Give Me a Fast Ship

by Tim McGrath

  Boston merchant Henry Mitchell approached Barry with what he was sure was a viable “get rich quick” scheme. Barry’s prize, the Mars, was for sale, and Mitchell wanted to convert her into a privateer, but Mitchell barely had half the asking price. Barry’s name would certainly bring in other investors. Was Barry interested?

  He was. Barry believed the Mars was so fast “he could not have catch’d her” but for her bearing down on the Alliance instead of running from her. He had enough for a one-sixteenth share. Soon Mitchell had enough backers. In Barry’s honor, the Mars was renamed the Wexford, after Barry’s Irish home.110

  Mitchell also had the perfect captain in mind: the idle but able John Peck Rathbun. He had recently come to Boston hoping for a letter of marque, or even a lieutenant’s berth aboard a Continental ship. Barry was familiar with his exploits, and Mitchell considered him “a Man of known Courage and conduct.” As the Wexford was being refitted, Congress speedily approved the venture. Her owners ordered Rathbun to cruise in “the Chops of the Irish and English Channels.” With 120 men, twenty guns, two sets of sails, and a hearty send-off from Barry and Mitchell, the Wexford headed out into the Atlantic in mid-August. Rathbun, whose boldness was well proven at Nassau and against the Jamaica Fleet, now hoped to repeat the successes of Wickes, Jones, and Conyngham. The British Isles beckoned.111

  The Wexford proved to be every inch the fine vessel Barry described, easily crossing the Atlantic in six weeks. On September 27, she was less than a day’s sail from Cape Clear in south Ireland. Rathbun always ran a happy ship, and his men anticipated swooping down on unsuspecting merchantmen in the channels, like a man-of-war bird after so many boobies.

  At sunset, the Wexford was spotted by the mastheader of the British frigate Recovery, thirty-two guns. She was commanded by Lord Hervey, whose uncle was Earl of Bristol and Admiral of the Blue. Hervey wasted no time standing for the Wexford. Rathbun, seeing that his first sighted sail was not easy pickings but of superior force, swung his brig through the wind, showing her heels to the Recovery.112

  Soon Rathbun discovered that the frigate not only had more guns but was also faster than his speedy brig. Shortly after noontime, Hervey’s frigate overtook the Wexford and unleashed a broadside. Again, Rathbun changed course, sheering off in hopes of shaking his pursuer. The chase continued throughout the night.

  Twenty-four hours after first sighting the Wexford, Hervey’s frigate was ninety-eight miles off Cape Clear—Rathbun had made a circular retreat. The next morning, the Recovery was close enough for Hervey to bring his guns to bear when Rathbun surrendered. The Recovery escorted the Wexford into Cork harbor, and the Americans were taken to nearby Kinsale Prison.113

  Rathbun and his men had wanted to see Ireland, but from the water, not from a prison cell. Over the next several weeks, seventeen of them died, while some escaped and eventually got back to America. An ailing Rathbun was not so lucky. On February 7, 1782, he was transferred to Mill Prison, his health broken. Four months later another American sailor recorded in his journal that “Capt. Jno. Rathbun is dangerously ill.”

  On June 20, Rathbun, thirty-six years old, died, unaware that his young wife, Mary, only twenty-three, had passed away in April. His will requested he be “decently Interred.” He was buried with other American and French sailors who did not survive George III’s tender care.114

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SHUBAEL GARDNER

  The King of G. Britain has acknowledged the Sovereignty of the United States, but whether any thing more will follow from it . . . I know not.

  —JOHN ADAMS TO ROBERT MORRIS1

  On December 1, 1781, the brig Somerset, a 90-ton whaler, was docked at Nantucket, Massachusetts. Her master, Thomas Brock, was overseeing his crew’s final efforts to ready the ship for sea. His sailors, from families that had manned Nantucket ships for generations, included Uriah Bunker, Caleb Coggerhale, Gideon Coffin, and Brock’s second mate, Shubael Gardner, whose earlier service in an armed vessel had gotten him disowned by the Nantucket Society of Friends.2

  Most of Nantucket’s Quaker population proclaimed themselves neutral during the Revolution, but many were loyal to King George. With their holds packed tight with barrels of spermaceti and ambergris, whalers were a prized target for men-of-war and privateers alike, and many a Nantucket vessel sailed with a Royal Navy pass giving them both permission to sail and protection from British warships or Loyalist privateers. The Somerset’s owner, John Ramsdell, obtained his pass from Robert Digby, the latest commander of the New York squadron. It stipulated that the Somerset “shall not be found proceeding with her Cargo to any other port than Nantucket or New York.”

  On New Year’s Day, 1782, the men of the Somerset said good-bye to their loved ones. They expected to return in the summer.3

  Once John Paul Jones reached Portsmouth in September 1781, he set himself up as befitted a ship-of-the-line captain and chevalier. With his medal from King Louis pinned to his coat, he took the front room this time in the Widow Purcell’s boardinghouse (playfully carving his initials in the window frame for posterity). Portsmouth gave him yet another hero’s welcome—even his old nemesis from the Ranger days, John Langdon, seemed glad to see him.4

  Langdon took Jones to his shipyard on Rising Castle Island to see the unfinished America, standing tall above the island. Jones could not wait to tell John Barry of his first impression of her, calling her “a Masterpiece” and asking Barry to send him what sheet copper remained after sheathing the Alliance. Once money ran out and work slowed, Jones changed his mind and accused Langdon of both stalling and shoddy workmanship.5

  Jones spent Christmas in Portsmouth under the same snowy skies and foul humor he experienced in Boston in 1776. He always chafed at inactivity, but now it consumed him. He wrote Franklin that he would gladly shoulder a musket for Washington. Lafayette, recipient of a similar gloomy letter, sought to cheer Jones up, hoping he would soon sail the America with “plenty of Passion and carte blanche.” Jones even wrote to Delia, stating that “absence will not diminish but refine the pure and spotless friendship that binds our souls together.” He tried to take his mind off his ennui with parties in Portsmouth, but the town was no Boston or Philadelphia, and certainly no Paris; he informed old friend Hector McNeill that even Portsmouth’s hair powder “is impregnated with luxurious mites.”6

  As 1782 began, Langdon and Jones were carping about each other to Robert Morris, who rebuked them both. He criticized Jones for not being on the “Terms of Cordiality” with a man of Langdon’s stature, and upbraided Langdon for “the Coldness subsisting between you and the Chevalier.” Put your enmity aside, he told them, and sent John Brown to Portsmouth to get them working together and investigate the America’s delay.7

  For Jones, only Franklin’s letter after Jones abandoned the Alliance cut deeper. “Nothing on my side shall be wanting,” he promised Morris, and he was as good as his word. He enmeshed himself in work, held his ego in check, and kept a civil tongue with Langdon. Any supplies delivered to Rising Castle Island were gratefully appreciated. A shipment of green timber was delivered, but instead of throwing a tantrum Jones requested that Brown send enough oil and paint to prevent rot. When word reached Portsmouth that Marie Antoinette had given birth to a dauphin, Jones fired a twenty-one-gun salute from the 12-pounders Brown had sent him.8

  But when $10,000 arrived from Morris, and Langdon hired only eight carpenters to work on the behemoth vessel, Jones snapped. He accused Langdon of corruption. A rumor soon reached Portsmouth that a British force was coming to put the America to the torch. Jones hired his own guards, joining them in round-the-clock patrols. Nobody—not Nicholson, Langdon, or the enemy—would keep him from getting his ship to sea.9

  As Jones was enjoying a Christmas punch in Portsmouth, his friend John Barry was sailing the Alliance back to France. When he left Boston in October to escort his wife, Sarah, back to Philadelphia, there was no money to com
plete his ship’s refitting, and only a hundred sailors on the muster rolls.10

  His visit to Philadelphia gave Barry his first chance to meet with Morris since he had been named Agent of Marine. Morris wanted to engage crews for one-year terms, and offered new incentives to lure seasoned tars from privateers. His best idea was about pay: from now on, 100 percent of the sale of prizes would go to officers and crew, and not be split with Congress. Slops would be provided gratis, sign-on bonuses of up to ten dollars would be offered, and all wages were to be paid “punctually in Silver or Gold,” instead of Continental scrip. Morris ordered Barry to take the Alliance and Deane on a joint cruise, signing on hands under these attractive terms.11

  Barry sent Congress the transcripts from the trial of his three mutineers. John Crawford, Patrick Shelden, and William McEllany had been found guilty of mutiny and conspiracy, and the court’s sentences were harsh: Crawford and Shelden were to wear a heavy halter around the neck and receive fifty lashes, while McEllany was “peculiarly Guilty” and sentenced to “be hanged by the neck on the starboard fore Yard Arm of the said Ship Alliance”—one of the first sailors in an American navy to receive a death sentence.12

  Once back in Boston, Barry and Nicholson placed a broadside in the Continental Journal, the largest advertisement yet posted in an American paper:

  ALL able-bodied Seamen, ordinary Seamen, and Landsmen, Are hereby informed, that two fine fast sailing Continental Frigates ALLIANCE and DEANE, the first commanded by JOHN BARRY, Esq.; and the other by SAMUEL NICHOLSON, Esq.; are bound in Concert against the Enemy, and will sail soon, with every prospect of making a very advantageous Cruise.

  In addition to Morris’s new wages, the broadside promised an insurance policy of up to $200 compensation, free hospitalization and care, and half pay forever to anyone who became permanently disabled. This was the first time “universal coverage” was offered to sailors in the Americas since the Caribbean pirates, a century earlier.13

  But the handsome offer brought no recruits because of “Propagated falsehoods” about Barry’s character, spread by the Alliance’s departing officers, including Surgeon Kendall. Frustrated about the lack of pay, they fell to slanderous talk about Barry, who demanded an inquiry to publicly defend his reputation. The Navy Board determined that was not necessary. He returned to his task of appointing replacements and hiring hands.14

  Barry’s officers were scouring the waterfront, seeking recruits, on December 10 when Boston church bells began pealing, announcing the arrival of the Marquis de Lafayette, accompanied by aides and family, including Comte de Noailles.

  After Yorktown, a disappointed Washington watched Admiral de Grasse’s fleet sail south for the winter. With no follow-up campaign to lead, the general marched his troops back to New Jersey, resuming his place on the chessboard against General Clinton in New York. Most of the money John Laurens had brought back was spent, so Congress had decided to send the marquis for more. When Barry went to greet him, Lafayette handed over Barry’s orders to take Lafayette’s entourage to France.15

  So be it. But for Barry, Morris’s orders not only superceded any cruise with the Deane, but also belied the terms his men had agreed to. Furthermore, getting Lafayette safely to France was of such importance that Barry was “to avoid all Vessels, and keep in mind, as your sole object, to make a quiet and safe passage.” No other passengers were to be permitted and, while laying in “the necessary Stores” for such a dignitary, Barry was “not to spend one Livre more than absolutely necessary.” As a reward for his anticipated successful errand, the Alliance could go on a cruise after Lafayette was safely on a French dock, after hamstringing Barry stem to stern.16

  “Few of the ships of the United States,” Barry testily replied, were “sent on private service.” Nor were they “to go out of their way but to keep clear of all Vessels whatever.” He was known as a sailor’s captain; even Congress had praised his “Popularity with Seamen.” Now he was ordered to go back on his word to his recruits. Every hand that put name or mark to the recent muster rolls expected what Barry’s broadside had promised. It was bad enough that Morris was breaking his word, but with these orders, he was breaking Barry’s as well.17

  When another rendezvous netted only seventeen “landsmen,” Morris ordered Barry to take what hands he needed from Nicholson’s crew—an order that Barry reluctantly carried out and Nicholson vehemently protested. But the Alliance was still short of hands, until Lafayette himself came to the rescue, taking thirty-seven “Sick and About Naked” French sailors off his country’s ships that were moored in Boston. “I am at Last got on Board the Alliance in order to comply with your orders,” Barry stiffly wrote Morris before sailing on Christmas Eve.18

  To Barry’s chagrin, the French mariners were the best hands aboard. Lafayette provided good company for Barry, who was charmed by the young nobleman’s élan and dedication to the Cause. The two formed a fast friendship. “No Man feels for your Success more than I,” the marquis told him. Lafayette wrote Washington that he enjoyed “A happy voyage.”19

  However, while Midshipman Kessler recorded that “Nothing of note passed on the passage,” the American hands were grumbling over their orders to avoid a fight, openly wishing “the Marquis was [already] in France.” When an easy prize was sighted, they turned to the quarterdeck, only to see that Barry’s expression showed “the conflict in his mind between the calls of his duty & his inclination” to attack. When he ordered a change of course they grudgingly obeyed but openly complained. Instead of calling his men on their insubordination, Barry kept what Kessler called “a sullen silence,” as if “propriety would have permitted” the captain to add, “I also wish the Marquis was in France.”20

  After a quick passage, the Alliance reached l’Orient on January 17, 1782. Almost immediately, Barry wished that he was anywhere but France. He wrote Franklin, asking the minister plenipotentiary’s intercession in getting permission to take any American sailors now serving aboard French privateers. Franklin’s reply offered no assistance, only a request that Barry take “Congress[’s] goods to Philadelphia.” When Barry turned over his French sailors, he presented a bill for their slops. The Intendant for the French navy took the sailors, but not the bill. Barry’s new friend Lafayette came through again, promising to assist in getting the shorthanded captain the men he needed. Days after Lafayette reached Paris, a French officer handed Barry a purse, filled with French coins, to pay for his French sailor’s clothes—a gift from the marquis.21

  With no help from Franklin and the French bureaucrats, Barry turned to James Moylan and Consul Thomas Barclay to help him round up any American sailors in French ports. Hearing that Barry was in France, the recently paroled Monsieur de Galatheau wrote to him, demanding his “shares” of the Alliance’s prizes from their passage to America in 1781. Barry fired back, demanding to know what became of his prize Minerva, sent back to France by the Frenchman. His threat to make de Galatheau’s statement public, with all details of their cruise, put an end to the Frenchman’s perfidious claims.22

  Having signed on some itinerant hands that he sardonically described as “half-built Gentlemen,” Barry took the Alliance on a short but aimless cruise in February. Sailing through “nothing but Gales of wind,” he sighted and chased sixteen ships, all neutrals. When he returned to l’Orient, he found new orders—not from Morris but from Franklin, telling him to go to Brest, take on a large supply of gunpowder that was waiting there along with Franklin’s dispatches, and sail to America with the French fleet leaving in mid-March.23

  An exasperated Barry was in no mood to obey. Still hampered by French officials and their refusal to release American sailors from French ships or French jails, he took out his frustrations in a series of letters to Franklin. As it was “out of my power to go to Brest” and still follow Morris’s orders, Barry sent a courier there to get Franklin’s dispatches, but would only wait “until the Return of this Post, which is stret
ching my Orders further than I wish for.”24

  Barry also received two letters that gave him pause. One was from Captain John Green, an old colleague from his Willing & Morris days, now languishing in Mill Prison. Green had heard that Barry was in France and asked his intercession in getting exchanged, and for “a little money as I want to buy some Cloth[e]s.” Barry sent him some cash with a warm reply, telling Green he had visited “Mrs. Green and all your little ones” while in Philadelphia. The other letter, a request from one Alexander Thomas, asked for passage home. He was “not a Son of Marrs,” so he could not fight, but he would need space for several trunks in the Alliance’s hold. Barry promised Thomas “you shan’t go” home in the Alliance. “Take a passage in a Vessel without Guns,” he advised, “and then you need not be under any Apprehension of being hurt.”25

  On March 15, the post carrying Franklin’s dispatches arrived and Barry put to sea. Before leaving, he wrote a report to Morris, stating he had been “deprived of any Assistance” from Franklin, Moylan, or anyone else. Unbeknownst to Barry, a letter from Franklin to Morris was among the minister’s dispatches, describing Barry’s disregard for his orders and his refusal to take Congress’s supplies. (Barry had, in fact, gotten his friend Thomas Truxton to take them home in his privateer.) Franklin signed off, calling Barry “a great man,” but “influenced by small Matters.”26

  For Philadelphia merchants, the lack of Continental ships to defend their merchantmen compelled them to hire a Continental captain.

  From 1781 into the spring of 1782, Loyalist raiders had taken a page out of John Barry’s book, when he attacked British ships with surprising swiftness in the winter of ’78. Using barges, shallops, and other small craft, they pounced on unescorted merchantmen on the Delaware. It did not matter if the ships were coming or going: their holds were always filled with valuable goods. On March 29, a band of Philadelphia merchants appealed to the state assembly, which swung into action—well, deliberation.