The Untold War at Sea: America’s Revolutionary Privateers

THE UNTOLD WAR AT SEA

THE

UNTOLD

WAR AT SEA

America’s Revolutionary

Privateers

Kylie A. Hulbert

THE UNIVERSITY OF GEORGIA PRESS

ATHENS

© 2022 by the University of Georgia Press

Athens, Georgia 30602

www.ugapress.org

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Hulbert, Kylie A., 1984– author.

Title: The untold war at sea : America’s revolutionary privateers / Kylie A. Hulbert.

Other titles: America’s revolutionary privateers

Description: Athens : The University of Georgia Press, [2022] | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2021028331 | ISBN 9780820360706 (hardback) | ISBN 9780820360713 (paperback) | ISBN 9780820360720 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: United States—History—Revolution, 1775–1783—Naval operations. | Privateering—United States—History—18th century.

Classification: LCC E271 .H87 2022 | DDC 973.3/5—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021028331

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

CHAPTER 1. Hardy Sons of Mars

CHAPTER 2. A Privateering We Will Go

CHAPTER 3. When Cannon Balls Do Fly

CHAPTER 4. Make Your Fortunes Now, My Lads

CHAPTER 5. To Glory Let Us Run

Conclusion

List of Abbreviations

Notes

Bibliography

Index

Acknowledgments

The life of this historian is often filled with fleeting moments of the past, letters and log books, court records and the journals of the Continental Congress, and a plethora of other eighteenth-century sources. In the midst of these papers and pages, mentors, colleagues, friends, and family have bolstered and motivated me. This book would not be in your hands were it not for their unwavering support.

The seeds of this project were planted during my first year of graduate work at the University of Georgia. I benefited from exceptional scholars who championed this author and this project from the outset. My never-ending gratitude belongs to Peter C. Hoffer, who challenged me to hone my prose and my contribution to Revolutionary scholarship. Woody Holton granted me the opportunity to learn from the best as his graduate research assistant at the University of Richmond and he stayed on for the long haul. I appreciate his insights and support more than he knows. Benjamin Ehlers and Stephen Berry rounded out my dissertation committee as staunch advocates of the project who brought their own unique perspectives to the table. All of these powerhouse historians taught me the importance of the stories historians tell.

The top-rate team at the University of Georgia Press, spearheaded by Mick Gusinde-Duffy and my project editor, Jon Davies, made this a smooth and relatively seamless process, despite my novice status. My thanks to them all, as well as the readers who posed important questions and offered insightful and constructive criticisms, all of which made this a better and stronger book.

Research is vital for any historian and I was lucky to have support in conducting mine for this book. My thanks to the Willson Center for Humanities and Arts, the Graduate School at the University of Georgia for a Graduate Student Research Award, the Department of History at UGA, Greg and Amanda Gregory, and the College of Arts and Sciences at Texas A&M University–Kingsville. My thanks also to my exceptional fellow panelists and audience members at the Society for Military History and the Omo-hundro Institute’s Conferences, who allowed me to share my ongoing research and posited thought-provoking questions and observations.

The work of a historian is often solitary in nature, but that does not mean we are solitary creatures. The coterie of colleagues and friends I have gathered over the years is second to none. My thanks to them for their support, whether during long overdue phone calls, in exceedingly detailed e-mails, or on much needed walks. My special gratitude to Chris Phillips and Joseph Beilein, who answered the call when I needed aid in deciphering handwriting and found access to an integral source. I know if I am ever in need I can count on you all. If this book—and these words—make any sense, the man to thank is Greg Wu. Writing is a process and a craft, I always tell my students, and I began learning my craft in Mr. Wu’s ninth-grade English class.

While these privateers have taken me into the past, my family keeps me firmly rooted in the present. The Hulbert clan of Apopka, Florida, took me into their fold from day one, and I am forever grateful to be a part of their family. My sister, Lindsey, and her Kuczma clan are the life of the party. Our family vacations offer a much-needed respite from historical pursuits. My parents, Jack and Peggy Horney, are, simply put, the absolute best. Their love and support are beyond all measure. I thank them from the bottom of my heart for all they have done.

Over the course of this project, Matt Hulbert and I have created our own family. I may be biased, but in my view, it is perfect. Our three children—Eleanor, Grant, and Beatrice—bring sunshine, joy, and happiness into the world and into our lives. I love every moment I spend with them, and I love every moment I spend with Matt. I am incredibly lucky in this regard. Matt is a juggernaut: an award-winning historian, an amazing father, and an extraordinary husband. Words fail to express what he means to me. Suffice to say, his mark is on every page and on my heart. I could not have accomplished this endeavor without Matt, and I would not share life’s adventures with anyone else. This book is for him.

THE UNTOLD WAR AT SEA

A song of privateering ventures dedicated to all the jolly tars who are fighting for the rights and liberties of America. Manly. A favorite new song, in the American fleet. Salem: Printed by Ezekiel Russell, [1776]. Courtesy of Phillips Library, Peabody Essex Museum, Rowley, Mass.

Introduction

In the early months of 1779, Captain Hugh Hill and his crew aboard the American privateer Pilgrim sailed the waters of the Atlantic in search of prizes. The captain kept a keen eye out, scanning the horizon for an enemy vessel and a potentially big payoff. On February 13, a ship sailed into view. Hill and his men prepared for an engagement, sensing success might be within their grasp. The privateer attacked and seized the Nuestra Senora de Merced , commanded by Matthias Sagarra, en route from Spain to London, England. Hill was duly commissioned by the Continental Congress, and under this authority he ordered his prize sent into port at Beverly, Massachusetts. There, in the Maritime Court of the Middle District, the owners of the Pilgrim —Samuel Cabot of Beverly and Stephen Cleveland of Salem—brought suit. ¹

On behalf of Hill and his crew, Cabot and Cleveland claimed the Nuestra Senora de Merced was the property of and belonging to some of the Subjects of the King of Great Britain, not including Bermuda, Providence, or the Bahamas. Therefore, because the ship belonged to enemies of the United States in an open state of war, it was a lawful and legal prize. The libelants’ story asserted Sagarra refused to allow the Americans to search his ship, and he quickly threw important papers overboard. Using false papers and false pretences, Cabot and Cleveland argued Sagarra had attempted to deceive Hill by claiming the Nuestra Senora de Merced was the property of Spanish subjects. Their privateer had successfully taken a vessel, and they aimed to profit from its seizure.²

A few months later, in March 1779, the court heard Matthias Sagarra’s version of events. He iterated his argument that the vessel and its cargo were not in service of Great Britain. The captain himself averred he had cargo in the hold, in addition to monies received from an exchange of goods at Cadiz. Sagarra charged Hill and his crew with an illegal and groundless capture. The owners of the Nuestra Senora de Merced had suffered great damage, and due to their unsavory actions, Hill and his privateer crew had kept Sagarra from completing his voyage from Cadiz to London. Sagarra sought nothing less than the complete restoration of the vessel and its cargo.³

The jury impaneled for this case heard testimony from both sides and examined the evidence presented. On Friday, July 9, 1779, at nine o’clock in the morning, the jury returned with its verdict. The group of twelve men determined the ship and its appurtenances, along with certain pieces of cargo, did belong to subjects of the king of Spain and ordered their return, but the remainder of the cargo not included for the claimants was indeed legal and lawful prize due to Cabot, Cleveland, Hill, and his mariners.⁴

The Massachusetts court’s verdict did not satisfy either party, and both appealed the case to the Continental Congress. On November 6, 1779, nearly nine months after the Pilgrim had captured the Nuestra Senora de Merced, the Court of Appeals handed down its decision. The commissioners outlined specific pieces of cargo deemed lawful prize as they appeared to belong to British subjects, including one half pipe of wine and nineteen barrels of cochineal (insects used to make a natural dye), all of which amounted to a reduced prize compared with the original verdict handed down by the Massachusetts court. The court ordered the vessel and the rest of the cargo returned to Sagarra for his use. To make matters worse for Cabot, Cleveland, and Hill, the court instructed them to pay Sagarra $1,056 to cover his court costs. The Pilgrim succeeded in taking a prize, but the fruits of the venture were not what they had once seemed.⁵

The story of Hugh Hill, the Pilgrim, Matthias Sagarra, and the Nuestra Senora de Merced opens a window on the significant role privateers played during the American Revolution. Sailing in the waters of the Atlantic and the Caribbean, privateers effectively harassed and damaged enemy commerce, though they did not always practice their craft in an honorable way. Almost any vessel navigating open waters was fair game, especially if the ship carried valuable cargo. Considering the long-standing tradition of privateering, the colonists’ decision to take to the waves in 1775 was not surprising. Indeed, to merchants, sailors, investors, and outfitters, privateering was a logical part of wartime operations. At a moment when the British Royal Navy dominated the seas and the Continental navy was barely out of port, American privateers took on risk and adventure in hopes of securing victory over their enemies and bringing home valuable prizes. Their actions clearly made an impact on American war efforts, and their stories were hailed in the early years of the conflict when American victories were few and far between. Nevertheless, these seafarers’ story remains largely untold, eclipsed by the Continental army and navy, militias and minutemen, Founding Fathers and mythical heroes of the Revolution, until now.

The American Revolution was a crucial moment in the history of privateering. Yet both historians and popular authors alike have tended to focus on the role of the young Continental navy, led by the likes of Esek Hopkins and John Paul Jones. Indeed, very little appears in print, academic or mainstream, regarding the operations of ocean-faring former colonists who took to the high seas to protect their economic and political interests, to harass the British, to make a profit, and to influence the outcome of the war. The Untold War at Sea addresses this gap by reexamining the American Revolution in an Atlantic World perspective through the lens of privateering.⁶

The majority of existing literature on privateers focuses either on the elite men who supported the practice or on the effects of privateering itself. One of the earliest full-on studies of American privateering, Edgar Stanton Maclay’s A History of American Privateers, published in 1899, concentrates on the role of these raiders in both the American Revolution and the War of 1812. Though Maclay relates a number of interesting stories about numerous privateer vessels, his work suffers from a lack of citations and an inherent bias toward the commendable . . . conduct of American privateers who supposedly showed themselves to be not only daring, but gentlemanly. Written more than fifty years later, William Bell Clark’s Ben Franklin’s Privateers: A Naval Epic of the American Revolution examines Franklin’s efforts on behalf of American prisoners. Franklin’s main purpose in outfitting privateers, Clark maintains, was to seize as many British captives as possible and use them in deals of exchange. Writing several decades after Clark, Robert H. Patton, in Patriot Pirates, tells the story of privateers by emphasizing the main players of the Revolution such as Silas Deane, George Washington, and Benjamin Franklin; in the process, Patton ironically does very little in the way of investigating the lives of actual privateers. As such, no true social history of these Americans exists.⁷

While merchants-turned-privateers did indeed play a significant role in the war, their impact goes beyond the numbers and effects of their ventures. Their lives and experiences took them to ports both domestic and abroad; they sailed on the high seas of the Atlantic and beyond. The Revolution of privateers was not the Revolution touted so often in history textbooks. Their Revolutionary experience included a far greater geographical scope than any Continental soldier or militia combatant, from the backwoods of South Carolina to the streets of New York or Boston, could even imagine. By incorporating the story of privateers into the greater Revolutionary narrative, the fabric of the war becomes richer. Privateers add a layer of complexity, highlighting patriotic fervor and self-interest. While they derived their authority and right to take prizes from commissions granted by the Continental Congress, as the saga of Hugh Hill and the Pilgrim illustrates above, their decisions and actions were not always guided by the principles outlined therein. Hill, and other commanders like him, made choices for the benefit of themselves and their crews—choices that did not always align with the goals of the cause at large.

While Continental soldiers were considered part and parcel of the emerging nation, privateers occupied a category that was similar to, yet completely separate from, their other martial counterparts. They sailed under the American flag and claimed to support American initiatives and goals, but their actions did not always match their avowed promises. As noted, privateers drew their authority from commissions granted either by Congress or state governments, but their loyalty and interests did not always coincide with those powers. Indeed, those bodies did not always protect or promote the privateers they commissioned. If a privateer venture went south, the Continental Congress oftentimes washed their hands of the issue or claimed the privateer had operated outside the given directive.

In the immediate present, the state did not have many options. Without a strong navy, leaders of the Revolution grappled with the question of how to engage the British navy—the greatest sea power in the world. Privateers presented a solution, one that cost the Continental Congress very little in terms of expenses but could yield great returns for the cause. However, by relying on private maritime citizens—that is, those who officially outfitted, fiscally supported, organized, or engaged in privateering ventures under their own volition—the state, despite its best efforts, could not always control the exploits of those privateers. Thus when the time came to form a respectable, recognized nation, the Congress faced the issue of what to do with those sailors, captains, and merchants who had accomplished a great deal for the Revolution, but who did not fit neatly within the positive, triumphant narrative the Founding Fathers were eager to propagate.

Following the war, the rebellion had to become a distinguished Revolution. The creation of this new United States required a founding mythology that relied on heroic figures such as George Washington, Nathanael Greene, and John Paul Jones. Unlike Continental troops and sailors, privateers were often operating outside the purview of what we now consider the mainstream war. Privateers who inhabited a grey area during the war could not remain. Because their actions and experiences were unfamiliar and unique unto themselves—exploits in the far reaches of the Atlantic, engagements away from the main armies, a complicated court process to receive prize money and recognition—they were erased from public memory without much resistance in the postwar period. Merchants-turned-privateers returned to their prewar practices. No battlegrounds remained, and no memorials stood to remind the public of their efforts and sacrifices. These combatants having fulfilled their purpose during the war, the state needed them to disappear in its aftermath. And they remained forgotten until the next war, when the state called on private maritime citizens to take up arms once more. Yet the War of 1812 was different in that the nation was already established, so privateers could remain as part of that war’s history. Eventually, though, the practice itself became obsolete and was ultimately outlawed.

One historian has suggested that sailors were actually a transnational group who helped to form the early United States during the age of Revolutions. Another has contended that these seafarers were some of the first to grapple with ideas of American citizenship. Privateers were part of that process. Whether exploring foreign ports or caught up in legal cases abroad, these men had to justify their actions while representing an unseasoned new nation that did not always even recognize them as official representatives of their cause. Brian Rouleau’s study examines the role mariners played in creating a global empire that began with America’s struggle for independence. The history of privateers is militaristic indeed, but they were also among the first Americans to truly engage with foreign nations politically, economically, and socially. Thus, their history is an integral part of maritime culture at large, particularly if one accepts a recent definition of maritime as not only the water, but that which border[s] or touche[s] the sea . . . continuity between land and ocean. Privateers bridged those worlds as their experiences took them across the Atlantic and back home again to Admiralty Courts on land run by men who did not always understand the ways of the water.⁸

From the beginning of the wars for empire, the Atlantic and the Caribbean in time of conflict were the hunting grounds of privateers. In societies where commerce depended on the sea-lanes of trade, pirates and privateers were often found preying on enemy merchant vessels. At a time when large navies did not patrol nations’ waterways or the waters of their colonies, sovereigns sanctioned, and sometimes helped finance, private armed vessels for war in an effort to disrupt the trade of their foes. For England, pirates and privateers sailed the waters of the English Channel into the Atlantic Ocean beyond. Though, as one historian notes, the term privateer was not widely used until the seventeenth century, the practice of privateering as it is known today rose to prominence in England during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I (1533–1603).⁹

At various times, Elizabeth publicly and privately commissioned men such as Sir Francis Drake, Sir Walter Raleigh, and Sir John Hawkins to aid in the war against Spain after 1585. Elizabeth was a shrewd monarch with tight purse strings. Lacking sufficient funds to wage an all-out offensive war, the queen was often on the defensive. Frequently, she was forced to rely on her subjects for aid, and they responded by organizing hundreds of private cruises. English merchants viewed private ventures as an opportunity not only to make a profit, but also to take an offensive stance against England’s enemies. The Royal Navy participated in engagements, to be certain, but as Kenneth R. Andrews notes, Privateers far outnumbered the queen’s ships throughout the war against Spain. These privately outfitted vessels played a significant role in the conflict and took part in joint efforts on occasion with Her Majesty’s fleet. Yet many of the queen’s newly christened privateers were former pirates. This grey area created a problematic distinction between the two or, rather, a problematic lack of distinction. To this day, pirates and privateers are often conflated.¹⁰

Historians define privateers as state- or government-sanctioned merchants specifically outfitted to engage and attack enemy shipping. Pirates, on the other hand, were illegal sea raiders operating outside of any government, men motivated purely by self-interest and profit. Privateers were supposed to be patriotic and loyal to their commissioner, while pirates were beholden to no one but themselves. Privateers had to bring their prize into port and present their case to an Admiralty Court; pirates took what they pleased. Privateers were often converted merchants who operated only in times of war and necessity; piracy was a way of life during war and peace. At least, these are the hard-and-fast definitions as they exist in theory. In practice, the difference between these groups was frequently more complex.¹¹

English privateers, and by extension North American colonial privateers, honed their trade in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries during numerous European wars. The Anglo-Dutch Wars (1652–1654, 1665–1667, 1672–1674), the Nine Years’ War (1688–1697) and the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–1713)—known as Queen Anne’s War in the North American colonies—witnessed privateers taking to the seas in great numbers. Captains from Massachusetts and Rhode Island received letters of marque and commissions to sail against the Dutch during the on-again-off-again wars. Samuel Moseley of Dorchester, for example, sailed the ship Salisbury along the New England coast in 1674 as a deterrent against Dutch privateers and craft intent on attacking Nantucket. In 1675, a joint venture between a colonial privateer and a French vessel resulted in the capture of several Dutch privateersmen who were forced to surrender and taken to Boston as lawful prizes.¹²

During the Nine Years’ War—also referred to as King William’s War—privateering continued apace in the British North American colonies. The lieutenant governor of Bermuda outfitted and commissioned a vessel to seize pirates or sea rovers during the conflict in 1689. Two years later, the governor of the island granted commissions to two privateers who ranged far along the coast of the colonies, all the way to the waters off New England, where they captured the Three Brothers, a vessel from Cadiz carrying prohibited goods. Rhode Islanders continued their privateering tradition after a fleet of French privateers attacked Block Island in July 1690, and in New York, Lieutenant Governor Jacob Leisler began commissioning privateer vessels in May 1690. Captain William Mason returned to the city by September of that same year with six prizes in tow.¹³

Captain Peter Lawrence, a veteran of King William’s War in Rhode Island, seized the opportunity to continue his privateering ventures during Queen Anne’s War and outfitted a vessel in Massachusetts in 1702. Thomas Larrimore, who likewise had served on several privateer vessels during the previous conflict, took up the position of privateer captain in July 1702 and capitalized on the circumstances of war by taking his first prize less than two months later. Throughout these European conflicts of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, British colonists employed privateers to engage, deter, and defeat the enemy. While merchants found their trade interrupted and sometimes cut off by rival vessels and fleets, these businessmen recognized the potential profits of privateering and took to the high seas.¹⁴

Anglo-American colonists gained still more privateering experience during the War of Jenkins’ Ear (1739–1748) and King George’s War (1744–1748). During these conflicts, North American colonial cities outfitted and sent their greatest number of ships to sea up to that point. Following King George’s June 1738 authorization for letters of marque, John Jones of Boston received a commission for his vessel Young Eagle, commanded by Captain Philip Dumaresq, in the summer of 1739. The commission was granted by the colony of Massachusetts, from whence the ship sailed along the coast of Spain and among the Canary Islands. Great Britain, Spain, and France all encouraged the outfitting of privateers, which were a major component of their wartime efforts; Anglo-American ships numbered in the thousands during these wars alone. Rhode Island privateers the Castor and the Pollux cruised in tandem beginning in the summer of 1742 and took three Spanish vessels within the year. Overall, the colonies sent more than three hundred privateer vessels to sea, including the brigantine Ranger out of Boston, which engaged with a French privateer off Cape Breton in 1744.¹⁵

By the outbreak of the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763), British North American colonists were more than well equipped to aid in efforts at sea against France. Building upon their experiences in previous European-colonial conflicts, Anglo-American privateers took up the call to arms and operated alongside the Royal Navy. In Rhode Island alone, 20 percent of the male population climbed aboard privately armed vessels. British men-of-war stationed in the colony of New York lost numerous sailors to privateers anchored in the harbor. Men serving on board said vessels dodged press-gangs and sought greater returns. In 1756, the official declaration of war against France caused celebrations in the city, where privateering reached a fever pitch. New York sent out 26 privateers in the course of that year, bearing 350 guns and 2,700 men. Overall, the port received 381 captured enemy vessels by war’s end, more than any other British American port.¹⁶

Thus, as the opening salvos of the American Revolution sounded, privateering was almost second nature to merchants and seafarers of North American coastal towns. The process of outfitting and manning privateers began early in the conflict—this was a colonial military tradition, a logical extension of what colonists had learned and accomplished in the previous wars of the eighteenth century. They understood the nature of the privateering business and the legal system necessary to condemn prizes. By the time of the American Revolution, these colonists were prepared to face the British Royal Navy by utilizing the skills they had acquired during earlier wars. American privateers turned the tables on their British enemies.

Privateers aided in the American war effort in numerous ways, from capturing prizes with essential supplies to harassing British merchants’ ships so effectively that a number of these businessmen actually began calling for an end to the war from their offices in England. Many of those who participated in privateering made personal choices and sacrifices, whether for the cause, for opportunity, or for the profit they hoped to secure. Regardless of their motives, American privateers were crucial to the Patriots’ success during the Revolution. These mariners operated in a world driven by position and profit—a world where a man’s status derived in part from his social standing; a world run by men, for men; a world where the outcome of war would determine what sort of men would rule North America. This was a world where pride, honor, and tradition played crucial roles. Privateers chose not to serve in the traditional sense; rather, they engaged with the enemy in ways characterized as unbecoming of a gentleman. Oftentimes, they were labeled as pirates.

Due to their sometimes less-than-savory methods, privateers were often overlooked upon their return home. Engaged in legal proceedings over prizes and prize money, their experiences in the postwar United States were vastly removed from that of their Continental navy counterparts. Privateers were perceived as greedy or unpatriotic in their efforts to recover money owed or accolades due. Only when privateers’ activities served a specific wartime purpose—for example, as supporters of the small naval force during the War of 1812 or as substitutes for the Confederacy’s lack of a traditional navy during the American Civil War—were memories of these men and their patriotic endeavors resurrected, only to be forgotten moments later when their martial stock waned.

Privateers were clearly an important component of the American war effort, especially during the early years of the Revolution. While the Continental Congress struggled to construct a navy, privateers provided a quick fix to the question of the war at sea. Following the British blockade in 1775 and prior to the signing of the Declaration of Independence, privateers brought the battle to Britain’s doorstep. The precise number of vessels engaged from 1776 to 1783 is difficult to pinpoint with complete accuracy. That said, estimates range from 1,151 to 1,697 to over 2,000. The number of sailings was most certainly in the thousands, with the year 1781 possibly having seen the highest number of commissioned vessels at 550. Approximately 52,000 sailors embarked on privateer ventures during the war, and their efforts resulted in the capture of at least 600 British vessels. Though an element of risk was involved in outfitting a privateer, the potential for return of profit was great indeed, with the average prize valued at $45,699. Privateers of the War for Independence plied their trade in an attempt to aid the war effort and bring much-needed supplies and goods to the colonists.¹⁷

In addition to these patriotic aims, American privateers were highly motivated by another important factor: profit. The Continental Congress issued commissions authorizing these private enterprises, but nothing was owed to that governing body upon privateers’ return to port. While patriotism and pride supposedly inspired troops