The Revolutionary War gave birth to a valorous and dashing class of men
who operated along Long Island Sound, the shores of Long Island, and
the Jersey coast, from New York Bay to Tom’s River, and other inlets
and harbors. There were many of them, and they were an astonishing
set of men. Some had small sloops mounting two small cannon, but the
most effective work was accomplished in whaleboats. It is singular
that naval history and works treating on naval subjects have failed to
record or give the proper place in history to the brave and dashing
deeds achieved by the whaleboat navy of the Revolution. They made
themselves feared and hated by their foes, and the British vessels that
these men captured seem beyond belief, were not the records of their
work very clear and extensive. They took vessels with valuable cargoes,
burning or blowing up whatever prizes they could not easily bring to
port.
George Raymond, the acting sailing-master of the Bon-Homme Richard,
commanded by the celebrated Paul Jones, resided at Brooklyn, Long
Island, and was instrumental in fitting out a number of whaleboat
expeditions. He had made two voyages to India previous to entering the
service under Jones, a very rare occurrence for an American in those
early days.
The whaleboat fleet belonging to Connecticut was specially well
organized, manned, and effective. From their numerous haunts and
hiding-places they would sally forth, closing with their antagonists
so suddenly and furiously as to overcome all opposition, frequently
carrying armed ships, making up in noise and audacity what they lacked
in arms and numbers. Long Island Sound became very unsafe to British
parties and Tories and they seldom ventured any great distance upon its
waters, except they had protection from armed vessels. At one time, so
bold and daring had the whaleboatmen become, that a frigate, a sloop
of war, a corvette, and a ten-gun brig were ordered to patrol the
sound and exterminate the privateersmen, placing them beyond the pale
of quarter for the time being. But these measures, beyond involving
additional expense to the crown, availed nothing. The whaleboatmen
carried their lives in their hands, but each and all were picked men,
and with a knowledge that they fought with a halter around their necks,
none but men of tried valor and courage joined the ranks, while the
leaders excelled in fertile resources, daring conceptions in the mode
of attack, combining with all a perfect knowledge of the scene of
operations.
Two of the most prominent, dashing, and successful leaders in this
mosquito fleet were Capts. Mariner and Hyler. Their adventures and
exploits, both in and out of their trim, lithe whaleboats, read more
like romance than sober facts, and their gallant deeds are still
treasured up and handed down by many a family dwelling along the shores
of Long Island Sound.
It was midsummer when the following exploit was achieved, and in the
full light of the moon sailing through a cloudless sky:
Capt. Mariner had for a long time contemplated a raid upon Flatbush,
the resort or headquarters of a number of violent Tories, particularly
obnoxious to the American officers. Gen. Washington was particularly
anxious to obtain possession of the person of Cols. Axtell and
Mathews, who were both active and influential loyalists, partisans of
the most pronounced stripe. By some means Mariner became acquainted
with the wish of Washington, and, although no communication passed
between the distinguished commander-in-chief and the humble seaman, the
whaleboat leader resolved to reconnoitre the locality.
Disguised in the uniform of an independent loyalist rifle company,
Mariner proceeded to the tavern of Dr. Van Buren, a resort for all
the prominent surrounding gentry. Entering the tap-room, which was
crowded, discussions relative to the war and prominent individuals were
running high and waxing exceedingly hot, as well as decidedly personal,
as the disguised seamen mixed with the company. With ready wit and
sarcastic tongue, the “rifleman” joined in the argument, while a Maj.
Sherbook, of the British army, berated Capt. Mariner as no better than
a murderer, an outlaw, and a thief. Mariner’s eyes sparkled, his hands
twitching nervously as he listened to the tirade of abuse poured forth
in relation to himself.
“Confound this prowling, sneaking midnight vagabond, with his
ragamuffin crew,” angrily continued the Major, as he snapped a speck of
froth that had dropped from his tankard upon his laced and scarlet coat
sleeve; “he has developed into an intolerable nuisance in these parts,
and should be checked at once. I would thrash him and his followers,
single handed, with my riding whip, if ever opportunity offered. But
these water-rats come and go in such a cowardly fashion that soldiers
can scarcely hope to more than catch a glimpse of their flaunting rags.”
“Don’t be too sure, my dear Major, in your estimate of the
water-sneaks, as you are pleased to term them. You may have a nearer
glimpse of their rags and steel also than you could wish, with an
opportunity to make good your threat to chastise the leader and
his crew, sooner than you now dream of,” and before the surprised
assemblage had recovered from their consternation and the “influence,”
he had disappeared through the doorway into the darkness of the night.
Repairing at once to New Brunswick, Mariner prepared his fast
light-pulling whaleboat for the trip. The crew were summoned, armed
to the teeth, and when all was in readiness the long, shapely boat
glided swiftly and silently to New Utrecht, where the party formed in
single file on the beach at Bath, a few minutes after ten o’clock at
night. Two men were detailed to watch the boat, while the remainder
of the party proceeded rapidly to Flatbush Church. In the shadows of
overhanging trees the men were divided into four squads, the houses
they were to attack pointed out to them, each party being provided with
a battering ram capable of breaking in the heaviest door at a blow.
Silently and steadily the parties proceeded to their several scenes of
action, Mariner having reserved the residence of the British Major as
his special mission.
The signal for united and concerted action was the ringing report of
a pistol. The battering ram was then to be used, prisoners secured
and conveyed to the whaleboat. The attack was simultaneous in various
portions of the town. Mariner, sword in hand, searched in vain for the
doughty Major, but finally, when he was discovered, the shadows of a
large chimney had been used as a refuge from the dreaded onslaught of
the whaleboatmen. He was allowed to make up a bundle of necessaries and
hurried to the boat. The parties were there--having met with more or
less success--but the principal game, the officials Washington so much
desired to secure, were not among the number. Business had unexpectedly
summoned them to New York the day before or their capture would have
been effected. After the war Capt. Mariner resided many years at
Harlem and on Ward’s Island. He was classed as a strange and eccentric
man, full of wit and an inexhaustible fund of anecdotes, but was not
especially popular among his associates and neighbors.
One of the favorite cruising haunts of Capt. Hyler was between Egg
Harbor and Staten Island. He was a man of wonderful nerve, with
great power of endurance, fertile in resources, and prompt to act in
situations requiring instant action.
Mention has been made of the British fleet sent to patrol the waters
of the sound. The corvette, mounting twenty guns, anchored one foggy
evening almost abreast of Hyler’s headquarters, a short distance from
Egg Harbor. The tap of the drum and words of command from the officer
of the deck could be distinctly heard on shore. Incredible as it may
appear, Capt. Hyler determined to attempt the capture of the formidable
cruiser. He had ascertained that the vessel was short-handed, having
dropped from her station above with the intention of making an early
departure for Halifax. The available force of the intrepid whaleboat
commander consisted of forty-six well-armed and resolute men, expert
at the oar, trained to silence and dexterity, so as not to be heard at
close quarters, even with three or four boats pulling in company. Well
had they been named “marine devils” by their red-coated foes.
The whaleboat’s men were divided into two parties, Hyler taking one,
his Lieutenant the other. Two swift boats were soon pulling up stream,
with oars muffled, keeping well in the shadows of the rugged shore.
The night was intensely dark, rendering so small an object as a boat
close to the surface of the water impossible to be detected by the
sharpest-eyed sentry and lookout. Once in the full influence of the
tide, a grapnel was thrown overboard, to which was attached a long,
stout line. All hands disappeared beneath the thwarts, and but two
heads were visible, the leader in the stern sheets and the bow oarsman,
who veered away the line. Like a shadow, the whaleboat in charge of
the Lieutenant hovered alongside the corvette, while the officer, his
head on a level with the muzzle of the guns, swung himself into the
forechannels to reconnoitre. The anchor watch had gathered forward,
the officer of the deck was leaning idly over the cabin companionway,
intent upon what was passing below, while the marine in the after
gangway nodded at his post. Dropping cautiously on deck the daring
whaleboatman glanced hastily about him. A book covered with canvas,
hanging from a nail beside a spy-glass in a rack over the steps leading
to the officers’ quarters, caught his vigilant eye. Gliding swiftly
aft he grasped the coveted prize, regaining his boat without being
perceived. He had secured the signal-book of the Royal Navy.
Dropping under the stern, the open windows revealed the officers
drinking wine and engaging in a game of cards. Capt. Hyler listened to
the report of his assistant, put the signal-book in a place of safety,
and at once pulled for the corvette. The boats boarded on opposite
sides, the whaleboatmen gaining the deck before an alarm was sounded,
the officers, as well as the watch on deck, being secured without
creating a general alarm. The surprise was complete. Prisoners were
handcuffed and conveyed on shore, while the commander wept and wrung
his hands when the flames of his vessel lit up the surrounding gloom,
recognizing that his career as an officer had been forever disgraced.
It was not until the vessel had blown up that the commander informed
Capt. Hyler that the cabin transom had held £50,000 in gold.
One of the most daring exploits of Capt. Hyler was his visit to New
York with his men disguised and equipped as a British press gang. The
object was to secure the notorious renegade and Tory, Lippincott--Pete
Lippincott--who had savagely butchered Capt. Huddy, a brave Continental
officer. The patriots had offered a handsome reward for him, dead or
alive, and Capt. Hyler resolved to seek him in his lair.
With a select crew in one whaleboat he sallied forth from the kilns
after dark, reaching the foot of Whitehall Street as the church bells
chimed 10 o’clock. Secreting the boat and leaving a guard to watch it,
the party pursued their way through Canvasstown, as it was then called.
It was the worst locality in the city, the lowest sink hole of iniquity
possible for a human being to frequent. The house of Lippincott was
reached, surrounded and the inmates secured, but the head of the
family, fortunately for himself, had that night attended a cock-fight,
and saved his neck from the fate he richly deserved. On the return trip
down the bay a large East Indiaman was encountered, which fell an easy
prize to the whaleboatmen. The crew were set adrift, the ship taken to
a secure hiding-place, where the rich cargo was removed and the ship
burned.
Capt. Hyler and his men once paid a visit to the house of a noted
loyalist Colonel, residing at a place known as Flatlands. The Colonel
was taken, the house searched, and two bags, supposed to contain
guineas, passed into the whaleboat. When daylight dawned, while pulling
up the Raritan, the bags were examined, and found to contain pennies,
belonging to the church of Flatlands. The Colonel had the satisfaction
of indulging in a hearty laugh at the expense of his captors.
Hyler operated on the land as well as upon the water, and with equal
success. In addition to capturing a number of richly laden prizes, he
took a Hessian Major at night from the house of Michael Bergen, at
Gowanus, when his soldiers were encamped upon the lawn in front of the
house. He surprised and took a Sergeant’s guard at Canarsie from the
headquarters of their Captain. The guard were at supper, their muskets
stacked together in the hall, with no one by to guard them, and fell an
easy prize to the whaleboatmen. The arms were seized, as well as the
silver belonging to the followers of the King, and while the officers
were compelled to accompany their captors, the privates were directed
to report to Col. Axtell, in New Jersey, with the compliments of Capt.
Hyler.
On another occasion he captured four trading sloops, one of which was
armed, at Sandy Hook. One was carried off, the balance burned, the
share of prize money per man amounting to £400.
The captain of a vessel taken by Hyler published the following account
of the affair in the Pocket in 1779:
“I was on deck with three or four men on a very pleasant evening, with
our sentinel fixed. Our vessel was at anchor near Sandy Hook, and the
Lion, man-of-war, about a quarter of a mile distant. It was calm and
clear, with a full moon, about three hours above the horizon. Suddenly
we heard several pistols discharged into the cabin and perceived at our
elbows a number of armed persons, fallen, as it were, from the clouds,
who ordered us to surrender in a moment or we were dead men. Upon this
we were turned into the hold and the hatches barred over us. The
firing, however, had alarmed the man-of-war, who hailed us and desired
to know what was the matter, and Capt. Hyler was kind enough to answer
for us, saying that all was well, which satisfied the cruiser.”
But a brief outline covering the deeds of the whaleboatmen of the
Revolution has been given. But it will serve to convince the reader
that their valorous deeds in the cause of liberty have received but
scant notice and courtesy from the hands of most historians. It is
impossible to restrain one’s admiration of their skill and courage, and
although their usefulness ended with the Revolutionary War, their names
and gallantry have a high place in naval annals.