By 1778, the Continental Navy was in its third year of action in the Revolutionary War. Of all its captains, Nicholas Biddle was the one whose star shone brightest. Only 27, he was already a skilled sailor and respected officer, with enough courage to supply a fleet.
Both his talent and drive were honed by necessity. Biddle came from prestigious stock, but when he was born in Philadelphia in 1750 the family fortune was sinking; his father, William, possessed no business acumen whatsoever. “I had nine children, one at my breast,” his wife, Mary, later recalled, when William informed her that he had ruined them. After he died, Mary was forced to take work in her father’s profession as a surveyor.1
Her older children joined Mary in an effort to recover their fortune and reputation, scrambling to make money as best they could. By the time Nicholas was 14 in 1764, his elder siblings were lawyers, merchants, and in the military. He signed on as ship’s boy aboard a snow—a two-masted, square-rigged vessel ideally suited for the West Indies trade. His first voyage exposed to him to every aspect of a sailor’s lot: pleasant days of progress mixed with gales and terrific storms; idyllic islands fraught with blackguards and thieves. With pluck and ambition he earned a mate’s rank, surviving a shipwreck for good measure. At 20 he had grown to 5 feet, 9 inches, handsome and unassuming—as long as he was not crossed.2
With rumors of war with Spain over the Falkland Islands, Nicholas joined the Royal Navy. While in the king’s service he volunteered “for an expedition to try how far navigation was practicable towards the North Pole.” One shipmate was a teenager who, like Biddle, was the very model of a future captain, mature and confident beyond his years: Horatio Nelson. The expedition sailed to Spitsbergen Island, north of the Arctic Ocean’s deepest point—more than 18,000 feet.3
Under the long daylight summer hours, the mission’s two ships entered the icebound channels, making progress by the yard. Conditions baffled and alarmed captain and crew alike—on one side of the Carcass the sun beat so warmly one day that the captain noted how the tar was running off the standing rigging, while on the other side, where ice was just removed, the water was instantly freezing over. When the expedition returned to England, Biddle planned on volunteering for a similar voyage to the “Southern Ocean” by naturalist Sir Joseph Banks when word of the Boston Tea Party reached London. Seeing what the future held, Biddle returned his midshipman’s warrant and booked passage home.4
Upon returning, Biddle sailed a snow to Santo Domingo, officially for molasses but actually for gunpowder, stowing the half-barrels of powder in the hold behind a row of large barrels of molasses. When a Delaware River pilot informed him of a British warship upriver, stopping American vessels and seizing any smuggled “contraband,” the cagey Biddle ran up French colors, boldly sailed past the king’s ship, and docked in Philadelphia. Soon afterward he accepted the command of a Pennsylvania row-galley, the Franklin. The ink on his commission was barely dry when the Continental Navy was born.5
From Royal Navy to Revolutionary Captain
Offered a captaincy in the new navy, Biddle accepted immediately. Thanks mostly to the skillful gamesmanship of Congressman Stephen Hopkins of Rhode Island, the other four commanders all hailed from New England. Biddle was given command of the brig Andrew Doria. While the merchantmen purchased for the “fleet” were being refitted as ships of war, Biddle got acquainted with his peers and the commodore—Hopkins’ brother, Esek—and adjusted to meetings full of New England accents. Soon three more ships were added. Ice prevented them from going to sea until February 1776.
By then, weeks of boredom and ice had cooled if not frozen the warm patriotic glow of more than a few sailors. The sea town of Lewes, Delaware, provided the first chance to jump ship, and a few did just that, only to be put in the local jail. Their leader was William Green, a hulking malcontent who convinced the others to overcome their guards. Barring the door and arming themselves, the jail became their fortress.
Biddle sent a detachment of Marines ashore to retrieve them. When they returned empty-handed, he decided to quell the mutiny himself, and found the jail surrounded by timid militiamen and curious townsfolk. “Oh, damn,” Biddle swore, and ordered the door broken down. He crossed the jail’s threshold to find the muzzle of Green’s musket pointed right at him. Holding a cocked pistol in one hand, Biddle calmly said, “Now Green, if you do not take good aim, you are a dead man.” Green dropped his weapon. Word of Biddle’s bravado leapt from ship to ship: Here was a captain not to be trifled with.6
Congress had ordered Commodore Hopkins to sail to Virginia and destroy “Lord Dunmore’s Navy,” the Royal Navy ships and loyalist privateers harassing American shipping. Deciding they were too strong a force for his inexperienced warriors, Hopkins made for the Bahamas to take the forts guarding New Providence. Along the way, Biddle worked his men tirelessly at the guns, determined to reach the Royal Navy’s goal of firing a round accurately within two minutes. Each session his objective was simple: be faster.7
Hopkins succeeded in taking the forts, but in making for Rhode Island, the fleet encountered the frigate HMS Glasgow. The ensuing battle proved that Hopkins was right not to take on Dunmore’s fleet, but the Glasgow’s ability to outfight and outrun five Continental ships convinced Biddle that Hopkins wasn’t qualified to command. “A more ill conducted Affair never happened,” he wrote his brother Charles.8
In Rhode Island, Biddle grew stir-crazy from inactivity until Hopkins ordered him to sail forth and “annoy the Enemy.” After eluding a British frigate and taking a prize off Nantucket, Biddle headed north to Nova Scotia. He returned to Newport with a fistful of prizes, including two transports carrying Scottish Highlanders, a capture that filled the Andrew Doria’s hold with everything from uniforms to bagpipes. A second cruise enjoyed similar success. Between voyages, Biddle wrote a humorous letter to his brother Charles, ending it with a rare, reflective postscript, “I fear Nothing but what I ought to fear.”9
Rough Start for the Randolph
Biddle’s deeds sent his stock skyrocketing with both Congress and the public, and he was given command of one of the new Continental frigates when he returned to Philadelphia, the 32-gun Randolph, in the latter stages of construction. In December, with General George Washington’s army retreating from New York to Philadelphia and General William Howe’s army in pursuit, Biddle and other Navy captains offered their services to defend the city. Congress sent the others and their crews to join Washington’s meager forces, but ordered Biddle to get the Randolph to sea.
To fill his muster roll, Biddle took on prisoners from Philadelphia’s prison, as well as British sailors he had captured on his cruises. Thus manned, the frigate stood down the Delaware in February 1777, escorting several merchantmen. Before that week, no Continental vessel stood a chance one-on-one with any British frigate. Now America possessed an equal ship, commanded by a captain who wanted to pick a fight.10
She did not get far; without warning, her foremast sprung. Held tenuously in place by stays and shrouds, Biddle barely had enough time to send his topmen aloft to remove the yards and topmast to keep the mast from cracking and going over the side. Once they finished, Biddle ordered it stepped back in place. It could not be done—the base was rotten. Biddle would have to jury-rig a replacement, using the longest spar available.
Bad luck now sailed with bad workmanship. A gale pitched the Randolph through high seas, and a loud crack was heard from bow to stern, topgallant to keelson. This time it was the mainmast. Sheared clean through right at the deck, it now staggered from side to side with each wave. Biddle found it “as unpleasant a sight as ever I wish to behold.” Held in place only by the rigging, the high winds and waves turned it into a pile-driver, threatening to sink the Randolph.
Quickly, Biddle ordered the carpenter’s mates aloft to cut it free of the ship. With deliberate swings of hatchets and axes, the carpenters severed line after line until the mast went over the side. In a split second, the navy’s pride and joy was a derelict, now at the mercy of nature and the enemy. Until proper masts were stepped, the Randolph could not fight even a shallop effectively. But where to sail for repairs? The Atlantic was infested with British cruisers from Providence to Newport News. Biddle decided to make for Charleston.11
As the Randolph headed south, the captain sensed the British sailors would try to take the ship somehow, someday. His intuition was correct. One clear day several of them gave three cheers near the quarterdeck—a prearranged signal to revolt. But Biddle’s officers and Marines were ready, and they subdued the mutineers in no time. More travails followed: A deadly fever swept through the fo’c’sle, taking 15 hands. Miraculously, the Randolph reached Charleston, sailing through high seas all the way and without being spotted by any British warships. But that was the extent of Biddle’s luck.12
In Charleston, the captain busied himself with refitting his ship and leaning on John Rutledge, president and commander-in-chief of South Carolina, to offer any able-bodied seaman a $20 bonus to sign on the Randolph’s muster roll. Once Rutledge approved the bounty, Biddle had enough men to sail. He stood down Rebellion Road in late August, with his third mainmast stepped in place.13
Just then, the skies darkened, the winds blew, and splashes of rain covered the frigate’s deck. Lightning and thunder followed. In seconds, the Randolph belied the cliché that lightning never strikes twice. It struck three times where the Randolph was concerned, splintering the new mainmast despite its lightning rod. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Biddle sailed back to Charleston.14
Three Days, Three Prizes
By 3 September the frigate was 20 leagues off St. Augustine, Florida, having sailed through three days of storms, still possessing her new mainmast. At dusk, the lookout cried, “Sail ho!”
“Where away?” Biddle replied from the quarterdeck. There were five ships, sailing northward, directly ahead of the Randolph. Biddle decided to pursue. He ordered the ship’s lights doused and for his helmsman to steer by the lantern lights of the five ships, becoming easier to see the darker it became. Biddle believed they were merchantmen; if he was wrong, then the Randolph would have to show her heels.
By dawn the frigate had closed the distance significantly. Peering through his spyglass, Biddle could make out his prey: two ships, two brigs, and one sloop. He ordered his men to battle stations, ran out his guns, raised the Grand Union, and maintained his speedy course. Seeing the Randolph’s ensign, two of the vessels began firing at her—pointless at that distance—while the others clapped on more sail. Other shots soon found their mark, but Biddle held his fire.
A squall began blowing; still no order to open fire from Biddle. Believing the ships more valuable as prizes if undamaged, and realizing he would have to yaw to fire at this point in the chase—and perhaps lose all five ships once he changed course—he continued to withhold the order. He wanted to reach the ships as quickly as possible and then take them whole. Once in their midst, he had one of his little six-pounders fired. The nearest ship struck her colors. Although the sloop got away, he was soon in possession of the other three.15
One brig was a Frenchman, captured by the larger British ship. Aware of the efforts to win France over to the American side, Biddle freed her officers and men, and sent them on their way. The ships were laden with West Indies goods for the British Army. With prize crews taking most of his men off the Randolph, Biddle sent his prizes to Charleston.
Few crews in the Revolutionary War were in better humor than these hearties: three days of sailing, three valuable prizes. Once back in Charleston their agent immediately sold the vessels and converted their prize shares into cash. Their subsequent celebration became the stuff of legend. Decked in the latest finery, they were seen at all hours along the waterfront, escorting “females ridiculously ornamented with jewelry.” One Randolph sailor bought a horse and tack, only to prove as an equestrian he was a hell of a sailor. The authorities found him dead drunk, carrying his new saddle and bridle. Slurring his words, he explained he “had lost his ship,” but “saved his rigging.”16
News of Biddle’s swift success spread north, where an elated Congress congratulated him and sent new orders to sail for France. Biddle promised he would “be Ready to execute any Orders you may send,” telling Pennsylvania Congressman Robert Morris that “My Officers have on every Occasion given me the greatest satisfaction.”17
These weeks ashore gave Biddle time for romance. Earlier he had met the teenager Elizabeth Baker, a southern belle. By year’s end they were engaged. The dashing young captain had much to look forward to.
‘To Clear the Coast’
While refitting the Randolph, Biddle was visited by Captain John Peck Rathbun of the sloop Providence and Marine Captain John Trevett, both acquaintances from the original Continental squadron. Rathbun was hell-bent on a return cruise to the Bahamas with his ship alone. As a courtesy, Rathbun and Trevett had gone to see Biddle at a Charleston coffeehouse to get his approval.18
Biddle thought the plan preposterous, and openly asked Trevett to join him and his approaching cruise. But neither Rathbun nor Trevett could be deterred. Their meeting concluded, Biddle rose from his chair and shook Trevett’s hand. “I am so very sorry,” he said, “for I never shall see you anymore.” Days later, the Providence made sail for Nassau.19
Weeks later, Biddle said farewell to Elizabeth and left on his mission. The Randolph would lead a squadron consisting of the South Carolina ships General Moultrie, Notre Dame, Fair American, and Polly, to clear the coast of British warships and privateers.
Biddle saw the mission as a chance to command a squadron similar in size to Esek Hopkins’ two years earlier. He was becoming as attached to Charleston as he was to Philadelphia, not only due to his fiancée, but also because the townsfolk had adopted both captain and crew. He saw this cruise as an opportunity to repay them for their kindnesses.20
Once in the Atlantic, Biddle began searching for the enemy, but they were nowhere to be found. Tory spies had informed them that Biddle’s squadron was hunting for them, and they fled southward. Biddle next made for the West Indies, picking up one prize before reaching Bermuda. Thus far, Biddle’s name was a double-edged sword: His successes were rewarded with enough manpower to sail, but word of his cruise preceded him. British merchantmen scattered or stayed in port, leaving only Dutch and French ships for Biddle to catch and release.21
The squadron was 60 leagues off Barbados on Saturday, 7 March, sailing under clear skies. Around 1300, the Randolph’s lookout saw a sail four points off the starboard bow. Even with his spyglass, Biddle had a hard time making her out—was she a large merchantman or a frigate? As usual, the best way to find out for Biddle was to make straight for her. He signaled the other captains to follow.22
Light winds slowed their progress. Being late winter, visibility began fading by late afternoon, when the sun rode low at dusk before being swallowed up by the horizon. Biddle was partly correct; she was a Royal Navy vessel, HMS Yarmouth. Her captain, Nicholas Vincent, did not spot the squadron until 1700. Vincent made out six sail standing to the southward and decided to stand for them. Seeing the Yarmouth come through the wind and head his way, Biddle knew he would have a fight on his hands. How much of one he would know when he got close enough to count her guns.23
By 1900 the only light was a quarter moon, yet to ascend to the roof of the sky. Earlier, Biddle signaled his ships to heave to and await the approaching Yarmouth, now just a black shape closing in on them, making straight for the Randolph. While the General Moultrie and the Notre Dame were astern the frigate, the Polly, Fair American, and captured schooner were now downwind, far to the west of the Randolph. Biddle laid his mizzen topsail to the mast, allowing the frigate to turn to windward and wait for the enemy. Captain Philip Sullivan of the General Moultrie did the same, but only after she had shot ahead of the Randolph.24
Shortly after 2100, the Yarmouth came alongside the General Moultrie. Taking up his speaking trumpet, Vincent hailed Sullivan to identify his ship.
“The Polly,” he lied.
“Where from?” Vincent demanded.
“New York,” Sullivan replied, in hopes of making Vincent think the ships were Loyalist.
Seeing the Randolph dead ahead, Vincent sent the Yarmouth past Sullivan’s ship. For the first time that day, the Yarmouth could be easily identified. “My God,” a Marine on board the General Moultrie gasped. “A two-decker!”
The Yarmouth was a third-rate ship-of-the-line, 64 guns (exactly twice the Randolph’s firepower), many of them 18-pounders. She was less than 200 feet away when she came alongside Biddle’s frigate. “Who are you?” Vincent demanded. “Answer, or we fire!”
Biddle nodded to Lieutenant William Barnes to answer. “Continental frigate Randolph,” Barnes replied, as Biddle ordered the Grand Union raised and his starboard guns opened fire.25
A Fight to the Finish
Few Continental ships carried gun crews that equaled those of the Royal Navy, but the Randolph did—Biddle had seen to that. Their first broadsides slammed hard and accurately into the Yarmouth. Vincent ordered his men to aim at the flashes from the Randolph’s guns and return fire. By this time, the Notre Dame had crossed the Yarmouth’s stern, discharging an accurate but light barrage from her little four-pounders, while Sullivan fired indiscriminately at both ships until he was told that most of his shots were striking the Randolph. The Fair American and Polly, far from the fray, began tacking their way closer.26
Vincent could dismiss the effect of the Notre Dame’s small guns, but he was in the fight of his life as much as Biddle was because of the speed and accuracy of the Randolph’s gunners. Eyewitnesses recalled that they fired four broadsides to the Yarmouth’s one. The fight was only minutes old, and Vincent’s rigging and sails were already shot to pieces; her bowsprit and mizzen topmast useless from American round shot.27
The ships were now so close that American and British marines could lob their grenades across the water onto their enemy’s deck. Sharpshooters from the Randolph’s fighting tops fired volley after volley at the Yarmouth’s sailors, while others loaded and fired the four cohorns, lobbing their shells over the water onto the giant ship’s deck. From his high poop deck, Vincent assessed the situation: 5 dead and 12 wounded, his ship-of-the-line being destroyed by a frigate.28
Biddle was directing the fight from his quarterdeck with his usual quiet assurance when he suddenly went down, blood spurting from his thigh as his officers rushed to him. Lieutenant Barnes called for hands to carry the captain below. Biddle wouldn’t hear of it. Realizing he couldn’t stand, he rose to a sitting position, told his officers it was “a slight touch” and called a chair and a surgeon’s mate to dress his wound. Biddle wasn’t going anywhere.29
Taking heart by their captain’s refusal to go below, Biddle’s officers resumed their duties. There was a battle to be won. Marines maintained their hellish fire from the tops; unarmed sailors manned the sheets and braces, fearlessly adjusting them under fire to keep the wind in their favor; the gun crews, sweating from the heat of the guns despite the cool night air, their eyes smarting from smoke, loading, firing, and reloading their guns. As the surgeon’s mate dressed Biddle’s wound—either from a musket ball or flying splinter—he sat in his chair, calmly directing the action.30
On board the Yarmouth, British tars and marines were doing exactly the same, playing their parts with the same courageous deliberation. Vincent’s gunners were taking a quick glance at the Randolph’s starboard cannon flashes to adjust their aim, when there was a sudden, deafening explosion in front of them. Instantly, fire and smoke filled the air. Time seemed to stop; the fire seemed to extinguish itself as the smoke cleared in the light breeze.
The Randolph and her 305 Men Were Gone.
Sailors from all the ships were stunned from what they had seen as much as from the blast. Suddenly debris from the vanished frigate rained down on the Yarmouth: shattered beams, grisly remains, even a rolled-up American flag, not so much as singed. A six-foot piece of timber crashed down on the poop deck, just missing Vincent and his officers while another pierced through the foretopgallant sail. Vincent realized how lucky he was, being windward of the frigate—had he been on her port side, the impact of the blast could have destroyed the Yarmouth as well.31
Reaction among Biddle’s squadron ranged from cool-headedness to panic. On board the General Moultrie, Sullivan ordered his colors struck, only to be stopped by Marine Captain John Blake. This was no time to surrender, Blake insisted, but to sail away—the Yarmouth was badly damaged, and could not catch them. One by one, the other ships followed the General Moultrie’s example, and sailed into the darkness. The Yarmouth did give chase, but only for a short while. It was dark, the ship was in bad shape, and, perhaps, no one wanted to go back to fighting after what they had just witnessed.32
It took days for Vincent to have the Yarmouth repaired well enough to search for the other American ships. Then, in the wee hours of 12 March, his lookout sighted a sail to westward. Vincent gave orders to make chase. While in pursuit, he came upon a sight he called “something very remarkable,” telling his admiral:
We discovered a piece of wood with four Men on it waving. We hauled up to it, got a boat out, and brought them on board; they prov’d to be four Men who had been in the Ship when she blew up, and who had nothing to subsist on from that time, but by sucking the rain Water that fell on a piece of Blanket, which they luckily had picked up. They informed us the Ship was called the Randolph. . . .33
The quartet of survivors: “a Scotchman, a Frenchman, a Spaniard and a Dane”—Alexander Robinson, Bartholomew Bourdeau, John Carew, and Hans Workman—were manning a gun in Biddle’s cabin when the ship exploded. For some reason, the blast threw them out of the cabin into the sea and not up to their Maker. For four days and nights they survived on the open sea, “buried alive,” one newspaper reported, “under the vault of heaven.” Vincent gave up his search for Biddle’s squadron, heading to Barbados for repairs.34
News of the Randolph tragedy shocked Americans. “Our little fleet,” the Marine Committee wrote, “is much diminished.” Elizabeth Baker could not be consoled.35
Not yet 28 when he died, Nicholas Biddle had survived a shipwreck, almost being marooned by a sea of ice near the North Pole, an armed gang of mutineers, and endless rounds of shot and musket ball with an assured courage other men marveled at or downright envied. He was right, two years earlier, when he matter-of-factly wrote “I fear nothing.”
It took an explosion to kill Nicholas Biddle.
1. James S. Biddle, ed., Autobiography of Charles Biddle (Philadelphia, private printing, 1883), 241–42. Pennsylvania Gazette, 10 March 1763. William Bell Clark, Captain Dauntless: The Story of Nicholas Biddle of the Continental Navy (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1949), 7.
2. Clark, 35.
3. Joseph Galloway to Benjamin Franklin, 23 April 1771, Benjamin Franklin Papers (hereafter “BFP”), American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia. Nicholas Biddle to Lydia McFunn, 20 October 1772, Biddle Papers, Historical Society of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia. Clark, 36, 51–54. London Public Advertiser, 24 May 1773. Constantine John Phipps, A Voyage Towards the North Pole: Undertaken by his Majesty’s Command, 1773 (London: Bowyer & Nourse, 1774). Roger Knight, The Pursuit of Victory: The Life and Achievement of Horatio Nelson (New York: Basic Books, 2005), 28–32.
4. Nicholas Biddle to Lydia McFunn, 18 October 1773, Biddle Papers. Knight, 30–32. London Gazeteer and New Daily Advertiser, 19 March 1774. Clark, 65–69.
5. Journals of the Continental Congress (“JCC”), 25 July, 1 August, 22 December 1775. John Adams to James Warren, 27 July 1775; Minutes of the Pennsylvania Committee of Safety, 1 August 1775; Commission of Nicholas Biddle as Captain in the Pennsylvania Navy, 1 August 1775, in William Bell Clark, ed., Naval Documents of the American Revolution (“NDAR”) (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1964), vol. 1, 992, 1031–32. Clark, 75.
6. Clark, 98–99; Nathan Miller, Sea of Glory: A Naval History of the American Revolution (New York: David McKay, 1974), 97–98.
7. John Paul Jones to Joseph Hewes, 19 May 1776, John Paul Jones Papers (“JPJP”), Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
8. Commodore Esek Hopkins’ Sailing Orders from New Providence, 18 March 1776; Andrew Doria Journal, 25–27 March, 6 April 1776; HMS Glasgow Journal, 5–6 April 1776, in NDAR, vol. 4, 403, 516, 543, 679–81. Captain Nicholas Biddle to James Biddle, 10 May 1776, NDAR, vol. 5, 27–28. Jones to Joseph Hewes, 19 May 1776, JPJP. Miller, 113.
9. Nicholas Biddle to James Biddle, 10 May 1776, Nicholas Biddle to Charles Biddle, 16 June 1776, Biddle Papers. HMS Cerberus Journal, 11 May 1776; Hopkins to Biddle, 12 May 1776; Hopkins to Elisha Hinman, 12 May 1776, in NDAR, vol. 5, 46, 63. Clark, 123–24.
10. JCC, 30 November 1776. Morris to Hancock, 13 December 1776; Morris to Biddle, 13 December 1776; Morris to the Committee of Safety, 20 December 1776, in NDAR, vol. 7, 475–77, 534. Clark, 172–73.
11. Nicholas Biddle to James Biddle, 11 March 1777, Biddle Papers. Hopkins to Morris, 28 February 1777; Hopkins to Continental Marine Committee, 28 February 1777, in NDAR, vol. 7, 1318–19. Clark, 177.
12. Partial Muster Roll of the Frigate Randolph, October 1776–7 March 1778, in Clark, Appendix B, 259–261. Miller, 103–5.
13. Nicholson to American Commissioners, 11 August 1777, BFP. Biddle to Morris, 1 September 1777, NDAR, vol. 9, 863–66.
14. Biddle, Autobiography, 100–1. Clark, 199.
15. Biddle to Morris, 1 September 1777, NDAR, vol. 9, 863–66. Biddle, Autobiography, 103. South Carolina and American General Gazette, 11 September 1777. Clark, 202.
16. Nicholas Biddle to James Biddle, 22 November 1777, Biddle Papers. Pennsylvania Evening Post, 20 November 1777. Clark, 207.
17. Biddle to Morris, 12 September 1777, NDAR, vol. 9, 919–20.
18. Trevett Journal, NDAR, vol. 11, 1169–70.
19. Ibid.
20. Journal of the South Carolina Navy Board, 13 January 1778; letter to John Stevenson, 13 January 1778; letter to “Captn. Nicholas Biddle, Esq.,” 13 January 1778; Captain Robert Fanshawe, R.N., to Vice Admiral Viscount Howe, 13 February 1778, in NDAR, vol. 11, 113–14, 136–37, 337–42.
21. Moultrie on the Fitting Out of the Randolph’s Squadron and her Loss, January–March 1778, NDAR, vol. 11, 850. Clark, 236.
22. HMS Yarmouth Journal, 7 March 1778, NDAR, vol. 11, 543–44.
23. Ibid.
24. Biddle, Autobiography, 108-09. “Eyewitness Account of Engagement between Continental Navy Frigate Randolph and HMS Yarmouth,” NDAR, vol. 11, Appendix D, 1175.
25. Ibid. Clark, 240. Miller, 311.
26. Biddle, Autobiography, 107. Miller, 311–12. Clark, 240–41.
27. Ibid.
28. Ibid.
29. Biddle, Autobiography, 108–9. Pennsylvania Packet, 29 March 1778.
30. Ibid.
31. Vincent to Vice Admiral James Young, 17 March 1778, NDAR, vol. 11, 683–84.
32. Biddle, Autobiography, 107–9. “Eyewitness Account,” NDAR.
33. HMS Yarmouth Journal, 12 March 1778; Vincent to Vice Admiral James Young, 17 March 1778, in NDAR, vol. 11, 623, 683–84.
34. Deposition of Alexander Robinson, Hans Workman, and John Carew, 17 March 1778, NDAR, vol. 11, 666–67. New York Gazette and the Weekly Mercury, 20 April 1778. Clark, 245.
35. Biddle, Autobiography, 108–110. Pennsylvania Packet, 25 July 1778.