but the ship was left in no condition for future defense.  Many of the guns were dismounted, and the Long Tom, which had been the mainstay of the defense, was capsized.  Captain Reid and his officers worked with the utmost energy through the night, trying to fit the vessel for a renewal of the combat in the morning, but at three o’clock he was called ashore by a note from the American consul.  Here he was informed that the Portuguese Governor had made a personal appeal to the British commander for a cessation of the attack, but that it had been refused, with the statement that the vessel would be destroyed by cannon-fire from the British ships in the morning.  Against an attack of this sort it was, of course, futile for the “General Armstrong” to attempt to offer defense, and accordingly Captain Reid landed his men with their personal effects, and soon after the British began fire in the morning, scuttled the ship and abandoned her.  He led his men into the interior, seized on an abandoned convent, and fortifying it, prepared to resist capture.  No attempt, however, was made to pursue him, the British commander contenting himself with the destruction of the privateer.  For nearly a week the British ships were delayed in the harbor, burying their dead and making repairs.  When they reached New Orleans, the army which they had been sent to reenforce, had met Jackson on the plains of Chalmette, and had been defeated.  The price paid for the “General Armstrong” was, perhaps, the heaviest of the war.  The British commander seemed to appreciate this fact, for every effort was made to keep the news of the battle from becoming known in England, and when complete concealment was no longer possible, an official report was given out that minimized the British loss, magnified the number of the Americans, and totally mis-stated the facts bearing on the violation of the neutrality of the Portuguese port.  Captain Reid, however, was made a hero by his countrymen.  A Portuguese ship took him and his crew to Amelia Island, whence they made their way to New York.  Poughkeepsie voted him a sword.  Richmond citizens gave him a complimentary dinner, at which were drunk such toasts as:  “The private cruisers of the United States—­whose intrepidity has pierced the enemy’s channels and bearded the lion in his den”; “Neutral Ports—­whenever the tyrants of the ocean dare to invade these sanctuaries, may they meet with an ‘Essex’ and an ‘Armstrong’”; and “Captain Reid—­his valor has shed a blaze of renown upon the character of our seamen, and won for himself a laurel of eternal bloom.”  The newspapers of the times rang with eulogies of Reid, and anecdotes of his seafaring experiences.  But after all, as McMaster finely says in his history:  “The finest compliment of all was the effort made in England to keep the details of the battle from the public, and the false report of the British commander.”