“Old Hickory” congratulated himself. He had just won the battle of New Orleans; the British, with their assault positions abandoned, were headed south toward the Gulf of Mexico. But had Andy Jackson possessed two vital bits of information, his pleasure would have been something less than unbounded. First, his victory had no bearing on the outcome of the War of 1812, inasmuch as that war had ended more than two weeks before. Secondly, and more important, the battle had actually been won 3,000 miles from New Orleans, in the harbor of a small Portuguese island in the eastern Atlantic. There, four months earlier, a brief but bloody encounter had already set the stage for a British defeat by an unforeseen delay which permitted Jackson to reach New Orleans first, and by granting him nine crucial and unmolested days to prepare a successful defense of that city.
It all began off Sandy Hook on 9 September 1814. On that day, Captain Samuel C. Reid conned his ship past the Hook, took departure, and pointed her into the broad Atlantic. The American privateer General Armstrong was outward bound on another cruise.
Swift, formidable, and handy, she marked the peak of the privateer-builder’s art. Unconventionally armed, she carried three long nines in each broadside and one traverse, long 24-pounder amidships. With this powerful battery and her remarkable speed, she could crush the ships she could not outsail and run away from those she could not outshoot. So far, the little brig had been an uncommonly successful commerce raider.
As the General Armstrong’s live-oak stem parted the Atlantic swells, Captain Reid—lately acting midshipman on board the USS Baltimore—looked forward to the cruise with anticipation. But, unheralded, bad luck had shipped for this voyage and Sam Reid was to be sorely disappointed before it ended. Of the half-dozen sail sighted during the next two weeks, three turned out to be British warships, which the Armstrong easily evaded, and the rest neutral merchantmen, all released untouched.
When the brig raised the tiny Portuguese island of Fayal at first light on 26 September, she was prizeless and low on water. Sam decided to put in for “refreshments.”
Shortly after noon, the privateer doubled the northeast head, picked up a pilot, and sailed into Fayal Roads.1 Most of the afternoon was spent arranging for provisions and water and not until 5 p.m. did the Captain, accompanied by American Consul J. B. Dabney and some other gentlemen, return to the ship. Once below, they began to discuss British naval movements in the area. Their conversation was a short one.
The first signs of dusk were creeping in from the east when an urgent call from topside broke up the conference. A strange sail was standing in. Reacting automatically, Sam Reid raced on deck, grabbed a long glass, and levelled it at the approaching ship. Close under the northeast head and coasting slowly in before a light breeze came a brig of war. One look convinced Sam, nobody had to tell him. She was British!
Through the glass, he caught sight of the harbor pilot scrambling over the warship’s rail. Doubtless the Englishman was being told at this very minute that the General Armstrong was both a privateer and an American. Checking the wind, Sam realized he could not clear the harbor without a fight; he would have to depend on Portuguese neutrality to protect his ship.
Dabney, now at his elbow, offered emphatic assurances. No British ship had ever violated that neutrality and there was no reason to believe they would now. Captain Reid, however, was less certain.
He watched intently as the brig—HMS Carnation—glided through the gathering dusk and, rounding to, anchored within pistol shot of the Armstrong. Then, as the warship’s hook clawed at the bottom, real trouble developed. Two more sail emerged from behind the same northeast head; heavyweights, this time—a 38-gun frigate HMS Rota, and a 74-gun line- of-battle ship, HMS Plantagenet. Thoroughly alarmed now, Sam Reid studied the ships as they erupted in a rash of signal flags and when the Carnation commenced swinging out her boats amidst a fever of activity, he “began to suspect their real intentions.”
Fortunately, the fast-falling night brought along a full moon which illuminated the Roads and permitted the Americans to follow the enemy movements in minute detail. Their preparations confirmed Sam’s suspicion that the British intended to cut the Armstrong out. He had no time to lose if he was going to frustrate the attempt.
In response to his quick, clipped commands, the little brig got underway and swept in nearer the harbor’s fort. Instantly, the enemy ship cut her cable, made sail, and sent four boats in hot pursuit. As soon as he spotted them, Sam dropped the hook, bent springs on the cable, and cleared for action.
Meanwhile, a large segment of the Fayal citizenry trooped down to the beach to watch. Both the Governor and Consul Dabney— now ashore—joined them, crowding so close to the water’s edge that they could hear Sam clearly as he hailed the approaching boats.
On board the General Armstrong, her 90- man crew readied cannon, boarding nets, muskets, pistols, and pikes. Then, they waited. When the fully-manned and well- armed launches ignored Sam’s order to keep off and, instead, merely pulled harder for the American ship, he barked out the command to open fire. Swivels—mounted on the launches—flashed in response. The battle was on.
Double-shotted and heavily charged with grape, the Armstrong's guns raked the open boats, killing or wounding a score of sailors. The ferocity of the American defense stunned the attackers, forcing them to peel off" and limp back to the safety of their warships. Round one belonged to the General Armstrong.
Nevertheless, Sam Reid harbored no illusions; the English would be back. Only a light and contrary breeze had prevented the Carnation from closing sufficiently to toss a few broadsides in support of the launches during the first attack. Very likely, the next assault would be a heavy one, and it would come soon, he was sure.
Once more Sam decided to move his ship. Slipping her cable, the Americans rowed the brig in almost to the beach where they moored her fore and aft with four cables, broadside to the harbor. Not yet satisfied, Sam cut extra gun ports in the starboard bulwark and shifted two long nines to the engaged side.
The British soon converted Sam’s fears to fact. About 9 p.m. the Carnation got underway again, this time towing 12 to 14 boats. Just beyond musket shot, she cast them loose. They scuttled for cover behind a low, rocky reef where they organized their next attack while the enemy brig took station further out in the harbor, ready to support the flotilla or to cut off the Armstrong should she try to escape.
Minutes dragged into hours, the British milled aimlessly around behind the rocks, and Sam Reid—anxious to conserve his comparatively limited strength—ordered his crew to stand easy. They lay down at their stations to await the next enemy move. It came around midnight.
No preliminary hails this time. As soon as the British were within firing range, the Armstrong roared to life. The carnage was appalling with “Long Tom,” the centerline 24- pounder, cutting down whole boat crews at once. Still, the boats pressed on, reaching the privateer only after taking fearful losses. Boarders clawed at the nets, hand-to-hand fighting erupted fore and aft, the American defenses wavered and then held.
For 40 minutes the battle raged. At one point, Sam learned that all his officers were either dead or wounded and, with alarm, he noticed that the firing up forward had slacked off almost to nothing. In seconds, he rallied the after division, which had driven off all attacks on the quarter, and raced to the forecastle where he arrived just in time to beat back a final, tenacious British assault. Thus repulsed at every turn, at last realizing they could not carry the tough, little brig, the surviving boats gave up the fight and hauled off, leaving smashed launches and broken bodies floating in their wake. Round two also belonged to the Americans.
By now, the slaughter had reached incredible proportions. Perhaps 400 men took part in this second attack, fewer than half of them escaping injury; over a hundred were dead or dying. The Armstrong, however, had not come through unscathed. Carronade, swivel, and musket fire from the boats had exacted a heavy toll, but unbelievably, not from the crew. Sam counted two dead and seven wounded. Material damage was another matter; “Long Tom” had been knocked off its foundation, gun carriages were broken, debris was everywhere. Turning to in desperate haste, the privateersmen had repairs well started when Dabney sent out a request to see Sam on shore.
There, the Consul volunteered a piece of intelligence and some sound advice. Fayal’s governor had addressed a message to Commodore Robert Lloyd in the Plantagenet demanding cessation of the attacks and respect for the port’s neutrality. An obviously enraged Lloyd replied with a blunt threat; he would destroy the Armstrong if he had to blow up Fayal to do it; and if the fort tried to protect the American, he would level the village. As Sam digested this news, he lost all hope of saving his stout, little ship. Dabney paused, then handed him a note:
You have performed a most brilliant action in -beating off Fourteen Boats of the British Ships, in this Road. They say they will carry the Brig, cost what it will, and that the Brig will haul in to attack you at the same time the boats do. My dear fellow do not uselessly expose yourself if attacked by an overwhelming force, but scuttle the Brig near the beach and come on shore with your brave crew.
Yours truly,
J. B. Dabney
Two o’clock, Tuesday Morning.
Sept. 27 1814. [Sic]
Sam had to agree. A short trip back to his ship, a few brief orders, and he set the abandonment in motion. The first gray fingers of dawn found the dead and wounded ashore along with most of the crew’s personal gear, and a disconsolate Sam Reid ready to scuttle his ship.
But daylight brought still another alarm. Unencumbered by any small boats, the Carnation was underway again, standing in toward the privateer. “Long Tom”—now back in its berth—spoke first, holing the English ship before she could get off her own initial salvo. The action proved hot, but brief. Holed several times more, her rigging badly chewed up, and her foretopmast shot away, the warship fell off and hauled out of range. Round three went to the stubborn Yankee.
A flurry of activity now broke out on the Rota and Plantagenet and temporary repairs to the Carnation were speeded up. Clearly, Sam had pushed his luck about as far as it would go and it was time to take Dabney’s advice. Reluctantly, he gave the command to scuttle. Round four and the fight would have to go to the English by default.
With experienced dexterity, the Armstrong’s crew chopped the masts away, blew holes in her bottom, and abandoned ship. Close behind them a British party scrambled aboard, off-loaded a few provisions, and set her afire. The battle in Fayal Roads was over.
Nevertheless—although neither Sam Reid nor Commodore Lloyd then knew it—this fight would last another full round; a round generated by Lloyd’s sailing orders. They directed him to proceed to Negril Bay, Jamaica, at best speed and there to rendezvous with a British fleet under Vice Admiral Sir Alexander Cochrane. The General Armstrong had reduced that best speed to zero.
Battered by the privateer’s heroic stand, Lloyd found himself forced to spend the next several days burying his dead and repairing the damaged Carnation. Not until the evening of 4 October 1814 could he order the squadron to sea. And when he finally reached Jamaica—ten days late—his superiors “were exceedingly indignant; and loaded Lloyd with bitter reproaches.”
Well they might. Cochrane’s fleet was assembling to mount an assault on New Orleans and that ten-day delay laid the foundation for a British disaster. Arriving off the city on 6 December, four days behind Andrew Jackson but well ahead of his army, the English struck westward across Lake Borgne. Here they were stalled by a patchwork American fleet under Lieutenant Thomas ap Catesby Jones. When they finally overwhelmed Jones’s force, it was too late. Jackson’s army had marched in, fortified the city, and was ready for them. Had the British arrived ten days sooner—a certainty had Lloyd reached the West Indies on time—they could have marched straight into a defenseless city. Thus, the decisive role in the Battle of New Orleans was inadvertently played by Samuel C. Reid, his crew, and their staunch privateer.
These little ships, though legally civilian owned and manned, provided an indispensable auxiliary to the fledgling American Navy, harassing the British merchant marine and helping to scatter the British fleet. Occasionally, one of them struck a blow which produced direct military consequences. The General Armstrong was such a ship. In a very real sense, she had humbled mighty Albion; and Sam Reid—ex-midshipman and early 19th-century counterpart of the modern, commerce-raiding submariner—had won the final round, after all.
FOOTNOTE TO HISTORY
Today, at morning and evening colors, Navymen have a twice-daily reminder of Sam Reid’s epic fight. For it was at his suggestion that Congress adopted the present form of the American Flag. His wife hand-crafted the first one and it was raised over the Capitol on 12 April 1818.
1. See T. W. Sheridan, “The American Marine Thermopylae,” U. S. Naval Institute Proceedings, April 1937, pp. 503-506.