the way of sleep. At the expiration of the land breeze both sides laid down their arms and gave themselves up to the inevitable siesta. When the sea breeze came in they resumed the game of war. The Campecheans nearly destroyed the church of St. Roman in the suburb of that name, and knocked over a good many of the adobe houses. Walker, Clements, and I passed a cheerful hour on the ramparts, working a 42-pounder. When we tired of this sport we descended and were collared by three “grave and reverend signiors,” who compelled us to sit down at a table under the shadow of the wall and regaled us with wine. Their manner indicated that the fracas going on was something that did not concern them, and that it would be impolite in them to interfere. The Mexican bombardment did but little damage to the city. But one shot should have been “heard around the world” for its sportive eccentricity. A cannon ball was sent completely through the bell in one of the cathedrals, making a perfectly round hole without cracking or shattering the bell. Those who do not comprehend the exact meaning of the word concussion will say “impossible”; but there can be no concussion where resistance is not powerful enough to bring a missile to a full stop.
The first thing that Moore did after his arrival in Campeche was to ask the Governor for the loan of two long guns, 18-pounders. This request was complied with at once. They were sent on board and mounted on two of the carriages from which two of the 24's had been removed. “Now,” we thought, “if our Mexican brothers want to play a game at long bowls we can take a hand.”
On the 16th of May, 1843, the Texas fleet set sail with the land breeze to meet the foe. They were equally alert. Moore's report has fully described this battle, and nothing remains for me but to add an incident or two. This first shot that struck the ship came from the schooner Eagle, the ball taking a semicircular bite out of a sailor's heel. At one time during this fight at long range the commodore got a chance to square the yards, run between the two frigates, and engage them with both batteries. At the very first fire the flag staff of the Montezuma was shot in two, and down went the flag into the sea. That ship paddled ahead and got round on the same line with her consort, to leeward of the Texas vessels. The wind died out and a short calm intervened before the sea breeze came in. The Mexicans were to leeward, but would be to windward with the coming sea breeze. The Austin's yards had been braced around to meet the coming breeze, and at the very first breath of it she darted forward. Lothrop had not taken precaution against this, and the Wharton was taken aback. Her position was always on our weather quarter, but she lost so much in wearing that she fell hopelessly astern, and could not regain her position. The consequence was that she never received a shot in the ensuing battle. I do not remember how long the cambat lasted. I only know that we chased the enemy about fifteen miles. The two steamers obstinately held their position to windward, forward of our beam. It was some time before they got the range, the shots for a long while passing too high. Their guns were 64-pounders. This was the first time guns of so large a calibre were used in action. One of these missiles dismounted gun No. 5, killed one man and wounded five others, ripped up several deck planks, and demolished a portion of the main top-sail sheet bits. There it stopped, and was retained as a trophy. Andrew Bryant, a little midshipman, was struck by a huge splinter and had two large pieces of flesh carried away from one of his legs, both sides of the femoral artery. A cartridge in its leather case mysteriously exploded and blew off the arm of the powder boy who was carrying it. The mutineer, who had received no punishment, fell to the deck dead. His breast was a mass of bruises, but the surgeon said, “Those did not kill him.” I saw a spot of blood, which induced me to kneel down and lift his hair away from the top of his forehead. A small wooden splinter two inches long had been driven into his brain.
A curious experience is that which comes by being shot at from a long distance. One sees the flash of the gun, then hears the whistling of the ball, and then the report, the ball out-traveling the sound. After a little study of the coming balls one could determine very nearly where they were going to strike. Two of them I shall always remember. Of the first one I said, “This is going to pick a man from my gun's crew.” It struck just under the port between wind and water. As it was jammed between two of the timbers it was found impossible to drive home a shot plug. The other shot which announced its intention to become intimate struck the deck of the to'-gallant forecastle directly over my head (for I was at gun No. 1), and tip-tip-tipped overboard, simply denting the planks. Walker, who was master's mate of the forecastle, looked over, and with his peculiar lisp, exclaimed “Fuller, that was devilish close.” A few moments later I heard an oath from the sail maker, who declared that the scoundrels had ruined his new jib. It was of light raven duck. A cannon ball had passed through it, and the wind, freshening, was reducing it to ribands. Now, some of the standing rigging having been shot away, together with a good deal of the running rigging, the commodore wore ship to take the strain off the starboard rigging and to engage the enemy with the larboard batteries. This heeled the starboard over to such an extent that she made water rapidly through that shot hole under gun No. 1, and absolutely compelled a return to our anchorage. The Montezuma was so crippled that it was twenty minutes before she could stir. The Guadalupe followed after us for a short distance and then turned back to her consort. The sailing vessels of the Mexican fleet fled at the moment the sea breeze came in. The most unaccountable mystery connected with this fight in which a superior force, more than three to one, fled from their adversaries, was the inaction of the Yucatan gunboats, which obstinately remained at anchor defying all signals made by Moore for them to make sail. At the last moment one of them, commanded by a Frenchman, came out and opened fire on the foe. The commander of the gun boats, an American by the name of Bowie or Bowen, came on board when we anchored, looking frightened and deadly pale. What kind of rating he received from Moore we never knew. In this action the fire of both the Austin and the Wharton was directed exclusively at the Montezuma, while both steam frigates directed theirs exclusively at the Austin. Neither the Guadalupe nor the Wharton received even an accidental shot.
Soon after this battle we received the information that Sam Houston had issued a proclamation denouncing Moore and his men as pirates, and calling upon all the nations of the earth to seize us wherever found on the high seas. This was an atrocious act to be done by an otherwise honorable man and brave soldier. We had unwittingly been fighting with, figuratively speaking, halters round our neck.
Years afterward, when I was in company with two officers of the United States navy, Houston's extraordinary act was discussed. One of them said “I was attached to the Vincennes sloop-of-war at that time, and we had received orders to seize the Texas vessels and bring them into port for their protection.” “Supposing,” said the other officer, “they had declined your generous offer?” “We should have captured them—a very easy task, I fancy.” “Much more difficult than you imagine,” said the other officer. “I knew the Austin, her officers, and crew. She was undoubtedly the fastest sloop-of-war in the world. She could have sailed round and round the Vincennes, raked her, dismasted her, and left her a wreck on the water. In addition to her great sea qualities, she was well commanded, well officered, and well manned. You would have scratched a Russian and found a Tartar.”
When it as known that we were to sail for home, it was reported that Marin had sent word to Moore that he need not hope to leave that coast alive, and that Moore had replied that he would be happy to meet him outside, hoping that he would find courage enough to come to close quarters. I know not what truth there was in this, but I know that on the morning we got “up anchor for home” the Mexican fleet had disappeared from sight.
On the 4th of July we anchored off Sisal. On shore two of us celebrated the day with an omelette of sea-turtle eggs. These little round yellow shelless balls which the turtle lays in the sand would defy the digestive powers of an ostrich. A day or two afterwards we anchored off the Alocrans, and obtained a stock of sea turtle, at which Jack seemed inclined to turn up his nose and bawl for salt beef and pork. Our next anchorage was in Galveston harbor, which seemed full of boats filled with people who uttered shouts of welcome. We were given a public dinner by the citizens, and here ended my connection with the Texas navy, and with Texas, which country I have not seen for nearly sixty years.
It seems a pity that the Republic of Texas ever became merged in that of the United States. Today she would have been an empire in herself, free from the dictation of Northern manufacturers, with the power to buy and sell where she pleased. Strange as it may seem, there are only a few people in New York City who know that the State of Texas was ever a Republic, so very few that I have yet to count the first one. I do not know whether the old flag of the child Republic is now the State flag, but I hope it is, and that it may wave until the last syllable of recorded time.
How to cite:
Fuller, Geo. F., "SKETCH OF THE TEXAS NAVY ", Volume 007, Number 3, Southwestern Historical Quarterly Online, Page 223 - 234. http://www.tsha.utexas.edu/publications/journals/shq/online/v007/n3/article_4.html
[Accessed Tue Dec 2 0:03:29 CST 2008]
