by Tim McGrath
Guessing that d’Estaing’s next move would be for Rhode Island, Howe took what seaworthy ships he had and made for Narragansett Bay, still under British control by General Sir Robert Pigot’s six-thousand-man army and the ongoing naval blockade. D’Estaing hoped to link up with the Continental forces under Major General John Sullivan. Hopes were high among the American general and the French admiral for a decisive victory, which could lead to a quick end of the war.
Once again, Howe thwarted a Franco-American offensive. Not wanting to fight in the confines of Narragansett Bay, d’Estaing made for the open sea. Despite the odds against him, Howe followed. It looked like there would be a battle for sure on August 11. Both sides angled for the weather gauge while the weather turned foul. By nightfall high seas and vicious winds sent French and English ships in various directions. The storm took ships apart indiscriminately; the Languedoc was dismasted and lost her rudder. Both fleets made for safe harbors—Howe’s to New York, and d’Estaing’s to Boston. Sullivan accused d’Estaing of abandoning him in Rhode Island.
The missed opportunities for an allied attack on Philadelphia, New York, or Newport gnawed at Washington; while he wrote flowery missives to d’Estaing for his efforts, he believed the French to be “old in war.” Howe’s actions that summer—a blend of sailing skills, courage, bluff, and luck—had restored parity to the chessboard. He soon returned to England, his last efforts on his king’s behalf unsung and unappreciated, for they did not end with a victory at sea.43
After John Rathbun’s amazing success in New Providence, New Englanders longed for word of another victory by one of their own that summer. In the fall of ’77, Elisha Warner, at number 24 the low man on Congress’s Captains List, had successfully escaped the Delaware with the Fly before Howe’s fleet closed it off completely, but Warner turned the schooner over to a Marylander, James Robinson. That same year, Samuel Chew, a Connecticut merchant captain, was given command of the ten-gun brigantine Resistance. Chew enjoyed moderate success with his first cruise down to South Carolina, capturing a Scottish merchantman and a British privateer.44
After refitting his ship, Chew sailed for the West Indies and again made some initial captures. On March 4, the Resistance encountered HM packet Grenville, Captain Kempthorne. Her twenty guns proved to be too powerful to trade broadsides with, but rather than sheer off, Chew sent the Resistance closer, determined to board her. His men armed for hand-to-hand combat, Chew was about to lead them in the attack when he was felled by musket fire. Shortly afterward both ships broke off the engagement. Lieutenant William Leeds took the Resistance back to Boston.45
Command of the Resistance was offered to Daniel Waters, captured aboard the Hancock and recently freed. He declined the offer and was scolded by the Marine Committee, who threatened dismissal should he reject another offer. The committee turned to William Burke, another old lieutenant of Manley’s who had also been captured. Burke was officially paroled but insisted he had escaped a British prison ship. Rumors spread from the Boston taverns to Congress in York, Pennsylvania, that Burke had been way too admiring of his captors, while other officers like James Josiah had borne their sufferings heroically. But Sam Adams liked Burke, and he received his captain’s commission on May 1.46
In August the Eastern Navy Board ordered Burke to sail the Resistance off Cape Cod. Anticipating d’Estaing’s fleet any day, the board wanted Burke to guide the French into Boston harbor. Somehow he missed them, but did manage to run smack into Howe’s fleet. Once again a prisoner, Burke related his mission to his captors. He was paroled in October. Although a court-martial exonerated him, he was finished in the navy, and became a privateer.47
The naval inquiries in Boston were being held aboard the Raleigh, and were a veritable who’s who of Continental captains. John Manley had been paroled on April 21 and could not wait to have his day in court. He wanted revenge, but not against the British. He was after Hector McNeill.
And he got him. For Manley to be exonerated for his poor judgment regarding the loss of the Hancock, McNeill would have to be found guilty for abandoning him while commanding the Boston—and that is exactly how the two decisions went. Manley immediately began pursuing another Continental ship to command. It took him four years, during which time he turned privateer. McNeill appealed his decision, to no avail, and was dismissed from the navy. He also turned privateer. After these two trials, the inquiry over Hoysted Hacker’s loss of the Columbus was anticlimactic. Hacker was cleared of any wrongdoing.48
One other star-crossed New Englander was briefly on the Continental muster rolls. Like most of the others, John Skimmer had served in “Washington’s Navy,” commanding the schooners Franklin and Lee in ’76. In 1778 he was cited by the Marine Committee as “a Gentleman every way well qualified for a command in our navy,” and made captain of the brigantine Industrious Bee, recently purchased by Congress and being refitted as a warship in Boston. She was also given the more warlike name General Gates. That summer, Skimmer put to sea after bidding farewell to his wife and ten of his children. His oldest, John Junior, came with him to serve as cabin boy.49
Unlike the real General Gates, the General Gates made a terrific first impression; like Samuel Chew, Skimmer made two fast captures as soon as he got to sea, seizing two brigs and 2,070 quintals of fish that he sent home to feed d’Estaing’s sailors. Even Congress was impressed. Days later, Skimmer’s lookout spotted two sail. The General Gates made chase.50
They proved to be a schooner, the Polly, and a British privateer, the Montague, which immediately ran out her guns. Skimmer decided to engage. Over the next hour, the ships had at one another. The Montague was running out of ammunition, but her captain would not yet surrender. Instead, he ordered every piece of iron they could lay their hands on rammed into the muzzles. After crowbars, hammers, and iron rings were used, the men reached into their pockets for their jackknives while the captain rolled up his brass speaking trumpet for one last broadside. Among the Americans hit was Skimmer, who died in the presence of his young son as the Montague finally surrendered.51
As the Eastern Navy Board once again offered Waters a command (this time he accepted), Skimmer’s champion, John Bradford, sought a pension for his widow and eleven children. Declaring Skimmer a “brave and worthy officer,” Congress approved a $400 annual pension for three years. Other navy widows were not as fortunate.52
After the brutal storm that sent British and French ships akimbo, d’Estaing’s fleet limped en masse into Boston harbor on August 28. Despite their forlorn appearance, the Boston batteries fired welcoming salutes and Bostonians cheered their new allies. John Hancock, now governor of Massachusetts, held a magnificent dinner in d’Estaing’s honor, with those Continental Navy captains who were in port among the guests.53
One American captain did his best to conceal his disappointment at d’Estaing’s arrival. For three months, John Barry had been in Boston, trying to get his latest command, the frigate Raleigh, to sea. Others may have been dismayed at the sight of d’Estaing’s damaged fleet, but happy to see visible proof of French support. Barry’s emotions were also mixed. The fleet was a godsend, but its arrival would only further delay his departure from Boston, and he was eager to leave.
The Raleigh was Congress’s reward to Barry for his daring adventures in the Delaware, succeeding Thomas Thompson after his disastrous retreat from the British ships that had captured the Alfred. Thompson had yet to have his day in court, but public opinion had convicted him even before he brought the Raleigh into Boston. Barry was given a letter to present to the Eastern Navy Board from the Marine Committee, informing the board of his appointment, anticipating its cooperation in getting the frigate to sea, and reminding the parochial-minded New Englanders that Barry was “a brave Active Officer . . . very attentive to his duty.” He left Philadelphia for Boston on June 1.54
He found a ship with few guns and no crew aboard—just naval officers, presiding over the cour
ts-martial of Manley, McNeill, and Hacker. John Deshon and James Warren headed up the Navy Board, and they treated Barry with polite aloofness. There were four other Continental ships in the harbor, including the Warren and the Resistance, and two arrivals from France: the Deane, under Sam Nicholson’s command, and the Queen of France, captained by an old friend of Barry’s from his merchant days, John Green. With that many ships to choose from, Barry lobbied hard to get Deshon and Warren to transfer the inquiries, as Congress wanted the Raleigh out to sea as much as Barry did. By July 4, Barry had won over both politicians with his earnestness, hard work, and charm, and they began assisting him with his needs—which were many.55
He found the frigate beautifully designed but in disrepair. She was more than 131 feet long, with a figurehead of Sir Walter himself, sword in hand. Her rounded bow, similar to those of British frigates, gave sailors more room in the fo’c’sle. Her handsome stern was decorated with carved vines, and she carried a lateen sail (similar in size to a modern Sunfish) set on the ensign staff past the spanker to steady her in strong winds. But her bottom was foul, and most of her supplies had been stolen.56
Over the next three months Barry exhausted himself getting her seaworthy, with the help of $524,000 sent to the Navy Board for its ships’ needs. He watched in frustration as new guns arrived (to replace the ones Thompson had thrown overboard), only to burst when being proved. When a rendezvous failed to enlist even a hundred hands (most were Raleigh veterans), Barry sought sailors from the perpetually idle Trumbull. He even looked into borrowing some French sailors from d’Estaing, but was turned down.
By the end of August he finally had enough hands to sail. Keeping only Marine Captain George Osborne from Thompson’s officers, he signed on David Phipps as first lieutenant, and three new midshipmen: Matthew Clarkson, who had accompanied Barry on those Delaware barges; David Porter, whose family would supply the American navy with officers for generations to come; and young and untried Jesse Jeacocks. With no marines to speak of, Barry resorted to a risky solution and signed on British infantrymen, now lying in Boston’s jail after being captured at Saratoga.57
During this summer Congress sent Barry orders to sail off Virginia and North Carolina to resume his earlier actions against Goodrich’s navy, leading a squadron that would include all five Continental ships. But over the weeks the Warren, Deane, and Resistance had sailed on orders from the Navy Board. Barry informed Robert Morris of the French fleet’s battered condition, begging his old employer to let him sail once the last wagonload of ordnance was unloaded. When those supplies were finally trundled down the waterfront’s cobblestone streets, an elated Barry paid for the guns out of his pocket, treating the wagon drivers to plenty of rum to show his appreciation. The Raleigh stood down Nantasket Road the next day. Lack of wind kept her from departing the Massachusetts capes until September 25, accompanied by a brig and a sloop.58
Now working with a decent breeze, Barry marveled at the Raleigh’s smooth sailing as she sliced through the water. Once she reached the mouth of the bay, he sent a lookout aloft; it was common knowledge that Royal Navy cruisers and Loyalist privateers were prowling these waters. The ships were about ten leagues north of Cape Cod when the mastheader called down from his perch: two sail, bearing southeast. Pulling out his spyglass, Barry took them to be fishing schooners.
Then a second hail came from above: two more ships standing south by southeast, eight to ten leagues away. Barry could tell these were not fishermen. They were British warships, which stood for the Raleigh and her consorts as soon as they spied the three American vessels. He signaled the two captains to keep up with the frigate as best they could. Unable to head south as per his orders, Barry headed north, clapping on every inch of canvas the Raleigh could carry. He soon outdistanced the other Americans. This was a fight Barry did not want; much as he hated leaving the smaller ships behind, he knew full well that the last thing Congress wanted was one more captured Continental frigate.59
For the rest of the day the Raleigh took the two enemy ships on a long northward race, losing them in the dark, but not before the smaller one fired several shots from her bow chasers. The next morning they reappeared, along with a schooner he took to be a tender for one of his pursuers, and the American brig he had left in the Raleigh’s wake. Barry did not know what ships were chasing him, but upon the brig’s capture their captains learned who they were after. The smaller ship stalking the Raleigh was the frigate Unicorn, Captain John Ford, twenty-two guns. The larger ship was the two-decker Experiment, Captain Sir James Wallace—the very man Barry had bested in the Delaware six months earlier; the same captain whose name was anathema to New Englanders from his days tormenting Rhode Island.60
Once again, the chase was on. In his merchant career, Barry had made few voyages north from Philadelphia. Completely unfamiliar with the shoreline, he sought the advice of Lieutenant Phipps, who suggested they make for Portsmouth. Barry agreed. Once again, the Raleigh showed off her wondrous sailing skills, making eleven knots throughout the day. By late afternoon, the British ships were long out of sight. The southern horizon was clear of ships. Barry changed course to east by northeast, and then changed direction again at midnight to east by southeast. As he had done so many times with the Lexington, Barry had eluded pursuit. The British captains must have given up, just as Hamond, Symonds, and the others did whenever Barry had eluded them. “They had quitted chasing of us,” he believed.61
After sunrise the next day—September 27—Barry sent the Raleigh on a southward course under full sail, hoping to use the morning’s prime sailing conditions to make up for two lost days. The Raleigh responded marvelously. As she increased in speed she made a sound well-known to sailors since wind first captured canvas—that low, insistent “hum” along the water—sometimes barely perceptible, but always a joy to hear.
Barry’s happy mood did not last the morning. At nine thirty the mastheader alerted the quarterdeck: two ships on the horizon, sailing south by southwest, on a course that would soon intersect the Raleigh’s. Barry did not need his spyglass to identify them. He could also see that they had the weather gauge, controlling the coming chase. Outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and outthought, Barry had no choice but to wear ship and fly northward. The Raleigh did not carry royal yards for a fourth sail at the top of each mast; the topgallant sails were the highest. Barry had her studding sails (“stuns’ls”) set immediately on her fore and mainmast, and a four-and-a-half-hour chase northward began.62
By two p.m. the Raleigh was approaching the coast of Maine, with the Unicorn coming up very fast and the Experiment making better headway than during the previous day’s chase, thanks to the more favorable wind. As before, the Raleigh was making eleven knots, but once she neared the coast the wind lessened. The Unicorn now seemed to be flying towards her. As the land came into better view, Barry saw a series of islands to westward, not a shoreline at all. He inquired if anyone aboard knew these waters—and these islands.
Not a man aboard had a clue.
Hiding any alarm, Barry sent the Raleigh north by northwest to maintain some speed and get a closer look at the islands. Soon he could make them out as barren, rocky masses, “and not a tree on them.” The coast itself looked to be another twelve leagues to the west. Rocky islands and unknown waters were not an inviting alternative to a fight. Still, Barry “thought it most Prudent to Tack to the Southward in hopes to get to the Westward and make a harbour before the ships could come up.”
Once more the Raleigh came through the wind, the masts groaning as she slowed through the tack before picking up speed again. Barry had little time to sail back down the coast without running into the Unicorn and, eventually, the Experiment. But if he could get past these islands before the enemy caught up with him . . .
He could not. The two hours he found after changing course were not enough. At four o’clock he tacked again, but an hour later the Unicorn was in range. Barry had studied how she sail
ed, counted her gun ports, and decided he had one last option: take her on, capture or disable her, and escape the Experiment before she had time to enter the fight. He ordered a gun fired to leeward, challenging the Unicorn. The Raleigh’s guns were run out, and Captain Ford accepted the challenge.
Barry ran up his colors, ran out his guns, and sent his British-born marines aloft, hoping they would do their duty as he saw fit. But it was Ford, who “threw up St. George’s Ensign and gave us a Broadside,” that got the battle started. The Raleighs returned fire. Both opening rounds were negligibly effective, the exchange occurring at a quarter mile range.
Suddenly, Ford brought the Unicorn under the Raleigh’s lee quarter, catching Barry by surprise—Ford’s frigate was right in Barry’s westward path. A second broadside slammed into the Raleigh just as Barry tried to change course. Whether what happened next was a result of British guns or Barry’s hard turn—Barry called it “some unforeseen accident”—a loud cracking sound came from above the deck. The foretopmast snapped. Barry cried a warning to the starboard gun crews, but it was too late. The long projectile of tangled wood, rope, and canvas crashed to the deck, taking the main topgallant mast, jib, and fore staysail along with it. Men were stunned, wounded, or worse; guns were dislodged from their carriages; sails covered the deck and hung into the water, slowing the Raleigh to a crawl. Ford immediately sent another broadside flying at the crippled ship.
Barry sent for axes and ordered the wreckage cleared away—as long as the Unicorn was on the Raleigh’s cluttered starboard she could not fight back. His damaged ship could no longer escape. As the fo’c’sle hands were heaving the wreckage overboard, another broadside from the Unicorn struck many of them down. The Raleigh’s deck was a slaughter pen.63
