dvantages
she possessed in the greater range of her guns, and in power of
manoeuvring. In the circumstances under which she was acting, the sail
power left her was amply sufficient; having simply to keep drawing to
leeward, maintaining from her opponent a distance at which his guns
were useless and her own effective.

Under these conditions, seeing success to be out of the question, and
suffering great loss of men, Porter turned to the last resort of the
vanquished, to destroy the vessel and to save the crew from captivity.
The "Essex" was pointed for the shore; but when within a couple of
hundred yards the wind, which had so far favored her approach, shifted
ahead. Still clinging to every chance, a kedge with a hawser was let
go, to hold her where she was; perhaps the enemy might drift
unwittingly out of range. But the hawser parted, and with it the
frigate's last hold upon the country which she had honored by an
heroic defence. Porter then authorized any who might wish to swim
ashore to do so; the flag being kept flying to warrant a proceeding
which after formal surrender would be a breach of faith. At 6.20 the
"Essex" at last lowered her colors.[244] Out of a ship's company of
two hundred and fifty-five, with which she sailed in the morning,
fifty-eight were killed, or died of their wounds, and sixty-five were
wounded. The missing were reported at thirty-one. By agreement between
Hillyar and Porter, the "Essex Junior" was disarmed, and neutralized,
to convey to the United States, as paroled prisoners of war, the
survivors who remained on board at the moment of surrender. These
numbered one hundred and thirty-two. It is an interesting particular,
linking those early days of the United States navy to a long
subsequent period of renown, and worthy therefore to be recalled, that
among the combatants of the "Essex" was Midshipman David G. Farragut,
then thirteen years old. His name figures among the wounded, as well
as in the list of passengers on board the "Essex Junior."

The disaster to the "Essex" is connected by a singular and tragical
link with the fate of an American cruiser of like adventurous
enterprise in seas far distant from the Pacific. After the defeat at
Valparaiso, Lieutenant Stephen Decatur McKnight and Midshipman James
Lyman of the United States frigate were exchanged as prisoners of war
against a certain number of officers and seamen belonging to one of
the "Essex's" prizes; which, having continued un