With The Flag In The Channel
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But this rather inglorious method of warfare did not altogether suit Captain Conyngham’s adventurous spirit, and time and again he wished for a brush with one of the king’s cutters before his crew and his stores were depleted by the manning of so many prizes. As yet he had found no occasion to use the long twelve-pounder. But the opportunity was soon to come, and the way it happened was this:
The Revenge was running short of water, and owing to the necessity of dividing her stores with some of the coasters that were provisioned for voyages of only one or two days’ duration, the crew was at last forced to accept half rations, and sailors will grumble quicker at this than at any form of dangerous hardship.
Once, forced by a hard blow, Conyngham had boldly made into the mouth of the English harbor of Ravenglass, in Lancashire, where of course he dared not go ashore, and owing to the presence of a British thirty-four-gun frigate he could not cut out any of the numerous fleet of merchant vessels by which he was surrounded. When the storm was over he sailed out of the harbor as boldly as he had entered it, and none of the English fleet imagined that the natty little craft that dropped anchor among them was the dreaded Yankee “pirate.”
But now to the adventure: The supply of water was growing less and less. It became an absolute necessity to fill the casks in some fashion, and also to procure some fresh provisions, for scurvy, the dreaded enemy of sailors of that day, had begun to appear – at least there were signs of it, and the crew were grumbling louder than ever. So Conyngham bethought him of his promise to pay a visit to the land of his birth; and after skirting the Isle of Man in a fruitless search for a safe landing-place or a well-provisioned prize, he crossed the Channel and entered the harbor of a little Irish fishing port (the name of which he fails to record in his log) about twenty miles or so to the north of the town and harbor of Wicklow.
Probably the fisher folk were simple and unsuspicious; mayhap they did not care to inquire closely into the mission of a polite fellow countryman who claimed to be a peaceable merchantman, for here Conyngham allowed his original nationality to be unmistakably plain if he did conceal his calling; or maybe it was the sight of the Spanish gold with which he paid for everything that blinded them; but they were eager and willing to help him to the things he wanted; and as many hands make light work, twelve hours sufficed to fill his casks with fresh water and his forehold with potatoes – the best cure for scurvy. Stores of various kinds to replace those he had sent to Spain were also taken on board.
It was a misty, foggy day, with very little wind. The red evening sun could not pierce the thick clouds, and the falling barometer proved that heavy weather might be expected. Conyngham was anxious to be off. He did not relish being kept longer in port than was necessary; for, although he had seen that no vessel, even of small size, had sailed out the harbor, he could not tell but that some suspicious person had traveled overland to Wicklow bearing the news that the dreaded Revenge was lying in the harbor. So, just before darkness set in, he bade good-by to his friendly countrymen, and getting up his anchor drifted out with the tide toward the Channel.
There was a steep headland to the south, and just as the Revenge was rounding it a vessel came into full view that, from her appearance, could be none other than a British cutter. There was hardly enough wind to fill her sails, and like the Revenge she was drifting slowly with the tide.
It would be hard to conjecture what it was that caused her captain to be suspicious, but immediately upon sighting Conyngham’s vessel two boats were lowered from the cutter’s side and filled with armed men. They pulled out as if to intercept him. There were altogether in the Revenge’s crew at this time but some thirty men left, but at once the long twelve was cast loose and the short broadside guns were double-shotted. Before the boats had traversed half the distance they were stopped by a challenging shot from the twelve-pounder, and with all haste they made back to their vessel. Although she was evidently of heavier metal, had Conyngham had his full complement of men he would not have shrunk from engaging her, but under the circumstances, as he had once remarked before, “discretion was the better part of valor,” and at long range a drifting fight began.
If the people of the little fishing port had been at all in doubt as to who their visitor was, all such uncertainty was put at rest by the appearance the next morning of the cutter with her jib-boom and topsail-yard shot away and three shot holes in her hull, one at the water-line that necessitated immediate attending to.
The Revenge had escaped all injury except to her larder, a chance shot having entered at her cabin window and completely spoiled the captain’s dinner; thence glancing into the galley, it broached a barrel of fine salt pork, and ended by lodging in one of the deck beams.
The cruise had ended in an adventure at last, although a rather tame one, and, satisfied with results, Captain Conyngham determined to set sail for America.
Another prize was added to his list before he was quite free of the Channel, and this was ordered to meet him at a port in the Spanish West Indies, toward which he now laid his course, as he deemed it much wiser to ascertain how matters stood in America before making for any home port, which, for all he knew, might be in possession of the enemy.
He was satisfied with the work that he had accomplished, and well he might be. Perhaps the result of his cruises had been exaggerated, but he had prevented the sailing of two loaded transports, and from the very fear of his name over forty sail of vessels of all kinds, to quote from a contemporaneous account, “lay at anchor cooped up in the Thames.”
As Silas Deane wrote to Robert Morris and to the home Government, “His name has become more dreaded than that of the great Thurot, and merchants are constrained to ship their cargoes in French or Dutch vessels.”
Not a guard-ship on the coast but had received specific orders to be on the lookout for him, and yet he had cruised in the English and Irish Channels for month after month. Another fact that he regarded with satisfaction was that he had accomplished all this not merely as a privateersman, but as a regularly commissioned officer in the navy of his country. The prize-money due him as such, now amounting to a large sum, he regarded as safe in the hands of the commissioners.
After reaching the West Indies, where he spent some time, he learned from the American consul of the condition of affairs at home, and after waiting for the arrival of the latest prize he set sail for Philadelphia. The one thing that he regretted was the fact that he did not have in his possession the commission signed by John Hancock, then president of Congress, and given to him by Franklin in Paris, but he did not doubt that the good doctor had it in his possession and would produce it at the proper time. Without mishap, the Revenge sailed up the coast, slipped by the British guard-ships off the capes of Delaware, and early in February, 1779, Conyngham was home at last!
CHAPTER XV
THE CAPTURE
Of all the surprised people in Philadelphia, James Nesbit was the most astonished when into his office walked the young seaman who almost four years before had left in command of the Charming Peggy. The fame of his doings of course had reached America, and Mr. Nesbit’s brother had written at some length of Conyngham’s career in the Surprise, his subsequent arrest, and mysterious release; but it was not until he had spent a long afternoon in the coffee-room of the little inn around the corner, and had listened to the captain’s modest and half-humorous account of his doings, that he understood what had happened in France; and he followed with breathless interest the career of the two little vessels that had flown the flag in the Channel.
When Conyngham had finished at last, Mr. Nesbit, who had not allowed himself to interrupt the recital by even so much as a question, propounded his first interrogation.
“And what do you intend to do now, Brother Conyngham?” he said. “Of course you do not mean to rest idle upon either your oars or your laurels.”
“I suppose I shall have to wait orders from the Naval Committee,” was the reply. “As an officer in the regular service, I have already reported my arrival and asked for an audience on the morrow. I hope,” he added, “they will see fit to make use of my services.”
“There is little hope of finding them in a mood to adopt any proposition of an aggressive nature,” returned Mr. Nesbit ponderously, “and there are few commands lying idle. It is as much as Congress can do to keep our army supplied with clothing, food, and ammunition. The fleet under Admiral Hopkins did not meet with any signal success. England is too strong for us on the sea.”
Conyngham shrugged his shoulders. There probably came to his mind the months during which in one little vessel he had dared the strength of the English fleets in their home waters. But he said nothing, and waited for Mr. Nesbit to continue.
“You are perfectly satisfied with the vessel which you have commanded, Captain Conyngham?” the latter asked.
“Perfectly, so far as she goes,” was the reply. “But I have it in my mind that I should like to command a larger. Sure, if you know of any loose seventy-fours wanting a skipper, you might put in a word for me. In case there is nothing better, I mean to apply for the command of the Revenge again.”
“What do you suppose that they will do with her?” asked Mr. Nesbit; and then, as if answering his own question, he went on, “Sell her, I suppose. They are in more need of money than of ships.”
As he finished speaking he leaned forward and placed his hand on Conyngham’s arm.
“If they do,” he said, “I may have a proposition to make to you. Why not let us buy her in? You could sail her under a letter of marque in joint ownership, and you must have a good sum of money to your credit. See what the privateersmen of this port and that of Baltimore have accomplished. They have practically already swept British commerce from the seas.”
“I would much sooner,” replied Conyngham, “accept a regular command; but rather than remain idle,” he concluded, “I would accept your proposition. It depends entirely upon Congress.”
“Your commission would, of course, stand you in good stead,” remarked Mr. Nesbit, “and a letter of marque could easily be obtained in addition.”
As Conyngham had not as yet joined his family, that had moved out to Germantown, he was evidently anxious to be away, and in a few minutes he parted company with Mr. Nesbit, promising to meet him again on the morrow.
It was much to his surprise that he found himself quite a hero among his friends and acquaintances, but, strange to say, Mr. Hewes, of the Naval Committee, to whom he reported, had heard nothing official in regard to him from either Dr. Franklin or Silas Deane, and his name had not as yet been placed on the naval list.
All this, of course, caused him more chagrin than uneasiness. He claimed that the Revenge was subject to the orders of the Naval Committee, and gained a point at last in that they accepted her as public property, and as such she was almost immediately offered for sale at auction. “Conyngham, Nesbit and Company” bought her in, one third being credited to Gustavus, to whom Mr. Nesbit and his cousin advanced the money.
So the further fortunes of the young captain were still bound up in the Revenge. Unfortunately, however, there were some enemies of his at work. Whether it was the tory lawyer whose designs he had thwarted in regard to his first command (by the way, he was now a most pronounced believer in the cause of liberty), or whether it was a discharged surgeon’s mate who had lodged complaints against him, Conyngham never found out. But suffice it, some one was working against him, and the letter of marque – the authority to “cruise, capture, and destroy” – was withheld by the Naval Committee and Congress. Perhaps they were waiting until they could secure some substantiation of his claim in regard to his commission – it may have been that; but, at all events, the delay grew more and more irksome to him and to his partner in the enterprise.
Good seamen were difficult to find idle in American ports; the few ships of the navy had hard work in recruiting their complement; almost every one who followed the sea for a living was already off privateering, and the Revenge was forced to complete her crew out of the riffraff of the docks, supplemented by numerous landsmen who, attracted by the rich rewards offered, dodged service in the army and flocked to the seaports. Out of the crew of one hundred men that Conyngham had hastily gathered together, only twenty-two had seen service on deep water, and more than half of these were men who had served with him in the Channel cruise. Owing to the delay in sailing, the Revenge’s people were almost in a state of mutiny, and for three weeks nothing but the young captain’s presence on board his vessel prevented wholesale desertions. One day there came a notice from Mr. Nesbit – the Revenge was anchored out in the river – informing him that the letter of marque was likely to be refused, and intimating that probably the Naval Committee would require his presence on shore, to be placed on waiting orders.
This was too much for Conyngham’s gallant spirit. The prospect of months of inaction galled him, and he replied that if he left his vessel the greater part of the crew would desert and the whole adventure be a failure.
It was while he was writing this in a note to be taken ashore to his partners that he remembered that the second commission, given him by Mr. Hodge in Dunkirk, was still in his possession. It had never been rescinded, and the vessel he commanded was the same! It was surely authority enough. Without hesitation he added a postscript – “Am sailing with the flood-tide in half an hour” – and sent the note off to Mr. Nesbit. So the deciding die was cast, and at the top of the flood the Revenge made out into the midstream and floated into the lower bay. The green crew, glad to be off, burst into a ragged cheer. Had they known what was before them they would not have felt so much like rejoicing.
It did not take the captain long to find out that his crew of farmhands and dock-rats was vastly different from the able lot of seamen that had contributed so much to the previous success of the Revenge. Before they were half-way to the capes a few had broken into the storeroom and a dozen were too drunk to pull a rope. The captain and the mate had their hands full, and the obstreperous ones were double-ironed and placed in the hold, to get sober at their leisure.
There was time found for one or two drills at the guns before the cruiser was out in the Atlantic, and here, as might have been expected, half of the crew were seasick and almost incapacitated from duty. Off the New Jersey coast, as the Revenge proceeded northward, she ran into thick and stormy weather. On the third day, the 26th of April, while the wind went down the fog increased, and when it cleared away at last the captain found himself some ten miles south of Sandy Hook. Dead ahead were two small square-rigged vessels that had the look of English transports or supply ships, and Conyngham made all sail in chase.
This was the year 1779 – a dreary one for the struggling colonies. New York city was in possession of the English troops under Lord Howe, and the Revenge was in dangerous waters; but the captain was in a reckless mood, and boldness having served his purpose so well at various times, he disdained his old adage about “discretion,” and pressed ahead. Once more the fog closed down, the wind died completely away, and as night came on the Revenge drifted slowly along on the round, oily seas, her prow turning first this way and then that. All night she swung about, when, early in the morning, a slight wind sprang up that Conyngham took advantage of to work off shore. But it held only for an hour or so, and fell calm again. The fog was thicker than ever at daybreak – one of those opaque white mists that the sun finds it impossible to penetrate, and seems to give up trying in despair.
The captain had been on deck all night, and, tired out, was lying on the cabin transom half asleep when suddenly he was awakened by the shrilling of a boatswain’s pipe, so close that it seemed to come from his own forecastle. Then, as if it were the signal for the lifting of the misty shroud, the fog broke and there lay the Revenge under the stern of a huge seventy-four. Under her gallery there could be read plainly the word “Galatea.”
It was all up! Even with the stiffest and most favorable wind, the little cruiser could not have escaped; she would have been blown out of the water before she had gone a cable’s length.
There was nothing to do. In two minutes two boatloads of armed sailors and marines had put off from the big vessel, and soon they clambered unmolested over the Revenge’s bulwarks.
“Who commands this vessel?” asked a red-faced lieutenant.
“I have the honor,” replied Conyngham, giving his name.
The lieutenant whistled.
“Conyngham!” he exclaimed. “Are you the pirate who sailed out of Dunkirk?”
“I am an officer in the navy of the United Colonies,” was Conyngham’s reply, “and will answer further questions to your superior officer.”
“That you will do at once,” sneered the lieutenant, and he gave orders for Conyngham to enter one of the boats. Much elated, he rowed off with his prisoner to the seventy-four.
On his way Conyngham learned that his captor was Captain Jordan, whose commodore was Sir George Collier, and his heart sank, for he knew that the latter had a reputation for being a man of a cruel and vindictive temper. The Galatea was the very vessel from which the Revenge had escaped off Land’s End on that memorable afternoon when the cross-barred flag had appeared in the sky. He felt that he could expect small favors under the circumstances, but his chief concern was for his crew. Poor fellows! Some had not even recovered from their sea-sickness. Now more than ever he longed for his missing regular commission. But one thing rejoiced him – war was now on between France and England. Stormont had packed up his belongings for the last time.
CHAPTER XVI
IMPRISONMENT
It would take another book to describe the immediate and subsequent adventures and misadventures of Captain Conyngham in prison, for the next few months of his life were passed in such close confinement that it seems almost incredible that any human being could have survived it. He kept a diary during this period that is merely a recital of his sufferings, and yet we can not pass them over in silence, but must outline what happened from the day of his capture to the day of his first attempted escape, an escape that led only to recapture and worse treatment, if possible, than before.
But we are anticipating. As soon as Captain Jordan learned who his prisoner was he was much elated, but Conyngham’s own journal gives an account of these trying days in the following picturesque language:
“On first going aboard the ship I was abused by a Mr. Cooper, who acted as first lieutenant and took my commission. He sent every one, without exception, to the hold. After some time a message came for ‘Captain Conyngham,’ and I was introduced in the gun-room to the purser of the ship, Mr. Thomas, surgeon of the ship, and Mr. Murray, master. After some little time Mr. Cooper, the lieutenant, makes his appearance. I find his behavior different from what I had reason to expect, and I am made to understand it is the captain’s orders to be treated well and granted the liberty of his quarter-deck. The officers and men still in the hold. Very disagreeable, so warm. The following day, Mr. Waln, my first lieutenant; Mr. Heyman, second lieutenant; Mr. Lewis, captain of marines; Mr. Downey, master, relieved from the hold and given liberty of the lower decks. Mr. Campbell, a prize-master, ordered into irons.
“Upon our arrival in New York, Mr. Waln was sent on board the flagship to see the Commodore, Sir George Collier. Mr. Waln told me on his return that he was solicited to enter on board the ship. What an honor, to walk his Majesty’s quarter-deck! Mr. Waln declared he would not, that he was a prisoner. The answer was made, ‘You shall go, then, to England with Mr. Conyngham,’ and he was dismissed. I soon learned by Mr. Cooper that my people were to be distributed among the men-of-war. Boats came alongside with officers for the prisoners. One officer in particular, by his appearance a lieutenant, an Irishman, addressed me in these words: ‘So, Mr. Conyngham, you have prospered long and in different stages?’ I answered him, ‘Not so many or so long.’ After some hesitation he walked off.
“The crew and officers were sent on board different men-of-war, as I understood, after many threatenings to get them to enter the English service. Most of them were sent on board the prison ship with the officers. After being in the East River, I was detained on board the Galatea myself, with one leg in irons. I petitioned Captain Read to alter my situation, asking if possible to be put along with other American prisoners. In a short time I was sent to the provost prison with officers and guard of marines. Upon application he conducted me to the condemned room, where was one person that was in on suspicion of being concerned in theft, another supposed to be a spy. It was a dismal prospect. At six in the evening the provost master, a Mr. Cunningham, came to see me. I begged to know the reason of such usage. He said his order was to put me in the strongest room, without the least morsel of bread from the jailer; water I had given to me. The Continental prisoners found a method through the keyhole of the door to convey me some necessaries of life, although a second door obstructed the getting in of very much.
“At the end of the week I was let out of this room and introduced into the Congress room by Mr. Cunningham. I was then given the liberty of the prison.
“On the 17th of June a deputy sergeant, a Mr. Gluby, desired I should get ready to go on board the prison ship. After some little time Mr. Lang came to the door, called to me, and I took my leave of my fellow prisoners. Went down stairs, and was conveyed to another private apartment. There a large heavy iron was brought with two large links, and ring welded on. I was linked to the jail door, and when released found it almost impossible to walk. Got into a cart that was provided for that purpose, and led to waterside by the hangman. Then I was taken in a boat alongside of the Commodore Sir George Collier, his ship being the Raisonable. There I was shown an order to take me on board the packet in irons, signed ‘Jones.’ Up to this time I was made to believe I was going on board the prison ship.”
So it was evident to Conyngham that the English were about to redeem, if possible, their threat of seeing him dance at the yard-arm, and that he was going to be taken to England for trial. On the 20th of June he sailed in the packet under the convoy of the Camilla, and, still in irons and in close confinement, he applied to the captain to have the links taken off his legs and arms. After some time this was done, and he was allowed a half an hour a day on deck to get the air.
On the 7th of July the packet arrived in Falmouth harbor and the prisoners were taken off in the press boats. A Captain Bult came on board and read an order from Sir George Collier, the purport of which was that Conyngham should be put in close confinement in Pendennis Castle until the wishes of the Lords of the Admiralty were known.
On his way to the castle he was gazed upon by the large crowds that had collected, as it had become noised about that “Conyngham the pirate” had been taken.
It was evident that the authorities wished to prove that Conyngham was still a subject of King George, for many times men were brought to see him in an attempt to identify him. On one occasion a woman was admitted to see him, so he records in his diary, who promised that he would be released if he acknowledged that he was her husband. Of course he indignantly repudiated such a trick, and discovered subsequently that her husband was a man who some years before had been accused of murder and had escaped out of the country.