The canvas was hanging loose.
Porter's guns were by no means silent, however, even in this hopeless situation, and few crews have died harder or fought more grimly than these seamen of the _Essex_.

Among them was a little midshipman, wounded but still at his post, a mere child of thirteen years whose name was David Farragut.

His fortune it was to link those early days of the American navy with a period half a century later when he won his renown as the greatest of American admirals.
In many a New England seaport were told the tales of this last fight of the _Essex_ until they became almost legendary--of Seaman John Ripley, who cried, after losing his leg, "Farewell, boys, I can be of no more use to you," and thereupon flung himself overboard out of a bow port; of James Anderson, who died encouraging his comrades to fight bravely in defense of liberty; of Benjamin Hazen, who dressed himself in a clean shirt and jerkin, told his messmates that he could never submit to being taken prisoner by the English and forthwith leaped into the sea and was drowned.

Such incidents help us to descry, amid the smoke and slaughter of that desperate encounter, the spirit of the gallant David Porter.
Never was the saying, "It's not the ships but the men in them," better exemplified.

To Porter was granted greatness in defeat, a lot that comes to few.
For two hours he and his men endured such dreadful punishment as not many ships have suffered.