by Tim McGrath
One other new name appeared on the roster of Continental captains. Pierre Landais was a French naval officer whose nearly feminine facial features masked both a rampant ego and a neurotic temper. His family had sent its sons to sea for generations, and during the French and Indian War he had risen to command of a fireship. He had resigned from King Louis’s navy in 1775 and latched onto Silas Deane while the American’s star was ascendant in Paris, charming him into giving Landais command of an American supply ship whose passengers included Baron von Steuben. With a sheaf of recommendations from Deane under his arm, Landais sailed for Philadelphia. Having also won over John Adams and Arthur Lee in Paris, he turned his flattery on Sam Adams and Richard Henry Lee in Philadelphia. The Adams-Lee faction, green with envy over Ben Franklin and his popularity, saw Landais as a maritime Lafayette, and a useful pawn in their game playing with the elderly minister. Sam Adams was immediately impressed, calling Landais a “Master of his Business,” and labored hard to get the Frenchman command of the recently built thirty-six-gun frigate Alliance, coincidentally docked in Boston harbor.18
For company, the Alliance had three other Continental ships in Boston: the frigates Warren, Providence, and Boston and the two French-built frigates Deane and Queen of France. They were idle, not because of winter weather, lack of guns, or a British blockade, but for lack of men.
The Eastern Navy Board was confronted with two extremes—six frigates in one harbor, but not enough hands on all the muster rolls combined to man two of them. “Every Ship here might sail in fourteen days if they could be manned,” the board wrote to Congress, while pointing a collective finger at the culprits: “The Conduct of the Privateers who are always seducing by every art the Men from the Public Service”—meaning the Continental Navy. They offered a simple solution: cease all privateering in Boston until the frigates were manned and out to sea; that would do the trick.19
But privateering was still a profitable investment among the politically connected, including more than a few congressmen themselves. Come up with another suggestion, the Marine Committee replied. One solution was no solution: enlisting rejects and deserters from the Continental Army. One officer wrote Washington suggesting that a deserter’s death sentence be commuted to service aboard a Continental frigate, as “it might answer as good a purpose as to execute him.” In Connecticut, Seth Harding, desperate to get the Confederacy to sea, began impressing French sailors fresh off a cartel. Upon learning of this, Boston captains began taking French sailors off the docks and into Continental frigates. Not wanting to alienate America’s new and irreplaceable ally, Congress told Harding to put them back ashore, and sent the Navy Board the only solution that worked: a sailor’s best friend, cash. The Eastern Navy Board was also besieged by shipwrights, merchants, carpenters, chandlers, and other creditors—all owed money. The navy was so far in arrears that board members James Warren, John Deshon, and William Vernon took out a $20,000 loan at their expense, mainly to save their reputations. Slowly, the muster rolls began adding names.20
The first of the frigates to depart Boston was the Alliance, bound for France and carrying the Marquis de Lafayette, on a mission from Washington to report to King Louis’s court on the war’s developments and personally entreat the king for manpower and money. The Deane, under Sam Nicholson, would be Alliance’s consort. Within three days of their departure from Boston, the ships parted company (Nicholson capturing two prizes en route to France).21
The new frigate’s maiden voyage exposed Landais for what he really was. Once the Massachusetts coastline disappeared, he dropped his false modesty and charm to reveal his overbearing management style. It did not play well. In the fo’c’sle, a cabal of sailors plotted to take the ship, cast Landais adrift, put Lafayette in irons, and make for England. The Alliance was days away from reaching Brest when their mutiny broke out. It was barely suppressed, mainly thanks to Lafayette’s courage and naked sword.22
The Alliance and the Deane had no sooner departed than the sloop Providence arrived at New Bedford. John Peck Rathbun had another successful cruise: five prizes that all reached port safely. But both ship and captain were in disrepair; the Providence needed careening and the captain was ill. William Ellery, Rathbun’s champion in Congress, was saddened by Rathbun’s leaving the sloop, and unhappier still when he learned the captain’s replacement was Hoysted Hacker, “of whom,” Ellery complained, “I have not the highest opinion.”23
As the remaining captains in Boston tried every possible idea to lure New England tars away from privateers, geography once again played a part regarding where to send the frigates once they had enough manpower to be sent anywhere. Richard Henry Lee had been appointed head of the Marine Committee just when resentment among southern congressmen over the navy’s New England influence reached a crescendo. Lee, who in 1776 had introduced the resolution “that these colonies are, and of a right ought to be, free and independent states,” was determined to send as many Continental ships as he could southward, where their presence was sorely needed.
After the British abandoned Philadelphia, the focus of British war policy had shifted to the south. Loyalist privateers, based in New York, were voraciously preying on southern shipping. Merchantmen leaving the Virginia Capes had a better chance of being captured than they did of safely reaching their destination. Southern governors and congressmen made their opinions known: outside of Biddle and Rathbun, there had been scant success in southern waters these past two years. Lee was determined to change that.
On February 10, Lee sent a courier northward bearing orders to captains, agents, and the Navy Board to get the ships manned and sailing southward: America’s southern trade was imperiled. By March 13 enough hands had been enlisted and the first cruise commenced with the Warren (John Hopkins), the Queen of France (Joseph Olney), and the Ranger (just in from Portsmouth and still under Thomas Simpson). With Hopkins in command, the Marine Committee ordered them to “Chastice the Insolence of those Small Cruisers upon the Coasts of Virginia and the Carolinas,” and to cruise southern waters as long as their supplies lasted before returning to an American port.24
The ships headed south, reaching Cape Henry by April 6, when the Ranger took a small privateer of ten guns. Before sunrise the next morning—patrolling the same waters where Barry and the Lexington had captured the Edward exactly three years before—the Warren’s mastheader spotted ten ships to leeward. Suddenly, he hailed the quarterdeck again: nine ships to windward. With two fleets to choose from, Hopkins picked the ships to windward, giving him the weather gauge and a near 100 percent chance of overtaking them.
Conditions were ideal for the chase: “Pleasant gales and fair weather,” Hopkins noted, ordering every inch of canvas raised. “Made all the Sail we could allow and aloft,” Simpson recorded in his log. This was a rare sight thus far in the war: three American warships, sailing in unison to bag British and Loyalist merchantmen. Wind filled their sails, and the chase was on.
The fleet, escorted by two Tory privateers, did its utmost to outdistance their pursuers, but the Warren, the Queen, and the Ranger were like hawks. The Warren, one of the original thirteen frigates, was faster than her consorts, and Hopkins let her fly, leaving the other two ships in her wake. Ten hours later, the little squadron had bagged seven merchantmen and one privateer. They were carrying supplies for the British army, everything from flour barrels to “accoutrements” for a regiment of dragoons: a rich haul.25
After learning from the captured sailors that a host of British men-of-war were looking for him, Hopkins decided his cruise was finished. With so many captured ships requiring prize crews, he believed the best course for him was to disobey Congress’s orders to cruise until his supplies were exhausted and return to Boston. In so doing he was bypassing the very waters Esek Hopkins had been sent in 1776 to protect and defend, only to return to a New England port. Like father, like son.26
Accordingly, Hopkins made for Boston with the Queen of
France and five prizes, while the Ranger headed to Portsmouth with the others. Hopkins was greeted as rapturously as his father had been upon his return from New Providence. The family name was back in the headlines for the best of reasons, and Hopkins could not have been more proud of himself.27
Once the Navy Board heard that Hopkins’s ships were in Nantasket Road they sent word that he not enter Boston harbor for two reasons: one, he still had enough supplies to return to sea; two, the board realized—if Hopkins did not—that once the frigates bumped against the docks, their sailors would make straight for the waterfront taverns and brothels, or worse yet, a privateer.
To the dismay of Warren, Deshon, and Vernon, the Warren entered the harbor, and their fears were immediately justified. The crew had signed on for one cruise, not for a specific duration. The cruise was over, and with it their service in the Continental Navy. The board next sent a letter to Olney aboard the Queen of France, ordering him to anchor in midstream, assuring him that anything he might need in the way of supplies would be delivered. But like Hopkins, Olney kept going, right into the harbor, where his men disembarked with the same alacrity shown by their brother sailors, late of the Warren.28
In Philadelphia, the Marine Committee was thrilled at the news of Hopkins’s success, sending him hearty congratulations, along with the urgent wish that he and his men return to sea. Days later, word arrived from the Navy Board that Captains Hopkins and Olney were not entirely aboveboard. Sailing home, both convinced their men to allow the captains to act as their agents. Hopkins and Olney would receive not only their shares as captains but also a percentage of each sailor’s money.
Further, Warren and Deshon suspected that the two captains had already bought out their crews’ shares at a discounted rate. Sailors frequently did this with agents in order to be paid something immediately instead of everything later, after prize ships had been condemned and sold. With Congress’s sorry history of payment, who could blame them? The board estimated that Hopkins and Olney would net $2,000 each as agents. If their suspicions were correct, they could make even more.
The Marine Committee’s congratulatory letter was barely out of Hopkins’s hands when another letter from the committee arrived, ordering that a court of inquiry be convened to investigate Hopkins’s disregard of orders from the committee and the board, as well as his questionable meddling with the sailors’ pay. The board suspended both Hopkins and Olney for conduct that they accurately described as “dishonorable,” especially considering the financial burdens the three board members had just taken on to get the ships manned and out to sea, only to have them return so soon. In Philadelphia, the whole affair showed Congress that the current system of running the navy was a failure.
Changes were required, but for now the only ones made were with captains; Hopkins and Olney were dismissed from the navy. As the reader may have guessed, both became privateers. To replace Olney aboard the Queen of France, the Marine Committee wisely chose the recovered Captain Rathbun. To walk the quarterdeck of the Warren, they chose the Trumbull’s idle captain, Dudley Saltonstall. In so doing, they set in motion the navy’s greatest disaster.29
Fortunately, other New England captains earned their share of success while avoiding such tawdry behavior. Even Hoysted Hacker got a chance to show his mettle. After taking over the sloop Providence from Rathbun, Hacker was ordered to accompany the frigate Providence (Abraham Whipple) and the Boston (Samuel Tucker) out to sea under Whipple’s command to cruise New England waters for ten days, then head south as far as Virginia. They left Boston on April 13, but Whipple soon returned, so violently ill that the Navy Board feared he could no longer serve. Tucker and Hacker made the cruise without him. They were beset by fog one day, strong gales the next—the yin and yang of an Atlantic spring—and soon lost sight of each other. Tucker made for the Delaware Bay, while Hacker sailed to Sandy Hook.30
The Providence was “off the Hook” on May 7 when she was spotted by the British brig Diligent, twelve guns, and part of Commodore Collier’s fleet. Her captain felt she was more than a match for the sloop and closed in, looking to attack the Providence on the larboard side where her long boom might become a hindrance to her fighting capability. For years she had served Jones and Rathbun well; now the little ship’s sailing prowess took Hacker to victory. Seeing the enemy’s intentions, Hacker, running with the wind, wisely and unexpectedly jibed. The Providence’s boom suddenly swung from one side to the other, her great sail filling with the wind, still coming off her stern. Now her boom would not be a factor in the coming fight.
Hacker had been unlucky through much of the war—and he would be again—but this was his day. Running up his colors, Hacker unleashed two broadsides before the Diligent, now luffing in the wind while changing her course, could return fire. Soon her sails and rigging were in tatters and her masts in danger of toppling. Hacker lost four killed and ten wounded, but the toll on the brig was significantly higher, and her captain struck his colors.
Hacker brought the Diligent into New Bedford, where he received orders to sail the waters off Martha’s Vineyard. With news of Hopkins and Olney fresh in his mind, Hacker obeyed. The Diligent was sold at the handsome price of $26,000 and taken into the Continental Navy. Hacker was given the option of commanding the brig or the sloop; he stayed put.31
While Hacker patrolled Martha’s Vineyard, Samuel Tucker was in Philadelphia. Coming up the Delaware, he passed the Confederacy, moored off Chester, twenty miles below Philadelphia.
Few ships in the age of sail could match the Confederacy for looks and construction. She was 155 feet long with a 37-foot beam. Along her bow were two carved red foxes; her figurehead was a bearded, menacing warrior. The frigate’s stern was adorned with detailed filigree around the cabin windows. She was one of the few American frigates that had sweeps, allowing her to row out of danger when becalmed. The officers’ berths and wardrooms were spacious; she even had a great room with an unheard-of eight-foot ceiling—perfect for hosting French admirals or diplomats. And she had teeth: thirty-six guns in all. All she needed was a large enough crew to properly man her and fight the enemy.32
After mooring the Boston nearby, Tucker was accompanied by Seth Harding on a coach ride to Philadelphia to report on their needs. Tucker had made no captures heading south, while Harding arrived under a cloud of suspicion that he was another James Nicholson, perfectly happy to have a beautiful frigate to command and content that he lacked the manpower to fight. He wanted a chance to lay those rumors to rest.33
With “The Confidence we repose in your Courage and Good Conduct,” the Marine Committee sent Tucker and Harding on a three-week cruise, short but eminently successful both politically and financially. After safely convoying merchantmen southward, the frigates captured three prizes between them, including the Pole, a Loyalist privateer of twenty-six guns with a formidable reputation as a fighter.
Years later, Tucker became fond of relating his encounter with the Pole: how the Boston approached the privateer flying British colors when her captain, John Maddock, hailed him. Maddock was cruising for the Boston and “that rascal Tucker” and asked Tucker if he had seen him. “I know of him,” Tucker replied. “They say he is a hard customer.” The two captains spoke over the water a while longer while Tucker muttered orders from his quarterdeck to get the frigate in optimum readiness for what he had in mind next.
Suddenly the Pole’s mastheader cried down to Maddock, “That is surely Tucker!” As if on cue, Tucker hailed Maddock again: the time for talking was over. “Fight or strike your flag,” Tucker suggested. Maddock struck his colors.34
Tucker and Harding were escorting their prizes up the Delaware when they encountered Sam Nicholson and the Deane. As the ships headed upriver a packet approached with fresh orders: Harding was to moor the Confederacy off Chester again to await further instructions, while Tucker and Nicholson were to make for the Virginia Capes and destroy British shipping. If none were f
ound, they were to cruise the Atlantic for transports and British merchantmen, then return to Boston in September.35
This run of good fortune for the navy was not over yet. A story of blind luck—literally blind luck—awaited Captains Whipple, Rathbun, and Simpson. On June 18, their ships stood down Nantasket Roadstead on a cruise under the now healthy Whipple’s command. The ships would have departed sooner but for Simpson’s reluctance to leave Portsmouth for Boston. Simpson had taken the dismissal of Hopkins and Olney as a personal affront by both the Eastern Navy Board and the Marine Committee; ignorant of their scandalous behavior, he wanted to resign. Warren and Deshon responded immediately that if he must resign, he should at least sail the Ranger to Boston. Once he did so, and learned the facts behind the matter, he withdrew his resignation.36
As commodore, Whipple was to take the ships to Newfoundland and seize what transports and merchantmen he could find. En route, they took a couple of prizes, but nothing noteworthy. The passage was uneventful until July 18. A thick, damp fog hung over the American vessels that morning as they slowly inched their way across the water. Soon the Yankee tars could make out ship’s bells and signal guns: they were not alone in this soup.
The captains instantly knew they were close by enemy sail—but were unaware whether they were merchantmen, men-of-war, or both. As morning lengthened, the fog began lifting. Once it did, the Ranger’s mastheader cried, “A sail, a sail on the lee bow; another there, and there!” Simpson’s midshipmen took to the ratlines with their spyglasses—fifty—no, sixty sail lay ahead and beside them. They were surrounded by the Jamaica Fleet, five dozen ships in all, heading home to England and escorted by a squadron of British cruisers led by a sixty-four-gun ship-of-the-line.37
One of the Ranger’s hands was Andrew Sherburne, just fourteen, serving as a waiter to the bosun, Charles Roberts. Years later Sherburne recalled the trepidation the Americans initially felt over their precarious situation. If Whipple shared such worries, they were dispelled as he watched Rathbun bring the Queen of France alongside a large merchantman, the Arethusa. Having taken two forts with a single sloop, he was not cowed by such a vessel.
