The Ghost Ship of Brooklyn

by Robert P. Watson

  Crews of privateers who were taken prisoner were treated as pirates or outlaws, not as soldiers or sailors. While both the promise of great riches and the lure of adventure attracted these teenagers and young men from coastal fishing villages up and down the coast, for many it would end up being their final voyage. The abundance of privateers also meant that they soon accounted for the majority of prisoners incarcerated on the old British hulks. Many sons of Providence and other coastal communities would end up perishing aboard the ship known simply as Hell. Against all odds, a few of the sailors imprisoned belowdecks on the wretched Jersey managed to record their stories, leaving behind detailed accounts of their ordeals. This is their story.

  5

  Patriots

  The briny wave that Hudson’s bosom fills,

  Drained through her bottom in a thousand rills.

  Rotten and old, replete with sighs and groans,

  Scarce on the waters she sustained her bones.

  Here, doomed to toil, or founder in the tide,

  At the moist pumps incessantly we plied.

  Here, doomed to starve, like famished dogs, we tore

  The scant allowance which our tyrants bore.

  —Philip Freneau, “The British Prison-Ship” (1781)

  Life for most colonists living on the coast was tied to the sea, and the allure of the vast, unknown ocean captivated many a young boy eager for adventure or a better life. Likewise, wars are always fought by the young—lacking education, land, and a future, and with little to lose but their lives. One of them was Christopher Hawkins, who was born in Rhode Island in 1764. In May 1777, the thirteen-year-old was working as an indentured apprentice to Aaron Mason, also of Providence. Such was life for all but the few fortunate enough to have financial means or an education—at a young age, boys would be apprenticed to a friend of the family or a skilled worker willing to take on a new charge. These relationships often lasted years and provided the craftsperson with inexpensive labor. In return, the apprentice received food, boarding, and training in a trade that would likely allow him to make a living.

  Young Hawkins was headed for just such a life. But that same month Captain Moury Potter was taking to sea from New Bedford, Massachusetts, as a privateer. His schooner Eagle carried twelve small cannons, and he intended to hunt British merchant ships sailing between New York City and England. Captain Potter was in need of a crew, so Mason “loaned” his young apprentice out to the captain, likely for a small amount of money and a percentage of whatever goods were seized. Hawkins was now a sailor. But like many young boys who shipped out to sea despite lack of experience, he was excited about both the chance to be a part of the war and the prospects of making money by plundering British ships. At least that was the plan.

  Unlike other privateers who hugged the American coastline, Captain Potter boldly sailed the Eagle all the way to England. It was a daring move designed to capture unsuspecting British merchant vessels near their home ports. But the journey proved to be anything but adventurous. The crew did not even see another ship on the long, dull passage. Hawkins and the other boys who composed the crew would have spent endless hours scrubbing the deck, tending to the sails and riggings, enduring bouts of seasickness, and drilling for the moment that they hoped would arrive. Days blurred into weeks on the open ocean before Hawkins and the crew of the Eagle finally spotted the English coast. They “remained a short time” off the coast, but no opportunity presented itself, and concerns among senior officers about getting caught by one of the many British warships in the waters prompted Captain Potter to sail back across the Atlantic.

  The voyage back was nearly as uneventful. The Eagle did, however, encounter an unarmed schooner flying no colors. The officers knew not whether it was British or French. Hoping for the former, they showed their guns, and the Eagle’s first lieutenant boarded the vessel in order to take her as a prize. Unfortunately, the ship was French; after debating the matter, the officers, in the words of young Hawkins, “did not deem it prudent to superadd piracy to the crime of rebellion.” The Eagle sailed back to New Bedford empty-handed, her crew hungry and, according to Hawkins, “in no pleasant mood.” It was a bitterly disappointing start to his naval career.

  Resupplied, the privateer soon set sail again. It was with mixed emotions that young Christopher Hawkins went back to sea. The same feeling was likely shared by his family and employer. But during one of the first nights out the Eagle encountered a large English merchant ship, described by Hawkins as “a brig deeply laden” with goods and bound for New York. Captain Potter ordered his crew to chase “Old John Bull.”* The thirteen-year-old Hawkins worked quietly and nervously on the rigging as the Eagle trailed the larger ship under cover of darkness. The crew had drilled and drilled, and now it was time. Hawkins and other young crew members prepared for their first taste of naval combat.

  Captain Potter sailed the Eagle into position for a broadside, but first fired a warning shot at the merchant vessel. The captain of the brig immediately appeared on the top deck and, using a device called a trumpet, shouted out, “What in God’s name do you want of us?” Captain Potter responded through his trumpet, “Shorten sail, come under my lee, and send your boat on board me.” The British captain gave excuses, claiming that because his small launch was lashed under his booms, he could not free it while at sail. It would take time to lower his sails, so he requested that the American privateer wait until morning, when his crew could free the small launch. The British captain stated he would “lie to” until dawn.

  According to Hawkins, Captain Potter, whom he described as shockingly “inefficient,” foolishly agreed to the trick. He even failed to post sentries through the night. At first light, Hawkins and the crew of the Eagle awoke anxious to claim their prize, only to find that the large brig had quietly snuck away under cover of darkness. It was an embarrassing start for their second voyage, but it was about to get worse.

  Captain Potter decided to set sail for Sandy Hook on the Connecticut coast, hoping to overtake the same British brig from the previous night. Motivated by revenge, the crew worked to speed the light vessel through the waves. But as the Eagle sailed to intercept the wily British captain, a “severe gale” suddenly and unexpectedly hit from the northeast and caught the privateer at sea. For two days, large swells tossed the small schooner about and violent waves crashed across her deck. Hawkins and his mates “had to exert their utmost skill and energies to keep her from foundering.” They bailed, brought down sails, and desperately tried not to be washed overboard. They were fighting for their lives.

  Just as the storm abated, an alarming aberration from Poseidon suddenly appeared out of the shrouded mist and gray clouds. It was upon them before the Eagle’s crew had time to react. It was the HMS Sphinx, a British sloop-of-war carrying twenty guns. Captain Potter frantically called for all hands on deck and tried to hoist and set the sails in order to escape, but the hunter was now the hunted. In the short, one-sided battle that ensued, the Sphinx easily bested the inexperienced crew of the Eagle. British marines boarded the damaged privateer, and the commander of the Sphinx ordered Hawkins and his mates taken to the holds of the British ship at bayonet point. As the prisoners descended the ladders of the warship, they caught one last look at the Eagle as it slipped below the waves.

  The prisoners were sailed to New York City to be incarcerated in the dreaded prison ships off the shoreline of Brooklyn. Thus began what Hawkins called “a new era” in his life.

  Another Rhode Islander who became a privateer was Thomas Dring. Born in Newport in 1758, Dring, like many men from the colony, had some experience sailing. Also like many Americans, he had suffered financially during the war. In his early twenties, Dring was eager to fight and make money. The opportunity for both presented itself when he was invited by Captain Daniel Aborn of nearby Pawtuxet to join the crew of a privateer appropriately named Chance.

  The ship, owned by Messrs. Clarke and Nightingale of Providence, carried twelve 6-pound cannon
s and was crewed by sixty-five boys and men, nearly all of whom were from Providence. One of the crew was a boy of only twelve, named Palmer, a naive and nervous lad whom Dring took under his care as if he were a younger brother. The average age on board the privateers was typically not much older than young Palmer. Dring and his crewmates all knew young men who had become wealthy through privateering, but they had also heard stories of young sailors who were caught and sent to the dreaded Hell Ship. Like ghosts, these men were never heard of again. Such thoughts likely haunted the crew as they reported for duty on the Chance.

  Dring was offered the position of master’s mate, making him the fifth officer behind the captain, first and second lieutenants, and the sailing master. When the Chance set sail from Providence in May 1782, Dring’s head, like that of young Hawkins a few years earlier, was filled with images of great treasure. The war was now in its final stages and British ships were sailing back home, prompting all aboard the Chance to believe the threat to them was minimal. But the British had not abandoned the war effort quite yet.

  Just a few days from port, the Chance was caught at night by the twenty-six-gun British warship Belisarius. Many of the privateers, including those crewing the Chance, were seasoned sailors, but they lacked the discipline and cohesion of a British warship and had no experience in naval warfare. It was scarcely a battle. The Chance was hit and rendered dead in the water. Armed marines from the Belisarius easily boarded the decks of the Chance and overpowered the privateers. Any further resistance was futile, and Dring, young Palmer, and the other privateers nervously awaited their fate.

  The marines ordered the Americans belowdecks, driving them down into the holds of their own ship at bayonet point. There they were forced to spend an anxiety-filled night under guard. The next morning the hatches were opened and they were forcibly taken to the holds of the warship and “put in irons.”

  The Belisarius was not finished with its hunting and proceeded to capture two more American vessels the next day, the twelve-gun Samson, sailing out of New London, Connecticut, and a merchant schooner from Warren, Rhode Island. The crews of both ships were forced belowdecks and chained next to Dring and his mates.

  The Belisarius now carried 130 prisoners locked in her dark bowels. Only occasionally were the prisoners permitted to go to the upper deck, and then only a few at a time and only during daylight hours. It was a rough few days of imprisonment, especially for the frightened young boy Palmer. The prisoners were uncertain of their fate but soon realized the Belisarius had sailed to New York City and anchored just offshore. The warship signaled that it carried prisoners and, not long afterward, two large gondolas came alongside to ferry the prisoners to the most dreaded of all hulks, the prison ship Jersey.

  Born in Norwich, Connecticut, in 1759, Thomas Andros was the youngest of three brothers. The family lacked the financial means to extend their youngest son’s education beyond the primary years, and while the eldest brother would eventually assume responsibility for the family business and property, little to nothing in the way of opportunity awaited young Thomas. So when the war started, the teenager volunteered at first opportunity, joining a unit being formed in Cambridge. The terms of enlistment were such that new, young recruits at the time were expected to furnish their own equipment, including “a good effective Firearm… Bayonet… Haches [hatchet] or Tomahawk, a Cartridge Box and Blanket.” Given his family’s background, young Andros had only the most basic of weaponry, but he was in the war. A few months later, the Declaration of Independence would be signed.

  The teenager was thrown into combat soon after enlisting and was a part of the important siege of Boston in the winter and spring of 1776. By March, Continental forces had liberated the city. Andros’s celebration was short-lived, however, as his unit was immediately ordered to march to New York City. He spent a nerve-racking summer in the city building forts, earthworks, and other defenses while awaiting the arrival of a massive British force. Nothing could have prepared the teenager for the army of well over thirty thousand that arrived under the command of General William Howe.

  Andros was a part of General George Washington’s unsuccessful defense of the city. His unit was routed while attempting to defend Brooklyn and later fled with Washington’s army as it pulled back through the city. On the evening of August 29 what remained of the army found themselves facing complete annihilation, their backs to the water, and so the general ordered them to cross the river into Manhattan. One can only imagine the fear and adrenaline that coursed through the teenager’s body as, by the dim light of the moon, he boarded the small craft to sneak across the river. It worked, and Andros and his fellow militiamen eluded the British. But the Redcoats chased Washington’s army out of the city and north several miles to White Plains, where Andros’s unit was again ordered to dig in. They would meet General Howe there, on terrain that Washington hoped would be advantageous for his beaten army.

  Again the British attacked, and Andros and his fellow militiamen were on the run once more. Several dozen more soldiers and militiamen were killed, wounded, or captured, but Andros managed to escape with his life.

  Enlistment periods for military service were quite short at the time, and when his ended Andros was only too happy to return to his mother’s home in Plainfield, Connecticut. Unfortunately, Andros did not record the terms and length of his enlistment. However, enlistment records for other teenagers in Massachusetts at the time Andros joined the war show that they were expected to serve until the “first day of December.” He therefore likely returned home for the winter of 1776–77, having survived two of the most important and largest of the early battles of the war.

  But the call of duty prompted Andros to reenlist, most likely in the spring or summer of 1777, though this time with the Connecticut militia rather than the Massachusetts militia. His unit was sent to Providence. Andros fought in the Battle of Rhode Island in late August 1778, another important engagement between two large armies. Regulars from Rhode Island, the first black unit (the 1st Rhode Island), the French fleet, and several armies of militiamen under General John Sullivan converged to drive the British out of the colony. The American forces were nearly successful but ultimately were pushed out of Newport. Nearby, the Americans, led by the famed general Nathanael Greene, attempted to hold Butts Hill and use it to launch a counterattack. The teenage Andros and his fellow Connecticut militiamen put up a determined stand against a combined army of British, Hessian, and loyalist forces. Eventually, however, the British prevailed.

  Andros was only seventeen when he first enlisted. After several long years of fighting and several enlistments, multiple defeats on the battlefield, and the death of friends, he still believed in the ideals of liberty and self-government. He wanted to continue fighting even after completing another term of enlistment, this time for three years. He would soon have the chance.

  An event changed his life while he was back home in Connecticut during the summer of 1781. The Hannah, a captured British merchant ship, was brought into the port of New London to much fanfare and curiosity. She was, as Andros recalled, a “very rich prize.” The privateers who seized her were, according to Andros, now wealthy, which “infatuated great numbers of young men who flocked on board our private armed ships, fancying the same success would attend their adventures.” Even though Andros had heard of the horrors that awaited captured sailors aboard the Hell Ship, the bounty from the Hannah overrode his better judgment. “Among these deluded and infatuated youth I was one,” he admitted.

  The young man put to sea with the crew of The Fair American, a newly built brig designed to prey on British merchant vessels. It carried sixteen guns, a longboat, and a stockade of muskets and other weapons for boarding enemy ships. Andros was twenty-one. He did not have long to wait.

  Soon after setting sail, they spotted a British ship of roughly the same size. While pursuing their prize from the rear, The Fair American took fire from the British ship’s stern “chaser” cannons but was able to c
atch the ship. The captain continued the pursuit, and Andros and his fellow mates adjusted the sails and readied themselves for battle. Pulling alongside her foe, The Fair American opened up with broadsides. The merchant ship did not stand a chance. It was a quick and complete victory. Not a man was lost aboard the privateer, but the British ship was hit so hard that she was dead in the water. The American captain sent an armed boarding party. Andros grabbed a musket and bayonet and joined them.

  Andros and other armed sailors poured over the railing onto the damaged deck for hand-to-hand combat. It was a nerve-racking experience, but the small merchant crew quickly surrendered. Andros helped his fellow privateers fill the hull of The Fair American with the valuable cargo they plundered. There was much rejoicing among the crew of the privateer, as they all would be richly compensated with the great wealth they seized.

  However, the captain of The Fair American made a mistake that would prove fatal for many members of the crew. American ships, whether privateers or merchant vessels, were instructed to avoid New York and the nearby coastline until they were at a longitude even to New Bedford. From there they could sail northward with prevailing winds for New England. Eager to get ashore and enjoy their prize, the captain failed to heed the orders and foolishly sailed directly toward Long Island, which by then was protected by several British warships.