Virginia Free Press

MISCELLANY.

The late Captain Bingham, of the Little Belt—There are but few of our countrymen who do not remember the Little Belt, and the firing into her by Commodore Rogers, just before the last war, and the excitement it caused, and even exultation almost, as an atonement, in some measure, of the outrage on the all-fated Chesapeake. It has been thought, or was so then generally conceded, that Bingham was the aggressor, and in the bravado of the Dacres school of gasconading which then prevailed in the British navy, had supposed he could with impunity insult the American flag. Time, which establishes the convictions of truth, would seem to have contradicted this impression, or, if it was the fact that Capt Bingham had the hardihood of opening his sloop's guns upon the President, it must be imputed to youthful folly, totally incompatible with the discretion and demeanor which his after life exhibited.

The British blood which he unnecessarily caused to be shed, did much to assuage the pain and mortification which the disgraceful issue of the Chesapeake affair had left rankling like a thorn in the bosom of every American. It confirmed us in our good opinion of ourselves, and the brilliant naval victories, which soon after followed, forever eternized the reputation of the star-spangled banner. To revert from this alluring subject to Capt Bingham. He was laid on the shelf by the British Admiralty, and for twenty long years placed in coventry, as it were, and punished for not having captured an American I with his little cock boat. At length,

when he had grown gray in misfortune, and his family of young children had sprung up to manhood, and two of them become midshipmen in the navy, doubtless with the fixed purpose of wiping off the stain one day from their father's name, the government relented and gave Capt. Bingham the command of the Thetis Frigate. Its heart, though its youthful fires were now extinguished, and it was a time of general peace, still panted for the moment when he could redeem his lost rank. Alas, that moment was never to come:—Misfortune had doomed him to be her victim. The vessel sailed to the Pacific to protect the British commerce there. His two young sons, interesting youths, accompanied their father. It was in the harbour of Guayaquil, in Peru, that he met some of the vessels of the American squadron, among others the sloop of war St Louis. The most intimate and courtly intercourse ensued between the officers of the respective ships and the American officers, as we have heard it recounted by them from their own lips, were charmed with the polished breeding and gentlemanly deportment of Capt. Bingham. He was the beau ideal, to use their language, of a naval officer—the very pink of chivalry, both in his person and in his manners. Unhappily, one beautiful but fatal morning, while the vessels were at anchor, Capt. Bingham embarked with one of his sons in a favorite yacht to go on shore. The tide ran with prodigious force, and striking the cable of a merchantman, the boat was capsized and the whole party immediately drowned. His body and that of his son were found by the American boats, and buried with great pomp. This was not the last of this sad story. The Thetis shortly after went to Rio with a large quantity of specie. Not far from the port she struck on a reef, and the ill-fated ship and nearly all her crew on board perished—among them the remaining son of poor Capt Bingham! Here was the mournful conclusion of a train of deplorable events in the life of this commander, to which, we imagine, there are but few parallels in the annals of the British or any other navy. They seem to justify the gloomy forebodings which sailors always connect with the life of an unfortunate or ill-starred officer.

[N. Y. Star.