Give Me a Fast Ship

by Tim McGrath

  Admiral Arbuthnot’s fleet was still sailing south through winter storms when, on January 16, John Paul Jones brought the frigate Alliance into La Coruña, Spain. When she left Holland on December 27, Jones promised his bickering crew that he would make straight for l’Orient and not take the circuitous route around the British Isles via the North Sea. He intended to sail straight down the English Channel.

  He was, at least concerning his route, true to his word. Once the Alliance was out of Dutch waters, she sped past the very ships waiting to swoop down on her. In the predawn hours of the twenty-eighth, the mastheader sighted countless lanterns on the horizon. It was Admiral Hardy’s fleet. At daylight, a couple of fifty-gun two-deckers stood for the Alliance. Jones was boldly flying American colors. While Midshipman Fanning thought, “Those John Englishman who now saw us thought we were pretty saucy fellows,” Midshipman Kilby “saw little chance of escape.”59

  Jones thought otherwise. The Alliance was sailing under close-reefed topsails. Jones ordered out one reef. His topmen scrambled up the ratlines; climbing out and over the fighting tops, they continued their ascent until they reached the topmast spar. Walking along the footropes, they took out the reef. Jones ordered a second out, then a third. There was a strong blow, but Jones wanted the topsail yards “hauled up taut” to catch as much wind as possible. The Alliance immediately picked up speed, and began flying over the waves.

  Lieutenant James Degge, Landais’s second-in-command, warned Jones that such stress could snap the topmast. “She will either carry this sail or drag it,” Jones calmly replied. The two-deckers receded into the distance. Running up to ten knots (it seemed like fourteen to young Kilby), the Alliance escaped the entire fleet. “In four hours we run every one of the ships hull down,” Kilby bragged.60

  The cruise did not meet Jones’s expectations. “I encountered several ships but they all flew neutral flags,” Jones reported, making only one capture, an English brig in which Jones placed a prize crew and sent her to France. His only other “prize” came after running down a Dutch brigantine, releasing her only after he swapped cooks—a petty act that later caused more diplomatic problems for Jones. On January 16, under “Fresh Gales and Dirty Weather,” the Alliance reached La Coruña, Spain—a port that his fellow captain Gustavus Conyngham knew all too well.61

  Having been promised landfall at l’Orient, the Alliances wanted no part of La Coruña at all. Jones passed l’Orient by because he had no prizes to triumphantly bring into port. Visiting Spanish dignitaries, whose long fingernails and ornamental finery contrasted with the crew’s rags, were received in Jones’s cabin. Had they gone below, they would have exposed themselves to the vermin feasting on the sailors and the multitude of rats running free. Four months had passed since Flamborough Head, and all the crew had to show for it was one ducat each, given them in Holland.

  When roused to their duties on the morning of January 19, many refused to work. Jones sent his officers back into the fo’c’sle, waving their swords and driving the men on deck, where Jones waited for them. Instead of berating them, he “pledged his word and honor” that once in l’Orient he would get them paid. Since leaving Holland, Jones had been aware of a rumor in the fo’c’sle that a chest of money had been brought on board the Alliance before departure—and that Jones had kept the money for himself. He, too, he told them, was unpaid. After he issued a double allowance of grog to all, peace was restored—for the time being.62

  After the Alliance’s yards were shortened (the ever-tinkering Jones believed her over-sparred), she was careened, resupplied, and “smoked”—fumigated of rats and lice by closing the hatches and ports while filling the decks with smoke pots—she sailed from La Coruña on January 28. One officer remained, with Jones’s permission: Conyngham had learned that an American merchantman, the Experiment, was awaiting stores to take back to Philadelphia. Anxious to see his wife and family after his long imprisonment, Conyngham accepted the captain’s offer to accompany him, with Jones’s blessing.63

  Once at sea, Jones called his officers into his cabin. They were still a contentious lot, Landais’s men continually at odds with Jones’s. Worst of all was Degge, who fought when he drank, and he drank too much (Fanning described the wardroom as a “wrangling, jangling . . . source of discord”). Once the men were assembled, Jones told them his plan to cruise the Bay of Biscay for prizes: he did not want to sail into l’Orient empty-handed.

  In a rare show of agreement, the officers from both factions rebelled, telling Jones “his crew were then in a state bordering on mutiny.” Jones became irate. “I aim to cruise as I please,” he barked, before stamping his foot and dismissing them. For two weeks, he desperately sought a prize but took only a captured French bark so “Weak & Leaky” he had to sink her. The Alliance made l’Orient on February 11.64

  The stress of the past six months was visible in Jones’s face. Fanning wrote how the haggard captain nervously paced the quarterdeck, biting his lip when he was not talking to himself. “I am almost blind with sore eyes,” Jones himself claimed. Before leaving La Coruña he accosted the bosun over an alleged affront, drew his sword, and threatened to run the man through. No one aboard the Alliance needed shore leave more than her captain.65

  Once in France, Jones learned he was getting his earlier wish to sail to America. Franklin had amassed a huge shipment of uniform cloth and military supplies for Washington’s army. Two diplomats, Arthur Lee and South Carolinian Ralph Izzard, were also going home. Ever the agitator, Lee insisted that the Alliance’s hold carry his latest bauble—a large coach. Jones refused.66

  Jones was walking the dock streets of l’Orient one day when he accidentally encountered Philip Landais. The Frenchman immediately drew his sword, challenging Jones to a duel then and there. Jones turned his back and walked away, but Landais followed him up and down the waterfront, swinging his sword before him, spitting imprecations all the way. Jones found refuge in the room of an acquaintance, the Chevalier de Portigibaud, a young nobleman awaiting passage to America. Upon entering, Jones shouted, “Shut the door!” Portigibaud knew Jones was brave, but also sensible. Jones was no swordsman, and Landais had proven his talents with a blade too many times.67

  Lee’s frivolous demands and Landais’s threats were not at the top of Jones’s agenda—he had promised to get his men paid, and he wrote to everyone, including Franklin, Morris, and agent James Moylan, pleading their needs. To Edward Bancroft, Franklin’s secretary and England’s spy, Jones railed against “the shameful wrongs” his men were enduring. He returned to his old habit of seeing conspiracies where there were none, convincing himself that the cuckolded Chaumont was behind the delay. He decided to go to Paris and get the money himself. He also wanted to see if a hero’s welcome awaited.68

  He arrived in Paris to find his fame blooming with the spring flowers. Though Sartine was indifferent to Jones at best, the rest of Paris lay at his feet. He was mobbed in the streets, cheered in the theater, and given a showstopping ovation at the opera. The renowned sculptor Houdon made a bust of him; royalty opened their salon doors; and the Lodge of the Nine Sisters—the greatest Masonic lodge of all—welcomed him as a member.

  The climax of his triumphal stay came from King Louis, who presented him with a gold-hilted sword, engraved “To the valiant avenger of the sea.” Louis wanted to make Jones a member of l’Ordre du Mérite Militaire with the rank of chevalier. In between his social obligations Jones pled his men’s needs for money and clothing, and advocated his latest plans for another raid, perhaps commanding a ship-of-the-line or even a fleet. After receiving promises that a percentage of the back pay would be distributed, Jones turned his attention to the ladies.69

  Although his sour relationship with both Mme. de Chaumont and her husband led him to find lodgings elsewhere, ladies of the court received him; countesses and courtesans pursued him. He gave them his poems and locks of his hair. He fell hardest for Charlotte-Marguerite de Bou
rbon, Madame la Comtesse de Lowendahl, married to an idle general. If American officers and politicians took mistresses to learn French (and other things), Charlotte saw Jones’s advances as an opportunity to further her husband’s career, and she found Jones an ardent suitor. Charlotte possessed a beautiful singing voice, and with each chanson he became more determined to win her heart.70

  It fell to America’s most famous Parisian flirt to bring Jones to his duty if not his senses. Franklin ordered him to return to l’Orient, load Washington’s supplies aboard the Alliance, get Lee and Izzard aboard, and sail for America “with all possible Expedition.” At the same time when Franklin recalled Jones to his responsibilities, Charlotte returned him to reality. While “touched by the feelings you have for me,” she could not answer them “without deceiving a gentleman I live with.” Jones departed Paris without her love—and without full pay for his sailors.71

  When he arrived in port he found more trouble than he had anticipated—not from his men but from Landais. The Frenchman had been wooed by Arthur Lee to wrest command of the Alliance from Jones, a move that could accomplish three objectives for the ever-scheming Virginian. It was a slap at Jones, an embarrassment to Franklin, and a way to get Lee’s coach and himself back to America sooner rather than later. Landais orchestrated a petition from his original officers to Franklin, demanding that the Alliance be returned to him.

  Having reminded Jones of his duty, Franklin now reminded his officers of theirs: if they ran into the enemy at sea, Jones would fight, whereas Landais would run. The old minister also warned Jones of what he was returning to, appealing to his “prudence” in handling these two malcontents.72

  By the time Jones arrived in l’Orient on June 9 the trap was set. Lee had emptied the Alliance’s hold of Washington’s supplies and replaced them with his carriage and bags. Surprisingly, Jones did not argue, but went to find another American ship to carry them. On June 12, under brilliantly blue skies, Fanning watched as Landais, “to loud huzzahs,” came aboard the Alliance. But rather than face another challenge at sword’s point from Landais in front of the men, Jones decided to return to Paris. Let Sartine and Franklin remove Landais.73

  Jones’s round trip was made quickly for 1780—just eight days. He returned with orders from Louis XVI himself to retake command of the Alliance. The king also ordered l’Orient officials to run the long boom out across the harbor and, if need be, fire the fort’s guns at the frigate should Landais attempt to leave port. All Jones had to do was have himself rowed out to the Alliance with French gendarmes to both back him up and bring Landais ashore, and then, after two long years’ absence, Jones could sail home, where he would again be hailed the conquering hero.74

  Jones’s decision to keep fighting the Serapis after his own ship was literally wrecked had made him a legend; now came another decision that would alter his career. Everything was in place to return him to his quarterdeck. If he went aboard the Alliance, he went home. Furthermore, while it meant sailing with a troublesome crew, he was still captain of the finest ship he had yet commanded, and Landais, disgraced, would return to France, probably forever.

  If Jones stayed, however, he might receive what he wanted more than a frigate—a ship-of-the-line or another squadron with which to raid England—but he would also be disobeying his orders. Jones’s decision had ramifications for Washington’s army, his standing with officials on both sides of the Atlantic, and his own future. What to do?

  Jones’s dilemma, difficult as it was, paled in comparison to Gustavus Conyngham’s problems.

  After several weeks in La Coruña, two months in Holland, and a year at Mill Prison, Conyngham was looking forward to getting home. The merchant ship carrying him, the Experiment, left the Spanish port shortly after Jones’s departure aboard the Alliance. She slipped past the cruisers patrolling European waters and headed into the wintry Atlantic. If the weather gods smiled, and his luck held out, Conyngham would be reunited with his wife and family by springtime.75

  It was not to be. One day the Experiment’s mastheader sighted several sails on the horizon. They immediately pursued the merchantman and overtook her. They were British men-of-war based in Newfoundland, then under the governorship of Admiral Richard Edwards. The Experiment’s captain surrendered; Conyngham was once again the king’s prisoner. It was St. Patrick’s Day.76

  Admiral Edwards came from a navy family. He was a seasoned tar with reputation among the rebels for fair treatment of prisoners. But while Edwards did not abuse Conyngham as Collier had, he wasted no time in deciding what to do with him. After detaining Conyngham for only a short time in Nova Scotia, Edwards made arrangements to return him to England.77

  News of Conyngham’s recapture reached New York first, then Philadelphia; the report stating that Conyngham, guilty of “high treason,” was being sent back to the “Mill prison Lodge.” On the passage back to Plymouth, Conyngham caught a fever; by the time he reached Plymouth he was deathly ill.78

  Such news struck Anne Conyngham especially hard. She was only twenty- four, with small children to care for. Beside herself with worry, Anne decided to do the unthinkable: she would go to France. She asked Gustavus’s cousin, David Conyngham, to book passage on one of the Conyngham & Nesbitt ships. His partner, Jonathan Nesbitt, was conducting the company’s affairs in l’Orient; once she arrived, he would see to her comforts. On the day of the ship’s departure, Anne turned her children over to her family for care and climbed the gangplank, well aware that if the ship went down in a storm she might very well be making her children orphans.79

  Being related to the firm’s partner, Anne was certain to be well treated by the ship’s crew. The sea would be another matter. This was no packet—the firm was in the business of transporting goods, not passengers. It is probable that the ship’s captain gave her the best amenities aboard. As with any landsmen, Anne spent at least the first two weeks battling seasickness, her nausea worsened by the stench below deck as much as the pitching seas. There was an initial shock as she dealt firsthand with the abject conditions aboard. Abigail Adams, after her first voyage to France to be with her husband, wrote, “No Being in Nature was so dissagreable as a Lady at Sea.” Anne learned this firsthand.80

  While the sailors behaved as gentlemanly as possible, this was still an eighteenth-century ship. Anne had never been in the company of so many strangers—and all men to boot. More often than not they forgot their manners, slipping into their salty language in her presence. When Anne was on deck, she needed the arm of at least one tar to walk (Abigail Adams, ill for much of her first passage, was lashed to a chair when she came on deck.) Somehow, some way, Anne willed herself to get through this ordeal. Several weeks after leaving Philadelphia, the ship passed Île de Groix and reached l’Orient, where Jonathan Nesbitt met her at the wharf, took her in, and successfully talked her out of any idea of going on to Plymouth. “A Journey to England would be attended with many difficultys and disagreeable Circumstances,” he said, and what would happen if Conyngham was exchanged while she was en route to Plymouth? Nesbitt sent word to Conyngham that Anne was in France, “determined to stay here until she hears further from you.”81

  Earlier, Anne had written Benjamin Franklin a missive similar to her heartfelt petition to Congress in 1779. Unaware that the commissioner was already arranging for money and assistance to her husband, while exhausting every diplomatic means to get her “dear Gusty” released, she begged Franklin to “Procure justice for him.”82

  Once more Franklin reached out to Thomas Digges and his other contacts to keep Conyngham in clothing, food, and cash—as well as looking in on his medical condition. The commissioner could not believe the captain’s streak of bad luck. Franklin had hoped Conyngham would head for Dunkirk instead of sailing with Jones. Conyngham’s presence there could have helped Franklin resolve the ongoing disputes regarding the pay—or lack of it—for those American sailors from the Revenge who had not sailed with Conyn
gham to Martinique in 1778. Now, with Conyngham back in prison, Franklin urged these men to return home, as that was where Conyngham’s account books had been sent. In Philadelphia, Congress again resolved to hold an enemy officer in similar confines as Conyngham, until he was exchanged or paroled.83

  Conyngham’s health deteriorated to the point where he was transferred from the Black Hole to the hospital. It took him weeks to recover. Nesbitt tried to get him some money, but the “person in London employ’d to pay you”—Digges—“has constantly declared that he found it impossible.” Upon learning that the British officer Congress ordered held “in close confinement” was released after complaining of a “slight indisposition,” Nesbitt complained that “Americans in the power of the English are treated like Dogs or worse than Dogs.” With his health shattered and no money for sustenance or to bribe the venal Mill Prison guards, things never looked so bleak for Gustavus Conyngham.84

  Even in winter, the island of Martinique has its balmy days. But for Seth Harding, the beginning of 1780 was becoming his winter of discontent.

  For weeks, Harding had overseen repairs aboard the battered Confederacy, dealing with the dawdling pace it was taking to get his frigate seaworthy. Both he and Congress’s agent, William Bingham, worried that the long layover was having a deleterious effect on the Confederacy’s hull, lying so long in the warm salt water. There were other problems as well. Most of the crew was ill and others had deserted. Harding soon had international troubles with friend and foe alike regarding his men; the French admiral La Motte Picquet took the several dozen Frenchmen Harding had picked up in New England, taking thirty American hands for good measure.

  While Marine captain Joseph Hardy saw this as “a good riddance of Lubbers,” the loss of men was difficult for Harding, especially when his British sailors began making trouble. Most of them had been captured from British merchantmen. The arrival in March of a huge French fleet under Luc Urbain de Bouëxic, Comte de Guichen, was followed by rumors that a British fleet under the legendary Admiral Sir George Brydges Rodney was also approaching Martinique. Taking heart, the British tars erupted in mutiny, quelled by Harding’s marines only after clapping them all in irons. Between French press gangs and British mutineers, Harding had just lost half his crew.85