Every Man Will Do His Duty (62 page)

And now for the crew; but here description fails. The English language is too poor adequately to do them justice. Imagine to yourself, reader, a company of eighty men, selected from the very
élite
and respectable portions of the lowest sinks located in the “Five Points,” “Hook,” and other places of like celebrity in New York. Here they were, a motley crew of loafers, highbinders, butcher boys, &c. &c. To be sure, there was, now and then, a good and true-hearted sailor among them; but, “like angels’ visits, they were few and far between.” As it may well be supposed, long confinement with such a company as above described could not be an enviable situation to a man of taste; but the continual hurry-scurry, uproar, and excitement, on board of a privateer, leave but a
short time for reflection; and furthermore, being creatures of imitation, we soon become insensibly conformed to the daily habits of surrounding associations. This was my case; for, although my better judgment taught me to despise this mode of warfare—at best, in my opinion, it is only a systematic method to plunder unoffending men—yet I soon became in some degree reconciled to my situation.

ON THE MORNING
of the 21st of November, the privateer had reached her cruising ground, and on the afternoon of the same day, made the Island of Terceira, one of the group of the Azores, or Western Islands. The third day after cruising around those islands, a small English brig, bound to Fayal, was captured without resistance; she was manned and ordered to the United States. On the afternoon of the same day, we took a small English schooner bound to Terceira, the island being then in sight. We released our prisoners, and putting them all on board this vessel, they steered away for the island. From the captain of the small schooner, we obtained information that the Lisbon and Mediterranean fleets of merchantmen, under a strong convoy, had sailed from England. We lost no time, therefore, after ridding ourselves of the prisoners, to get on the Lisbon station, so that, if possible, we might intercept some of the fleet. A few days, with a strong westerly breeze, brought us up to our cruising ground. Three days thereafter, we fell in with a large British brig, and, after a sharp action of forty minutes, succeeded in capturing her. She was from Cork, bound to Cadiz, with a rich and valuable cargo, consisting of Irish cut glass, linens, &C. She was manned and ordered to the United States, where she safely arrived, and the vessel and cargo sold for nearly four hundred thousand dollars. This was the richest prize taken during the cruise, and caused the most extravagant expressions of joy among the crew; but the cruise was not yet up. Entertaining serious doubts as to the privateer’s sailing, I was under the impression that a smart-sailing man-of-war with any chance would capture us, for she could not compete with the letter-of-marque which I was last on board of, in point of sailing. The next day after the capture of the brig, a large sail was made, broad off on the starboard bow. We soon came up with the chase, and she proved to be an American ship bound to Lisbon. Captain T., suspecting that she was sailing under a British license, made the most diligent search for it, but for a long time without effect. At length, however, the anchors were un-stocked, and, to our great satisfaction, we found the license concealed between the upper and lower parts of the anchor-stock. Of course, this settled her business; she was a good prize, and we despatched her to the
United States—all of the crew, except the officers, entering on board the privateer.

At daylight in the morning, December 4th, we fell in with the combined Lisbon and Mediterranean fleets: they were far to leeward to us; consequently we had the advantage of choosing our position, and harassing them under cover of the night; but we soon perceived Captain T.’s intention was to run into the midst of the fleet in the daytime. Against this mode of procedure every officer on board remonstrated loudly; the captain, however, was obstinate; the privateer ran down amidst the fleet, hauled up alongside of a large ship, and engaged her at pistol-shot distance. Signals were now made by all the fleet for an enemy. The convoy, being in the van, quickly perceived what was going on, and a frigate and sloop-of-war were seen bearing down upon us under a press of canvass. No other alternative was left but to run. The wind being moderate, the privateer was kept before it, dropping the frigate, but the sloop-of-war gained upon us, and it seemed to be almost certain that she would bring us to an action; but when within gun-shot, she let drive her bow-chasers. By the impediment attendant upon her firing, together with her yawing to bring her guns to bear, the privateer gained about a quarter of a mile. By running the guns forward and aft, the schooner was put in proper trim; and it soon became evident that we were rapidly leaving the chase astern. After running us about six hours directly to leeward of the fleet, the enemy hauled her wind and gave up further pursuit. This unfortunate, headstrong adventure on the part of Captain T. was the cause of destroying all confidence in him. If he had taken advice and kept a proper position to the windward, no doubt, under cover of the night, we might have captured two or three of the fleet and thus completed our cruise. But, as it was, we ran into the most imminent danger without the least probability of capturing a single vessel.

A day or two after, a large ship was made to the windward, having a main top-gallantsail set, and her fore and mizzen top-gallantmasts down. As we closed in with her, some bales of cotton were seen lashed on the quarter. I was sent aloft with the glass to watch her movements, and soon ascertained that she was a man-of-war in disguise, and reported my conjecture to the captain, who made light of it at first; but his tune, however, soon changed when he saw her bear up, and in fifteen minutes she was under a cloud of canvass in pursuit of us. The wind was blowing fresh on shore, and as we had seen the land that morning, we knew that we were not more than forty miles distant from it. It was now about 3 o’clock in the afternoon. It appeared to be the object of the frigate, in case we outsailed her, to run us ashore. This was the hardest chase we had during the whole time I was on board; no difference was perceptible in the sailing of the two
vessels. We were running at the rate of eleven knots per hour; consequently, in four hours, with the same speed, we should be high and dry ashore. The days, however, being short at this season of the year, our main hope was to elude the enemy when night came on. At sunset the land was full in sight, distant about twenty miles; and as we were running directly for it, in two hours we should either be a prize or a wreck, unless we could evade him by some stratagem. The greatest anxiety and excitement reigned throughout the privateer. The crew were packing up their traps, and the officers manifested the deepest suspense: fortunately, the weather was cloudy; and, as night shut in intensely dark, our only chance was to profit by it. The lights were now all put out and profound silence enjoined. The frigate, on account of the darkness, could not be seen. The privateer was luffed to on the starboard tack, every sail lowered, and nothing was to be seen except her hull and poles. In about ten minutes, the frigate appeared, under a cloud of canvass, about two hundred yards from us, flying away to leeward like a race-horse. We now hauled on a wind to the eastward, and saw no more of the frigate. Captain T. decided to make a dash into the Irish Channel to intercept the West India fleet, which was destined to sail in a few days, having made their rendezvous at Cork. We obtained this information from the captured brig. A few days not only brought us to our station, but it also terminated our cruise, as will be seen in the sequel.

On the morning of December 14th, it blowing fresh from the southwest, with thick, foggy weather, we were in the midst of the West India fleet before we saw them, they having sailed from Cork the day previous. No better opportunity could be wished for, to make captures, than the one before us; the fog would sometimes clear up, and then shut in thick, so that we could select any vessel we chose. Hauling alongside of a fine large brig, we boarded and captured her in ten minutes. A prize-master and crew were put on board of her, with orders to remain with the fleet until night, and then make the best of their way to any port in the United States. As I had succeeded in boarding and capturing this vessel with only the assistance of five men, I was promised the finest ship in the fleet by Captain T. The promise was somewhat premature, the fulfilment rather problematical. As the fog cleared up, we selected a large ship, and I of course got ready, and picked my prize crew, to take possession of her without further ado. The fog now set in so thick that no object was visible five yards’ distance, and when it lifted, there lay a frigate on our starboard bow, not more than a musket-shot off. She quickly saw us; but being on different tacks, she stood on until she got under our larboard quarter, then tacked, and gave us a taste of her forward division, which did us no other damage than to cut away two of the lee main-shrouds. In
half an hour, it was clearly ascertained that we outsailed the frigate on a wind. Captain T. now held a council with the officers and proposed to bear up before the wind, as that was the privateer’s best sailing quality—adding that no doubt could be entertained but that we could beat the frigate before a wind, and in the end, by thus maneuvering, we should save our prize. The strongest objections were urged to this proposal, especially by the first lieutenant, who declared it to be his opinion that, if the privateer was kept away, we should be a prize in thirty minutes. All opinions and remonstrances were entirely thrown away upon the captain. Every sail was got ready, the helm put up, and in a few minutes she was under a cloud of canvass before the wind. It was not long before Captain T. saw his egregious error; for it will be evident to every seaman that we were now running nearly in a line to meet the frigate. The latter, quickly perceiving our mistake, kept her wind, and as there was no time now to be lost with us, the helm was put down, and the privateer brought to the wind; in the act of doing which, she gave us another division of her eighteen-pounders, which cut away the fore-gaff, the slings of the fore-yard, and riddled our lower sails, and, to add to the difficulty, our unfortunate maneuver gave the frigate the weather-gage of us—the principal sail, too, had become useless from the loss of the gaff. The next discharge from the frigate cut away the main-topman lift. There being a heavy sea on at the time, the main-boom got command of the quarter deck, and carried away the bulwarks from the tafferel to the gangway. The frigate now overhauled us without any difficulty and opened a most murderous fire, with the marines. We were unable to haul down our colors, from the fact of the topman-lift having been shot away. Seven men killed and fifteen wounded lay on our decks; and notwithstanding the frigate must have perceived that we were so much cut up that we had no command of the privateer and that she lay like a log upon the water, nevertheless, she poured into us her quarter deck carronades, which, striking us a-mid-ships, nearly cut our craft in halves. It was about four hours from the time we fell in with the frigate until the time of our capture, and in about one hour after, all of our crew were snugly stowed away on board of the frigate.

The prisoners were shoved down into the cable tiers; but the officers, seven in number, were politely treated with the soft side of a plank against the ward-room bulk-head. We were robbed of nearly all our clothing, and as roughly used as if we had been pirates. The prize was manned, and ordered into Plymouth, where, to our great satisfaction, she never arrived, having sunk off the Land’s End. The crew, however, were saved in the boats.

The next morning the cry of “Sail ho!” was heard from the frigate’s mast-head; in three hours she was up with the vessel, and, to our great mortification, it proved to be the prize brig we had taken from the fleet. When possession was taken of her, the prize-master and nearly the whole crew were found drunk. It appeared they did not make sail on the vessel during the night, and, on being interrogated, the prize-master was entirely ignorant of the position of the brig. Great exultation was now manifested by the officers of the frigate, and, to use their own expression, they had now taken the
“Paul Jones
and his mate.”

In fifty hours the frigate was at an anchor in Plymouth harbor, and we were all put on board of a prison-ship, with the exception of the captain, first lieutenant and surgeon, who were entitled to parole. Here we found already three hundred and fifty American prisoners, who were crammed away on the two decks of an old condemned seventy-four, fitted up for that purpose and strongly guarded. We remained in this ship four weeks, during which time the number of American prisoners was augmented to six hundred; it became necessary, therefore, in view of this daily increase, to send the prisoners to depots allotted for that purpose. Accordingly, several drafts were ordered to Stapleton, near Bristol, a distance of one hundred and thirty miles. It fell to my lot to be one of the number composing these drafts, and I was not a little pleased, for I considered that any prison would be preferable to the unwholesome air, and close confinement, of a ship into which five hundred human souls were crammed.

Perhaps Little’s adventures are a bit too singular to satisfy historians; certain dates he cites do not correspond with dates in the log of the Paul Jones. But his account gives a good idea of the chaotic nature and constant perils of the privateering life. According to his narrative, Little was later removed to the infamous prisoner-of-war camp Dartmoor, where he remained until the end of the war. Afterward, he was unable to claim his prize money earned while on board the Paul Jones because the prize agent had apparently defrauded his clients and failed.

Whether or not they made the individuals involved rich (it was rare, you can be sure), privateers did make merchants poorer. Among the five hundred American privateers, some mere desperadoes as Little indicates, the bolder took prizes in the Irish Sea and off the mouth of the Thames. In all, they took in excess of one thousand British merchant ships during the War of 1812. That and the resulting soaring maritime insurance rates crippled British merchants and created a general atmosphere of discontent with the war.