ON THE IRISH COAST
A very peaceable craft indeed the Revenge appeared to be as she lay at
anchor in the Spanish harbor, as all evidence of her real character had
disappeared. But of course Captain Conyngham did not intend long to
live up to this peaceable appearance; his chief concern was to procure
another armament, gather his crew together, and, nothing daunted, put
back to the rich cruising grounds. It was his settled purpose to enter
the Irish Channel and pick up some of the fat prizes that he knew were
there ripe for the picking.
He had been forced to moor the Revenge to one of the naval
mooring-buoys when he first entered, but upon explaining that he had
lost both anchors during a stress of bad weather, the captain of the
port had allowed him to remain until he could procure others.
To his delight, Conyngham had noticed five or six of his prizes lying
farther up the harbor, and the Revenge herself had been recognized by
some of the prize-crews that were still on board the latest captures.
As soon as possible Conyngham had pulled to shore and sought out the
agents of the mysterious mercantile house of Hortalez and Company. At
the offices of Signor Lazzonere, whom should he meet but the elder
Ross!
Eager and warm were the greetings. Ross had so much to ask and so much
to tell that he found it difficult to begin.
“Upon my word, captain,” he said at last, “could I have had a prayer
answered, you could not have appeared at a more opportune moment. There
is the old Harry to pay in France--upon no account must you return
there, for----”
“I have no such intention,” was Conyngham’s answer, interrupting. “Sure
our friend de Vergennes gave me hint enough for that. I shall, if I
can, pick up some scrap iron here and something to throw it with, go
back and pay the old country a fleeting visit, and then across the wide
sea to America. But how goes it with all our friends?” he added.
“That is what I am about to tell you,” replied Ross. “Poor Hodge is in
the Bastile, and my brother and Allan are confined in the prison at
Dunkirk.”
“All on my account?” asked Conyngham.
“On our joint account. Charge it to the Revenge,” was the reply.
“Hodge and Allan went on your bond, and at the first news that you
were cruising de Vergennes remarked that ‘it was a bad matter to lie
to a king,’ which he claimed they both had done, and clapped them into
prison.”
Conyngham frowned and looked puzzled.
“But, upon my soul, the sheep attacked me first,” he said. “So my Lord
Stormont has yet some influence.”
“But never fear,” Ross went on. “Hodge is being treated well; and
as for my brother, he dines with the commandant every evening. Good
news has come from America, and all things point to an early alliance
between our country and France. And now,” he added, “tell me of
yourself, and what do you mean by ‘scrap iron’?”
In a few words Conyngham related the story of his narrow escape and
the loss of his guns, and the necessary jettisoning of his anchors and
armament.
“We will arrange for all that,” was Ross’s comforting comment when he
had finished. “There is money in the treasury, and the commissioners
are well satisfied. There must be some now to your credit. If you
should care for an accounting----”
“Let it stand,” replied Conyngham. “I desire no more than is customary
for an officer in the regular service--two twentieths--and will wait
for my accounting until the business is finished. By the Powers, I only
ask to be at sea again.”
“The very person to help us out is Signor Lazzonere,” exclaimed Ross.
“Although a Frenchman, he has strong connections here in Spain, and
there is neither a Stormont nor a de Vergennes to be dealt with. Money
can do a great deal when backed with a little influence.”
The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the merchant
himself, and all then adjourned to Signor Lazzonere’s inner office.
In a few minutes Conyngham came out, a smile on his lips and a light of
satisfaction dancing in his eyes.
That very night the Revenge was warped in with a small kedge and moored
alongside a large bark that lay close inshore. Under cover of darkness
there was transferred to the cruiser the very thing that her captain
most wished for--a long twelve-pounder. It was hidden beneath a canvas
covering in such a way that its shape took on the innocent appearance
of a pile of wine casks, and the following evening work was again
resumed and eight six-pounders and ten short swivels--what the French
called demi-cannon--were put on board. By the fourth day the Revenge’s
armament was practically complete. In fact, she was, if anything, in
better fighting trim than ever before, and her crew was again recruited
to its full strength. The Spanish authorities had paid not the least
attention to the goings on, and no attempt was made to prevent her
sailing, although by this time her character must have been known to
every longshoreman in the port. Many Englishmen in Corunna were in
high dudgeon, and as usual would have prevented her sailing if they
could. But on the tenth day after her arrival, at noon of a Sunday, she
made sail and put out into the rolling waters of the Bay of Biscay.
The crew, all of whom had been paid part of their prize-money, looked
to their young captain to bring them safely through any adventure
that might be in store. Before the cruiser was out of the bay she had
taken two prizes, and almost at the very spot where she had made her
sensational escape she took a third. But it was in the Irish Channel
that her run of luck began. No less than twelve richly laden craft
were despatched to Spanish ports, and of them but two were recaptured.
Nearly all of the merchantmen surrendered without making any
resistance, either completely taken by surprise or, not being prepared
for fighting, concluding that it would be wiser to give in at the very
first summons.
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.
[Illustration: The dreaded Revenge was lying in the harbor.]
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!