Recruiting Aboard the Old Jersey
Ebenezer Fox, a New Englander as his given name would suggest, went a-sailing at seventeen in the twenty-gun ship Protector, which had been built and fitted out by Massachusetts to protect commerce and annoy the British during the Revolution. Fox had been born in Roxbury, Massachusetts, January 30, 1763. At the age of seventy-five he committed his Revolutionary War adventures to paper. These experiences thus perpetuated, included not only some exciting encounters upon the high seas, but also a stay of long duration in the British prison ship, the old Jersey, and finally a narrow escape from being impressed for service by the Comte de Grasse’s fleet just before the disastrous engagement with Admiral Rodney.
Scanty and unwholesome food, foul water drawn up from beside the rotting hulk stuck hard and fast in the mud of Long Island, impure air, close contact with disease and death, and hopeless captivity—for there was no possibility of exchange—were some of the hardships endured by the inmates aboard the old prison ship. Another discomfort, and no trifling one, was the vermin with which the ship was abundantly infested. What to do with the vile pests was one of the minor problems of the unfortunate prisoners, for catching them was the easiest of tasks. According to Fox, a general consultation among the prisoners was held and it was decided to deprive the pests of their liberty. A large snuff-box was appropriated for the purpose of confining the vermin, and the prisoners proceeded to find some amusement in making contributions. The snuffbox was inhabited by thousands of various varieties of vermin, awaiting the decision of the prisoners as to their disposition. Fox says:
British recruiting officers frequently came on board, and held out to the prisoners tempting offers to enlist in his Majesty’s service; not to fight against their own country, but to perform garrison duty in the island of Jamaica.
One day, an Irish officer came on board for this purpose and, not meeting with much success among the prisoners who happened to be upon deck, he descended below to repeat his offers. He was a remarkably tall man and was obliged to stoop as he passed along between the decks. The prisoners were disposed for a frolic, and kept the officer in their company for some time, flattering him with expectations, till he discovered their insincerity, and left them in no very pleasant humor. As he passed along bending his body, and bringing his broad shoulders to nearly a horizontal position, the idea occurred to our minds to furnish him with some recruits from the colony in the snuff-box. A favorable opportunity presented, the cover of the box was removed, and the whole contents discharged upon the redcoated back of the officer. Three cheers from the prisoners followed the migration, and the officer ascended to the deck, unconscious of the number and variety of recruits he had obtained without the formality of an enlistment. The captain of the ship (a Scotchman), suspicious from the noise below, that some joke had been practiced or some mischief perpetrated, met the officer at the head of the gangway and, seeing the vermin crawling up his shoulders and aiming at his head with the instinct peculiar to them, exclaimed, “Hoot, mon, wha’ is the matter with yer bock?”
Confinement below with shorter allowances of food was the price paid by the prisoners for their joke.
Barney’s Fight with the General Monk
One of the names of other days which is still familiar is that of Joshua Barney, a Maryland contribution to American naval history, who as a lad served under Commodore Hopkins and, as a veteran, fought in defense of Washington City in 1814. The scene of one of his intervening exploits was Delaware Bay where, on April 8, 1782, as commander of the Hyder-Ally, he saved his convoy of merchant vessels and captured the British ship General Monk, Captain Josiah Rogers.
The Hyder-Ally, mounting sixteen 6- pounder guns, had just been fitted out by the State of Pennsylvania to protect the commerce of Philadelphia from depredations committed in Delaware River and Bay by the armed ships of England and picaroon privateers fitted out in New York. Command of the ship was offered to young Barney, lately returned for a visit to his family. The action took place at the entrance of Delaware Bay, with two other British ships, one a frigate, near the scene. The Monk, mounting twenty 9-pounders and manned by one hundred and thirty-six men—twenty- six more than the Hyder-Ally, struck her colors after a terrific fight of twenty-six minutes, during which she sustained a loss of twenty killed and thirty-three wounded. Pennsylvania bought the prize, her name was changed to the General Washington, and Barney was commissioned her new commander. Pennsylvania also presented the daring young seaman a sword, which, in 1794 was stolen from his rooms in Paris while he and other Americans were participating in the ceremony of depositing the ashes of Jean Jacques Rousseau in the Pantheon. Later, while in the naval service of the French Republic, Barney had a picture painted in Paris of the fight with the General Monk. On his return to the United States, this was presented by him to Robert Smith, Secretary of the Navy, in whose office the painting was hung.
The Crown Prince of the Sandwich Islands
On August 10, 1790, the ship Columbia, Captain Robert Gray, reached Boston, her home port, after an absence of nearly three years, during which she had carried the American flag around the world. Present in Boston the memorable afternoon of the ship’s return was a fifteen year old lad from Worcester, E. S. Thomas, a nephew of Isaiah Thomas, the founder of various Massachusetts publications and author of the History of Printing. The young man, himself, later became an editor; first in Charleston, South Carolina, and later in Cincinnati, in 1840 publishing his Reminiscences of the Last Sixty-five Years.
According to this authority, the Columbia on her home bound voyage had called at different clusters of islands in the South Seas, among others, the Sandwich Islands, where, as elsewhere, the visiting seamen had met with friendly attentions from the natives. This was particularly true at Owyhee where the king of the Sandwich Islands resided. Such was the high regard and confidence entertained by the Sandwich Islanders for Captain Gray that they permitted him to carry the “Crown Prince” off with him for a visit to Boston.
In the summer of 1790 [says the Thomas Reminiscences], in a fine afternoon, I had just arrived in Boston, from Worcester, when a strange ship, bearing the Stars and Stripes of our country, arrived abreast of the castle, and fired a national salute, which was promptly returned by that fortress. The firing was distinctly heard and seen from Boston, but no one could imagine what ship it was, bearing our country’s flag, and doing and receiving such high honor. The inhabitants were all in motion, and going to the long wharf by thousands; in the interim, the ship was recognized and the artillery were ordered out. As she came to anchor off the end of the wharf, the delighted multitude rent the air with joyful acclamations, while salvos of artillery shook the neighboring hills, and the astonished people hurried into the city to join in the general joy.
The ship having returned the salute of the city, the custom house barge was manned, when the venerable General Lincoln, collector of the port, with the owners of the Columbia, repaired on board, and after bidding a hearty welcome to Captain Gray and his princely passenger, they all returned to the wharf together, when the air again rung with loud acclaim, and the artillery again poured forth its thunder. The prince, who was an Apollo in personal symmetry and beauty, was dressed in a helmet of the ancient Roman form, covered with small feathers of the most beautiful plumage, which glittered in the sun, while on his body he wore a close dress, not visible, except the sleeve, and over it a large and flowing robe in the form of the toga, made of cloth, covered with feathers precisely like the helmet. In this splendid costume, he took the arm of Captain Gray, and a procession being formed, they marched to Governor Hancock’s who had sent his adjutant-general Donaldson to bid them welcome. After a residence of some months, the ship was refitted, and with the same commander returned the prince in safety to his country and his friends; from thence sprung all that friendly intercourse between those happy islanders and the United States.
It was after his return to the northwest coast of America that Captain Gray, on May 11, 1792, discovered the great river to which he gave the name of his ship.
The Naming of Ships of the Navy
The following resolution received the approval of President James Monroe on March 3, 1819:
Resolved, by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America, in Congress assembled, that all the ships of the navy of the United States, now building or hereafter to be built, shall be named by the Secretary of the Navy under the direction of the President of the United States, according to the following rule, to wit: those of the first class shall be called after the states of this Union; those of the second class, after the rivers; and those of the third class, after the principal cities and towns, taking care that no two vessels in the navy shall bear the same name.
Proceeding under this plan, navy commissioners on May 25, 1820, selected by lot a name for a ship of the line then nearing completion in New York. The first State having the distinction of giving her name to a ship of the line, as thus provided, was Ohio. The vessel was launched five days afterwards, on May 30.
The U. S. ship of the line, Ohio [says a contemporary account], was launched at New York, on Tuesday last in the presence, it is supposed, of nearly one hundred thousand persons, amidst discharges of artillery from the IVashington-74 and sloop Hornet, which were answered by a battalion of artillery. She glided into the water in a majestic style, and no accident occurred. She is a vessel of the first class, built of the best materials and with great care, by Mr. Eckford.
Admiral Paulding’s Ball
An interesting commentary on the feeling entertained in Europe for the United States and the country’s representatives, following the continuous succession of victories in Mexico, is an old letter written by the late Rear Admiral Hiram Paulding, then commanding the U. S. frigate St. Lawrence in European waters, to John Y. Mason, Secretary of the Navy. The letter reads:
(Unofficial) U. S. Frigate St. Lawrence,
Southampton, January 3, 1849.
Sir:
I am at a loss to think what may be the opinion of the Department and the President of our festivities here.
The course I have pursued seemed to me the best and I hope may meet with the approbation of the government.
As in Germany, I cannot convey to you in ordinary language the feeling of interest and kindness that we have universally met with. As an incident I hope you will excuse me for mentioning that at our ball there were many small American flags as decorations to the supper table, every one of which were appropriated by the ladies, for the last of the evening, and worn in their hair or girdle.
A number of gentlemen of importance in this community remained in the supper room after the ladies had retired to the ballroom and several said to me in a low tone, “I am a republican.” One gentleman, that said this to me, is a correspondent and friend of Mr. Cobden, a man of ability and the editor of a paper. He came to me and said, “I am a republican; your nation is the greatest in the world; we have no such men in England as your statesmen. There is not a man in England equal to your President. No man in England can produce such a state paper as his message to Congress.” My American feeling was in the ascendant; my heart was full and fearing he might be overheard and our harmony interrupted, I could only say to him, “We cannot now speak of this.”
When I had determined to give a ball, I made up my mind to do it handsomely. It has cost upwards of a thousand dollars which as I informed you I should do, I have caused to be charged to the Government. It was in fact, under the circumstances, an unavoidable expense.
It must and, I trust, will be considered that my situation is a peculiar one and the light in which I regard my public duty necessarily involves such expenditure.
If in this I misapprehend what is considered proper, I hope the Department will guide me in future by its admonition and if otherwise that I may receive its sanction to exercise a proper discretion in the return of public hospitalities. On this subject it will be painful to me and perhaps prejudicial to the public interest to be in doubt. I have no object or wish than to discharge my duty in a manner satisfactory to the government and with the highest credit to our country.
I had the honor sometime since to send to your address a paper reporting the “Banquet” given to us here and with this send two papers, one reporting the public dinner given by Mr. Croskey, our consul, and the other our ball.
I shall sail today for Lisbon and have the honor to be very Resp’y Sir,
Your ob’d’t serv't,
H. Paulding, Captain
Secretary Mason sent the letter of Captain Paulding to Mrs. Polk, the wife of the President, after making the following indorsement upon its cover: “Respectfully referred to Mrs. Polk for her consideration. Relating in some degree to the conduct of foreign ladies in reference to the Stars and Stripes, the paper is placed at her disposal.
J. Y. M.”
The letter is preserved among the Polk papers in the hands of descendants of Mrs. Polk’s household.
Washington’s Birthday Under Two Flags
On January 12, 1861, commissioners representing the State of Florida, and accompanied by troops from that State and from Alabama, took possession of the Pensacola navy yard and the works in the vicinity, excepting Fort Pickens, into which the U. S. troops had been moved two days before in anticipation of such a movement.
On January 13, Colonel W. H. Chase, aid-de-camp to the governor of Florida, and colonel commanding, ordered a new flag hoisted at the navy yard, forts, barracks and hospital in the harbor in possession of the state troops, to succeed the United States flag which had been hauled down on January 12. “Until otherwise ordained by the people of Florida, assembled in convention, the emblems of the flag will be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white, commencing with the red, a blue field with a large white star in the center,” the order reads.
There ensued a period of “watchful waiting” in the course of which the U.S.S. Wyandotte, Lieutenant O. H. Berryman, in the harbor at the time of the seizure, was joined by the frigate Sabine and the sloops Brooklyn and St. Louis. Such was the situation when Washington’s birthday came. At Fort Pickens was a correspondent of Harper’s Weekly who recorded an interesting occurrence of the day, the firing of salutes by the hostile forces in commemoration of the Father of his Country:
At noon on the twenty-second some secession guns in the navy-yard, to the right of the hospital, most unexpectedly to us opened a salute; soon after a puff of smoke rolled up from Fort Barrancas, and hid their flag of one star and many stripes, and they were hardly fairly at it before Berryman’s port showed a lightning flash, and column of smoke shooting out, paused an instant, rose, and then the breeze striking it in the center, bore it to leeward in an N-like shape over the vessel, while a beautiful ring hung for a moment over the flag at the main then melted softly away, while one could hear exclamations of delight from our men on the ramparts. It was a grand, pleasing but withal melancholy sight; these white puffs of smoke shrouding different flags, and yet honoring one man.
Looking seaward, we saw the Brooklyn and St. Louis close together, wrapped in a cloud of smoke, while the rapid, spiteful discharges brought most vividly to mind one’s idea of a naval battle. The Sabine was further off, pounding away majestically by herself, which I think she is well able to do. After all was silent, and the eyes of friend and foe were turned to Fort Pickens, a long thirty-two opened seaward, and then the salute ran from gun to gun around the whole parapet, and thus ended the twenty-second in Pensacola harbor.