BARRY AND BARNEY.
During the time that Wickes and Conyngham and Paul Jones were carrying
on the war with such success in the enemy's waters under the guidance of
Franklin, the Continental Navy was cruising on the American coast as
actively as was possible, in the neighborhood of the great English
fleets. But it was a work of the utmost danger and difficulty. Several
of the ports at one time or another were in the enemy's hands, and in
all of them the Tories, or Loyalists, as they called themselves, were
ready to give information whenever a vessel was fitted out for sea.
Outside the ports, and up and down the coast, from Halifax to Florida,
were innumerable cruisers of the enemy, sailing alone or in light
squadrons, ever on the watch, and ready to capture the insurgent ships,
which almost always were of lesser force. Of the thirteen frigates that
were built by Congress in 1775, five never got to sea at all, and
several of the others, like Biddle's ship, the "Randolph," were captured
or destroyed before they had had time to do much service. The first one
taken was the "Hancock," under Captain Manley, the same who, by his
capture of the brig "Nancy," had so rejoiced the army before Boston. He
was cruising toward the Banks, and had made one good prize, the armed
ship "Fox," when, rashly looking into Halifax, he was chased out and
captured by Sir George Collier in the "Rainbow" frigate. This was in
1777. The next year was full of disasters. First came the blowing up of
the "Randolph" in March, the story of which has been already told. In
April, the "Virginia," which had been built at Baltimore, was taken
while aground on her first passage down the Chesapeake. In August, too,
the "Raleigh" had to yield, but only after a hard-fought battle, of
which we shall hear more presently. In the next year the "Warren," under
Commodore Saltonstall, sailing on an expedition against the British post
on the Penobscot, fell in with a large squadron of the enemy and was
burned to prevent capture. The "Providence" and "Boston" were taken a
year later, at the surrender of Charleston; but, like the "Warren," they
had done good service and taken many prizes before they fell into the
hands of the enemy. The last of all the thirteen frigates was the
"Trumbull," and she held on till 1781, when she was overpowered by a
squadron and struck after a desperate resistance.
One of the Philadelphia frigates which never got to sea was the
"Effingham." Near the latter part of 1776 she was assigned to the
command of John Barry, a Philadelphia sea-captain of Irish birth, who
was much trusted and respected by the great merchants of his adopted
city, and who had entered the navy at the beginning of the war. Under
such difficulties did the Colonies labor in the preparation of their
ships-of-war, that the "Effingham" was at this time far from being in a
condition to proceed to sea, and while waiting for her during the
winter, Barry saw some service with the army as a volunteer. The spring
and summer passed away, and still his ship was not ready. At last, in
September, Sir William Howe suddenly appeared in the Chesapeake, and
after landing and fighting the battle of the Brandywine, he marched
across the country to the Delaware, and took possession of Philadelphia.
The "Effingham" and the other ships which had been lying there were
hurried away to places of safety either up or down the river. The
British threw up works to command the river, and the frigate "Delaware,"
attacking them, ran aground and was lost. The Continental troops in the
river forts--Fort Mercer and Fort Mifflin--were vigorously assailed by
the British and the Hessians; and though the invaders were repulsed with
heavy loss, the forts were finally evacuated. The ships below the
town--among them Biddle's famous little brig the "Andrew Doria"--were
then destroyed, and the passage was opened to the enemy from
Philadelphia to the sea.
The "Effingham" and "Washington"--the two unfinished frigates--had been
carried up the stream, where they remained, as it would seem, secure
from all attack. Barry grew impatient in his enforced idleness, and
conceived a plan to use the frigates' boats for a cutting-out expedition
down the river, where the enemy's freight-ships and transports, loaded
with supplies and stores, were constantly passing and repassing on their
way to and from the sea. Selecting thirty men on whom he could rely, he
rowed down the stream, and evading all the lookouts, made his way
successfully past the town. Pausing now cautiously to reconnoitre, he
presently discovered four store-ships which had anchored in the river
before discharging their cargo. Stealthily he crept up to the nearest
of them, boarded her with his men, overcame the watch, and in a few
seconds had taken possession of her. The same course was pursued with
the other three. Barry was strongly tempted to try to carry off his
prizes; but by this time the alarm had been given and signals were
displayed, and before long the enemy's patrol boats would approach.
There was nothing left but to destroy the vessels; and Barry, taking
only time enough to see that the work had been well done, made for the
opposite shore, and after landing his men safely, returned without loss
to the frigate.
The boldness with which Barry had performed this dashing exploit won for
him a reputation with both friends and foes. The story goes that Howe,
struck by the captain's daring, made overtures to him to join the
British service, and even went so far as to promise him a reward of
£15,000 if he would betray his trust. "Not the value or command of the
whole British Navy," was Barry's prompt answer, "would seduce me from
the cause of my country!"
The French alliance, and the change it wrought upon the face of the war,
led the British to determine upon the evacuation of Philadelphia, which
came about accordingly in the following summer. But before going away
they struck one blow from which the Continental Navy could not easily
recover. Major Maitland, with a force of gunboats and barges,
accompanied by a detachment of infantry and artillery, made a raid up
the river and sought out all the vessels which had been lying snugly
concealed there during the winter. They had no batteries, and were in no
way capable of offering resistance; and all, including the "Effingham"
and "Washington," were burned. A month later the British abandoned
Philadelphia.
Barry was now appointed to the "Raleigh," one of the best of the
thirteen frigates, which had already been at sea under another captain.
At this time she was lying at Boston, and on the 25th of September,
1778, Barry weighed anchor and sailed down the harbor, bound on a cruise
to the eastward. She had been only six hours out of port, when two large
ships were seen approaching her from a distance. These proved to be a
British frigate, the "Experiment," of fifty guns, and the sloop
"Unicorn." The "Experiment" alone was nearly double the "Raleigh's"
size, and Barry used his best endeavors to escape from them. But they
had seen him, and crowded sail in chase. Night fell, and concealed both
pursuers and pursued. The next day was hazy; but at noon the fog lifted
and showed the enemy still far away, but doing all he could to lessen
the distance. So the chase continued for the rest of the day and the
whole of the night, and the next day too, the enemy occasionally lost to
view, and so raising the hopes of Barry and his crew, but each time
reappearing, and still in hot pursuit. On the morning of the third day
the wind freshened, and the "Raleigh," which now was off the coast of
Maine, gradually increased her speed and seemed about to cast off her
pursuers; but in the afternoon the breeze again fell light, giving them
once more the advantage, until at five o'clock the larger ship, the
"Experiment," had barely managed to come up, and opened fire.
The chances of escape now seemed slight indeed; but Barry was not a man
to let himself be taken without a struggle, even by an enemy that was
twice his size, and boldly joining battle, he began a contest which was
to last for seven long hours, and in which the steadfast courage and
unyielding purpose of the commander would have done credit to Paul Jones
himself. At the second fire of the enemy the "Raleigh's" fore-topmast
toppled over and fell. Nevertheless, she kept up a furious cannonade at
close quarters, pouring in broadside after broadside at her big
antagonist. The latter now found herself badly injured, and moved to a
point some distance off, keeping up her fire at long range. Never
allowing himself to be discouraged for a moment, although he had little
reason to hope, Barry took advantage of this breathing-space to repair
his damages. Then he followed the enemy and attempted to close with her
and carry her by boarding. It was a desperate measure, but it seemed to
be the only chance; for the "Unicorn" had now come up, and Barry found
himself between two fires. The "Experiment," however, discovered his
purpose and avoided him successfully. It had now grown very dark, and as
a last resort Barry sought to get away and elude his opponents among the
islands which at this point are thickly dotted along the shores of
Maine; but they hung to him closely, and as a crowning misfortune his
vessel ran aground. The struggle was now hopeless, and it would have
been madness to hold out any longer. Abandoning his ship, Barry made for
the land. This, with great difficulty, he at length reached, and so
succeeded in escaping with some part of his crew; but the frigate which
he had so gallantly defended fell into the hands of the enemy.
Thus ended the cruise of the "Raleigh,"--a cruise which had lasted only
three days, but of which every moment had been filled with intense
excitement, alternating between faint hope and blank despair, ending in
failure, but which gave to her captain a name and fame that lasted long
after the close of the Revolution. No man of his day in the navy was
more honored by his equals and more beloved and reverenced by those
below him in rank. His sailors adored him; there was nothing they were
not ready to do for him. He was always frank and generous to his friends
and humane to his enemies. On board his ship he exacted full obedience,
and he got it, both from officers and men, but always by gentle means.
With a fine and noble presence, and a face that bespoke a true heart and
ready hand guided by a strong purpose and a lofty courage, there was
none in all the navy more regarded and esteemed than John Barry.
After the cruise of the "Raleigh," Barry served for a time in
privateers. Like Paul Jones, he should have had a good ship, but there
was none to give him. Finally in 1780, after Landais came back disgraced
from Europe, Barry was ordered to take command of the "Alliance," and in
the following winter he sailed for France, taking with him as a
passenger Henry Laurens, who went out as the new Minister to France. In
May, 1781, he left Lorient on his return; and on the 28th, being then
near the Banks of Newfoundland, in the evening he discovered in his
neighborhood two sail of the enemy,--the ship "Atalanta," of twenty
guns, and the brig "Trepassey," of fourteen. Barry waited for daylight
to attack them; but the next morning the wind fell, and not a ripple
broke the shining surface of the water; while the "Alliance," with her
tall and graceful spars, and her sails hanging loose in the dead calm,
slowly rose and fell with the broad swell of the Atlantic. There she lay
like a huge log, unable to move a yard this way or that. Her very size
was a misfortune now, for her two antagonists, smaller and more handy,
could manoeuvre as they pleased, with their long sweeps; and moving up
they took positions on her quarter, and opened on her with their guns.
The "Alliance" could not reply with a single cannon, her heavy battery
was useless, and the "Atalanta" and her consort kept up a steady fire
for the whole morning and well into the afternoon. It was a galling
thing for Barry to be placed thus at the mercy of a lesser force, to see
his men shot down around him, and to be powerless himself to fire a shot
in their defence.
At two o'clock Barry, who had all this time been waiting with impatience
on the quarter-deck for the unwilling breeze, received a wound in the
shoulder from a grape-shot. Stung as he was by the sharp pain, he
refused to leave the deck; but at length, fainting from loss of blood,
he was carried below to the cockpit, where the surgeon set about
dressing his wound. Presently the first lieutenant came down to report
the condition of the ship, upon whose deck many of the crew were lying
killed or wounded, and ending his report, asked if he should strike the
flag. Barry indignantly refused. "If the ship," said he, "cannot be
fought without me, they shall carry me again on deck."
This answer revived the drooping spirits of the crew and gave fresh
vigor to their efforts. Soon after this a little wind sprang up. It
barely gave the frigate way to bring her guns to bear upon the enemy;
but it was enough, and only a few broadsides from her 18-pounders were
needed to settle the result. The captain of the "Trepassey" fell, and
his ship immediately surrendered. His comrade Edwards, who commanded
the "Atalanta," refused at first to yield, but a few more broadsides
cut his vessel well-nigh to pieces, and at three o'clock his flag too
was hauled down. As the brave Edwards came on board the "Alliance" to
give up his sword, Barry, forgetting his wound and the anxious hours
that his opponent had made him pass, generously gave it back to him,
saying as he did so, "Keep it, my friend. You richly deserve it; and
your king ought to give you a better ship."
The "Alliance" during the next year was still cruising under Barry's
command. But the war, though in name it still continued, was almost at
an end. It was now certain that the king would do the thing he most
abhorred, which was to recognize the independence of America,--and
hostilities on land had really ceased. The seas still swarmed with
British cruisers, but none of them were able to capture the "Alliance,"
and she was brought safely home. After the treaty was concluded, the
Government, no longer needing her, sold her to Philadelphia merchants,
and she became a peaceful trading-vessel.
* * * * *
There was one officer among the younger men of the navy who resembled
Barry no less in bravery and seamanlike skill than in the winning
frankness and generosity of his nature. This was Joshua Barney. Three
years before the war broke out he had gone to sea on his first voyage,
and had risen in two years to be the second mate of his vessel. Early in
1775, not dreaming of the hostilities that were shortly to occur; he
had set out from Baltimore on a voyage to the Mediterranean. The captain
died at sea, the chief mate had been left behind, and Barney found
himself, when only sixteen years of age, in the command of a leaky ship,
with a long voyage before him, and all the responsibility resting on his
shoulders. It was a hard trial for him; but he had gained the good-will
of his crew, and to a man they obeyed and supported him. Just before
sighting the coast of Spain he fell in with a gale of wind; and he only
managed to get into Gibraltar as his ship was on the point of going
down. Here he obtained assistance and repairs by giving bonds,--for he
had no money,--and he was thus enabled to deliver his cargo at Nice,
which was the port of destination. The firm to which the cargo was
consigned refused to pay the bonds, although there could be no doubt
that it was their duty. "Well, then," said Barney, "you shall not have
your cargo."
The merchants were astounded at the attempt of this boy of sixteen to
make resistance, and upon their presenting a complaint to the governor,
the latter threw Barney into prison. Making his escape by a stratagem,
young Barney went at once to Milan and laid his case before the British
minister, with such effect that in three days he had returned to Nice,
the governor had apologized, his bond had been paid, and his ship
discharged.
After a short stay Barney set out on his voyage home. As he was coming
up the Chesapeake, he learned for the first time, from an English
sloop-of-war that boarded him, of the stirring events that had
occurred,--that battles had been fought at Lexington and Bunker Hill,
and that Washington was besieging Boston, and the war for independence
was begun. As soon as he landed, he made the offer of his services to
the Government.
At first Barney served as a volunteer in small vessels; but he soon
became a lieutenant, and he was ordered late in the summer of 1776 to
the "Andrew Doria," now under the command of Captain Robinson. In this
ship he made a cruise to the West Indies. While here, the "Doria" put in
at the Dutch island of St. Eustatius to get some ammunition that was
stored there for the Continental Congress, and upon arrival she fired a
salute to the governor's flag. The governor, without much thought
perhaps, returned the salute. This was the first time that the flag of
the new American State had been recognized by any foreign power, and the
Americans were much rejoiced that it should come about. But the British,
who still felt that the Colonies were a part of Britain, and who knew
that Holland was bound so to regard them, were incensed at the
governor's act, and demanded his recall. The Dutchmen, who did not dare
refuse, ordered him home; and the poor governor lost his post in
consequence of his unthinking courtesy.
Soon after this the "Doria," now on her way home, met an enemy's
sloop-of-war, the "Racehorse," which had been sent by Admiral Parker to
lie in wait for her off Porto Rico. But the admiral did not count upon
the bravery of the Americans, or he would have sent a larger ship; for
the "Racehorse," after a hot engagement for two hours, was herself
forced to surrender.
A few days later the "Doria" captured an English snow,--an armed
merchant-vessel of peculiar rig,--and Barney was detached to take her
home. As had happened before with the "Doria's" prizes when Biddle was
in command, the brig's crew was too small to man them, and Barney made
up the needed number from the prisoners. On the way north he had heavy
weather, for it was now December,--a month in which no seaman likes to
pass Cape Hatteras,--and day after day the vessel encountered a
succession of furious gales and heavy seas. Keeping well out to the
eastward until he had fetched a point from which he could reach the
Chesapeake, Barney now headed for the land, and at last found himself,
on Christmas night, in a driving easterly storm, close on the breakers
of the Jersey coast. To keep his vessel away from the lee shore and its
certain perils, the young prize-master, as his only course, resolved to
ride out the gale and let go his only anchor. So the night fell upon him
and his men,--a fearful night, what with the roaring tempest, and the
sea rolling mountains high, while every wave broke over the bows of the
ship. It seemed each instant, from the violence of the sea, that the
small cable must part, and with it she would lose her only hope. The
men, yielding themselves to blank despair, were sinking into lethargy.
It was then that Barney, though he had little cause to hope himself,
talked to them with cheering words, trying to rouse them from their
stupor. He called to mind the battles they had fought, and how they had
been ready to stand up bravely before the enemy and face death in
another form.
"I am not much of a chaplain, my good lads," he said, "but this I know,
that the same Power that protected you then can protect you now; and if
we are all to go to Davy Jones's locker, we might as well go with a bold
face as a sheepish one."
Barney's good example shamed the men to greater courage; but the night
wore on and the day broke, and still the fury of the storm kept up. The
crew were in the tops, and Barney with them. Soon a cry was heard of
"Sail ho!" and every eye was turned toward a small sloop, which appeared
in sight driven before the gale, yet trying to make an offing. Anxiously
the men watched the frail boat, one moment rising on the wave till they
could see her keel, and the next plunging down till she was lost to
view. Each time it seemed as if she could not rise again; but each time
she shot up on the foaming crest, seemingly steadying herself an instant
before the next downward plunge. Suddenly there was heard a long, shrill
shriek of terror piercing through the din and crash of breakers, and the
sloop was swallowed up in the seething waters.
After this sight no words of Barney's could rouse his men from their
terrors. But fortunately toward the middle of the afternoon the wind
abated and the sea gradually went down. Barney lost no time in getting
his crew down from aloft as soon as it was safe, and they were only too
glad to come.
"Up with the anchor! Man the capstan! Cheerily, my lads!" rang out from
Barney; and the men went to their duties with a will, and getting
underway, headed for the harbor of Chincoteague, near by, where they
found a temporary shelter.
After resting here for a few days Barney started for the Chesapeake. On
the second day out he was discovered by the "Perseus," one of the
enemy's blockading vessels, which immediately started in pursuit. Barney
would have got off, as he had the faster ship; but the prisoners in his
crew, who had been planning mutiny, and were only waiting till they
sighted an English ship-of-war, refused to go to their stations. Barney
singled out the ringleader and ordered him to his duty, and as the
man did not stir he shot him then and there, though without giving him a
mortal wound. This put an end to the mutiny; but through the delay the
"Perseus" had been enabled to overtake the prize-vessel, and so she was
recaptured. The wounded mutineer told his story to Captain Elphinstone,
the commander of the "Perseus," thinking that he would at once have
Barney put in irons; but the captain set his complaint at nought, and
said that if he had been in Barney's place he would have done the same.
[Illustration: "THE SLOOP WAS SWALLOWED UP IN THE SEETHING WATERS."]
Barney remained a month on board the "Perseus." Her captain,
Elphinstone, who afterward became the famous Admiral Lord Keith, was a
generous enemy, and treated his prisoners as became an honorable and
gallant officer. Upon one occasion the purser, a hot-tempered Scotchman,
struck Barney in the face, on the quarter-deck, whereupon the young
lieutenant knocked him down. The captain, when he heard of it, sent word
to them both to come to his cabin, and without asking any questions he
commanded the purser to make apology on his knees to the unarmed
prisoner whom he had affronted. So Barney fared well in the "Perseus;"
but he was not sorry, soon afterward, at Charleston, to leave her on
parole and go to Philadelphia, to which place his old ship the "Andrew
Doria" had meanwhile come without mishap.
For some months Barney could not join his ship, being bound by his
parole, but at last an accident relieved him of it. It happened that
Lieutenant Moriarty, of the English frigate "Solebay," with a
boat's-crew, had incautiously gone ashore for water somewhere in the
Chesapeake, and had been seized and taken prisoner by a party of
Virginians. Captain Elphinstone now made an agreement with Gov. Patrick
Henry, of Virginia, to exchange the two lieutenants; and so Barney was
released from his parole in time to bear his part in the actions in the
Delaware River during the weeks that followed Sir William Howe's
occupation of the city. How the "Doria" and the other vessels were
destroyed after the surrender of the forts has been already told; and
Barney, being now without a ship, was ordered to march with a detachment
of his men to Baltimore, and there to join the new frigate "Virginia."
It was just at New Year's, in 1778, that Barney arrived in Baltimore;
and as the frigate of which he was to be the first lieutenant was not
yet ready for sea, he took command of a pilot-boat to cruise about the
bay and watch the movements of the enemy, who had then several ships in
the Chesapeake. One night, as he was returning from a reconnoissance, he
found a merchant-sloop from Baltimore on her way down the bay, and
hailed her, telling her what dangers she would meet below. To his no
small surprise he was answered by a volley of musketry. He tacked in
order that he might the better return this unlooked-for fire, and
presently discovered on the off side of the sloop a ship's barge lashed
alongside. It was now clear why his seeming friend had fired on him. The
enemy had cut out the sloop, and they were using her as a decoy to
capture Barney. But he served them the same turn that he had served the
"Racehorse;" for after a short and sharp struggle he captured them and
took them to the city. The barge belonged to His Majesty's ship "Otter;"
and Barney, mindful of the treatment he had received on board the
"Perseus," took the best of care of his prisoners,--above all of Gray,
the officer in charge, who had been wounded, and sent a flag-of-truce
boat to the "Otter," to bring them what they needed.
On the last day of March the "Virginia" left Baltimore, and attempted
under cover of the night to pass the British lookouts in the bay, and so
get out to sea. No doubt she would have done it safely had not the
pilot, losing his way, run her ashore on the Middle Ground, a large
shoal in the lower Chesapeake. The morning broke, and found her hard and
fast aground, with three of the enemy's frigates close at hand.
Nicholson, the captain of the "Virginia," now called away his barge and
left the ship, making his escape to land. It is a story that one must
grieve to tell of an American officer; but it can only be supposed that,
having but just entered the navy, he did not know what honor and duty
meant. There was nothing left now but surrender, for the rest could not
escape.
Barney was now a prisoner on board the "Emerald" frigate. It is clear
that even in a bitter war not only one good turn deserves another, but
secures another; for the kind treatment which Barney had received from
Captain Elphinstone resulted in his kindness to the "Otter's" men, and
this again, which was well known throughout the British squadron, gained
for him equal favors in his new captivity. But this did not last long;
for after a little while he was sent to New York, where for the first
time he came to know the horrors of a prison-ship.
Late in August Barney was exchanged, and found himself again in
Baltimore; but there was little now for him to do. After all the
disasters of this disastrous year of 1778, only four frigates were left
on the American coast, and the smaller vessels had mostly been destroyed
or captured. While he was in this plight a merchant offered him the
command of a privateer schooner, carrying two guns and a crew of eight
men; and Barney, being so reduced for want of naval occupation,
consented to take her to St. Eustatius with a cargo of tobacco. He must
have been truly at his wit's end to have undertaken such a voyage in
such a craft; for even if he could have carried out the undertaking, he
would have gained neither glory nor profit from it. But he was not
destined to carry it out; for even before he reached the capes he met a
larger privateer, carrying four guns and sixty men, which speedily
disposed of him after a running fight of a few minutes. The enemy, not
caring to be troubled with prisoners, put him and his little crew
ashore; and his voyage being thus curtailed, he found himself a few days
later again in Baltimore. Here he remained for several weeks.
Strange as it must seem, Barney was now only nineteen years old, yet
there had been crowded into his short boy-life more adventures and
perilous enterprises than most men of three times his years have gone
through. Since the war began, he had been thrice made a prisoner, but
each time he had been fortunate in having humane captors. But the worst
was yet in store for him. After a successful privateering voyage to
Bordeaux, he sailed in 1780 in the "Saratoga," under Captain Young.
Early in October she captured four prizes, one of which was given to
Barney to command. He left the "Saratoga," and it was fortunate he did,
for she was never seen or heard of afterward; but the prize which he
commanded was herself captured only one day later by a British squadron.
Barney was taken to New York, and soon after sent to England in the
"Yarmouth." On board this ship the prisoners were confined in the hold,
in a space three feet high, and without light or air; and the horrors
of the voyage, which lasted seven weeks, remind one of the fearful
stories of the Middle Passage in the old slave-trading days. It was by
comparison a happiness to be transferred even to the Mill Prison, after
those wretched hours on board the "Yarmouth;" and the prisoners when
they came ashore, weak from suffering and disease and want of food, were
a most piteous spectacle.
How Barney, after three month's confinement, made his escape from
prison; how he lived six weeks unrecognized in London, though all the
time a price was set upon his head; how he sailed for Ostend in a
mail-packet, and after various wanderings upon the Continent at last
returned to America,--we have not time to tell. The spring of 1782 found
him once more in Philadelphia, still ready for any service for which his
country might call.
Although the war on land had at this time pretty nearly come to an end,
the Delaware River and the bay below were still infested by Tory
privateers and stray cruisers from the British fleets on the lookout for
prizes. To clear its waters of these marauders, the State of
Pennsylvania bought a merchant-vessel named the "Hyder Ali," which had
already started on her voyage with a cargo. She was brought back, her
merchandise removed, a battery of sixteen guns was mounted, and she was
fitted for a cruise under the command of Barney.
On the 8th of April she left Philadelphia with a large merchant fleet in
company, which had been waiting patiently until the new cruiser should
be ready to convoy them past the capes of the Delaware. All went
smoothly on the way down the bay; but at Cape May, as the wind was
southerly, the fleet anchored, waiting for a favorable breeze. They were
in this position when suddenly a force of the enemy, composed of a
frigate and a sloop-of-war, was seen rounding the cape on its way to
attack them. Barney ordered the convoy to retire up the bay out of
harm's reach, and the vessels tripped their anchors and made sail before
the southerly wind, the "Hyder Ali" staying behind to cover their
retreat.
Now it happened that there was--and still is, for that matter--in the
lower part of the bay, a widely-spreading shoal called the Overfalls,
which divided the water into two channels. The convoy on its way up took
the eastern channel, and thither it was followed by the "Hyder Ali." The
frigate went up on the western side, hoping by this means to overtake
and cut off some of the merchantmen without hindrance at the upper end
of the shoal. But the sloop, her captain being more ambitious or more
reckless, followed in the wake of the convoy; and thus it came to pass
that in a short time she had caught up with the "Hyder Ali," which,
seeing that the enemy's force was divided, was taking no great pains to
get away from her. The sloop was the "General Monk," which under the
name of the "Washington" had once been an American privateer, but had
been captured by the enemy.
Although the "Monk" alone was considerably heavier in force, as she
carried twenty 9-pounders to his sixteen 6's, Barney waited for her to
join battle. His object was to get her so to place herself that he would
be able to rake her; that is, by lying across her bow or stern, to make
his broadside sweep her decks from one end to the other. This he
accomplished by a stratagem. As the "Monk" approached his quarter, he
sang out to his helmsman to "port the helm," so loud, that the enemy
could hear him. If the quartermaster had obeyed his order, it would have
given the "Monk" an advantage by enabling her to rake his stern; but
Barney had arranged beforehand that the helmsman should do just the
opposite of what he said. The result was that the "Hyder Ali" was thrown
squarely across the bow of the sloop, so that a moment later her
jib-boom was entangled in the American's rigging, where she was held
fast, and Barney had her at his mercy. He poured his broadside the whole
length of her decks, and she could barely answer now and then with a
single gun. After half an hour's contest she surrendered.
[Illustration: HEAVING THE LEAD ON BOARD THE FRIGATE.]
Meantime the frigate, seeing what was going on, endeavored to help her
consort; but the shoal lay between, and it took her a long time to round
its lower end. Barney, knowing that he could not sustain a fight with
her, decided to make off, and did not stand upon the order of his going.
Hastily throwing a prize crew on board the "Monk," he held his course up
the river; while the frigate, which had turned back, was seen in the
distance doubling the southern end of the shoal. But she was too late,
and the "Hyder Ali" arrived with her convoy at Philadelphia, bringing
with her as a trophy the sloop which had been captured with so much
skill and gallantry.
The engagement between the "Hyder Ali" and the "General Monk" was the
last of any importance during the war. Indeed, since the beginning of
the French alliance in 1778, hostilities on the American coast had been
chiefly carried on by the great English and French fleets of
line-of-battle ships, which cast into the shade the small operations of
the Continental Navy. In this very month Sir George Rodney won his great
victory over the Count de Grasse in the West Indies,--a battle between
two opposing fleets larger than had ever before been brought into
action. Early in the next year the Treaty of Paris was concluded, which
recognized the independence of the United States; and the navy and the
army were disbanded, the ships that remained were sold, and the officers
and men returned again to private life.