BLOCKADING A NEUTRAL PORT.
In the summer of 1804, His Majesty’s ships Leander and Cambrian were
ordered to proceed off New York, to watch the motions of two French
frigates lying in that harbour. On board of one of these, I forget
which, Jerome Buonaparte had taken his passage to Europe.
This plan of lying off a neutral port to watch for the departure of an
enemy riding at anchor within it, is, I believe, still considered, by
some people, a measure of questionable propriety, in a national point
of view. It is one of those topics, however, which will probably never
be quite settled; as circumstances must arise in every war to render
it less inexpedient to risk offending a neutral power, on a doubtful
point of international usage, than to suffer an enemy to escape. Be
the political aspect of this point, however, what it may, there can
be no doubt of the excessive and very reasonable annoyance of such a
proceeding to the neutral nation, whose rights of hospitality are thus,
more or less, virtually infringed. It is pretty certain, I believe,
that our lying so long off the harbour of New York, blockading these
two French ships, contributed materially to foster those angry feelings
against us, which, some years afterwards, broke out into open war.
The blockading service at any time is a tedious one; but upon this
occasion we contrived to enliven it in a manner, which, whether
legitimate or not, was certainly highly exciting, and sometimes rather
profitable, to us.
New York, every one knows, is the great sea-port of America, into
which, and out of which, many dozens of ships sail daily. With the
outward-bound vessels we had little or nothing to do; but with those
which came from foreign parts, especially from France, then our
bitter enemy, we took the liberty—the Americans said, the improper
liberty—to interfere. I speak not of French ships, or those which
avowed themselves to be such, and hoisted enemy’s colours; for of these
we, of course, made prize, without scruple, whenever we could catch
them beyond the limits of the American neutrality. But this very rarely
happened, and the ships we meddled with, so much to the displeasure of
the Americans, were those which, to outward appearance, belonged to
citizens of the United States, but on board which we had reason—good or
bad—to suspect there was cargo owned by the enemy. Nothing appears to
be so easy as to forge a ship’s papers, or to swear false oaths; and
accordingly, a great deal of French property was imported into America,
in vessels certainly belonging to the United States, but covered, as
it was called, by documents implying an American or neutral right in
it. In the very same way, I suppose, much Spanish property was, for a
long course of years, imported into South America, in English bottoms,
when Spain was at war with her Colonies. England, in that case, acted
the part of a neutral, and learned, in like manner, for the lucre of
gain, to trifle with all the obligations of an oath. During the period
of Buonaparte’s continental system, especially, about the year 1810,
many persons in England engaged largely in what was called the licensed
trade, the very essence of which was false swearing, false papers,
and the most unprincipled collusion of every kind. A horrible way of
making money, of which the base contamination, in the opinion of some
of our best merchants, is not yet quite washed away. So that poor Bony,
directly and indirectly, has enough to answer for!
At the time I speak of, 1804, when we were stationed off New York,
and the French and English nations were at loggerheads, Jonathan
very properly stepped in to profit by the fray, exactly as John Bull
afterwards did when Old and New Spain were at war—except, indeed, that
in the contraband, or covered carrying trade with the revolted Spanish
colonies, we had to share the profits with our transatlantic brethren,
while the two belligerents, shutting their eyes to their own true
interest, allowed others to run off with the advantages.
All this looks simple enough on paper; and a moment’s reflection shews
that such must ever be the consequence of a similar state of things.
For when shrewd nations, like the United States, have the art to keep
out of the fight in which others are engaged, they will, of course,
be able to play into the hands of the different parties whose whole
thoughts are occupied in injuring one another, instead of interchanging
benefits. The adroit neutral, by watching his time, can always minister
to the several necessities of the combatants, sometimes to one,
sometimes to the other, according as the payment is good or bad, and in
such a manner as to be sure of his own profit, reckless at whose cost.
At the same time, he must naturally lay his account with provoking
the displeasure of the powers at war, who, in their turn, will, of
course, do all they possibly can to prevent the neutral from lending
assistance to their opponents respectively.
Conflicting nations, accordingly, have always claimed, and, when they
can, will never cease to enforce, this right of searching neutral
ships, in order to discover whether or not there be enemy’s property
on board. But the practice, it may easily be imagined, is full of many
sore heart-burnings, and all kinds of “hard words, jealousies, and
fears,” which often, as old Hudibras has it, “set folks together by the
ears,” who ought, perhaps, never to have become foes.
Every morning, at daybreak, during our stay off New York, we set about
arresting the progress of all the vessels we saw—firing off guns to
the right and left, to make every ship that was running in, heave to,
or wait, until we had leisure to send a boat on board, “to see,” in
our lingo, “what she was made of.” I have frequently known a dozen,
and sometimes a couple of dozen ships, lying a league or two off the
port, losing their fair wind, their tide, and, worse than all, their
market, for many hours, sometimes the whole day, before our search
was completed. I am not now inquiring whether all this was right, or
whether it was even necessary, but simply describing the fact.
When any circumstance in the ship’s papers looked suspicious, the
boarding officer brought the master and his documents to the Leander,
where they were further examined by the captain; and if any thing
more important was then elicited, by an examination of the parties or
their papers, to justify the idea that the cargo was French, and not
American, as was pretended, the ship was forthwith detained. She was
then manned with an English crew from the ships of war, and ordered off
to Halifax, to be there tried in the Admiralty Court, or adjudicated,
as the term is; and either released with or without demurrage, if
proved to be truly neutral property, or condemned, if it were shewn to
belong to the enemy.
One can easily conceive how this sort of proceeding, in every possible
case, must be vexatious to the neutral. If, in point of fact, the
whole, or a part of the ship’s cargo, really belong to that ship’s
belligerent party, whose enemy is investigating the case, and this be
clearly made out, it is still mortifying to the neutral to see the
property taken away which he has undertaken to cover so effectually
as to guard it from capture. If, on the other hand, the cargo be all
the while, bonâ fide, the property of the neutral whose flag it is
sailing under, the vexation caused by this interruption to the voyage
is excessive. In the event of restoration or acquittal, the owner’s
loss, it is said, is seldom, if ever, adequately compensated for by the
awarded damages. In most cases there are found a number of suspicious
circumstances sufficient to justify the detention, but not enough to
lead to a condemnation; and in these instances the remuneration is not
great.
If the case, then, be annoying, in any view of it, supposing the
neutral ship to have been met with on the wide ocean, what must be the
aggravation when the vessel is laid hold of at the instant she has all
but reached her own home? when half an hour’s further sailing would
have ended the voyage successfully, and put it beyond the power of
either of the belligerents to have asked any questions about the nature
of her objects, or the ownership of her cargo?
We detained, at that period, a good many American vessels, on the
ground of having French or Spanish property on board. One of these,
a very large ship from Lima, filled with cocoa, was clearly made out
to be a good prize, and was condemned accordingly. Three or four
others, I remember, were restored to their owners by the decision of
the Admiralty Court; and two of them were forcibly recaptured by the
Americans, on their way to Halifax. On board one of these ships, the
master, and the few hands left in her to give evidence at the trial,
rose in the night, overpowered the prize-master and his crew, nailed
down the hatches, and having put the helm up, with the wind on land,
gained the coast before the scale of authority could be turned. In
the other ship, the English officer in charge imprudently allowed
himself to be drifted so near the land, that the people on the beach,
suspecting what had happened, sent off armed boats in sufficient
number to repossess themselves of the property. Possession in such
cases being not nine, but ten points of the law, we were left to
whistle for our prizes!
There was another circumstance connected with our proceedings at
that time, of still more serious annoyance to the Americans, and one
requiring, in its discussion, still greater delicacy of handling.
I shall not, indeed, presume to enter upon its very difficult
merits, but, as before, content myself with merely describing the
circumstances. I need hardly mention that I allude to the impressment
of those seamen whom we found serving on board American merchant ships,
but who were known to be, or supposed to be, British subjects. What
the strict letter of the law is now, I am not aware—I mean, what would
be considered the ‘law of usage’ in the event of another war. But I
presume we should act pretty much as we did before, and consequently
incur the risk, whatever that might be, of converting a neutral into
an enemy, rather than agree to relinquish our right to command the
services of any British-born subject, whenever we found him on the high
seas. At all events, it seems quite clear that, while we can hold it,
we will never give up the right of search, or the right of impressment.
We may and ought, certainly, to exercise so disagreeable a power with
such temper and discretion as not to provoke the enmity of any friendly
nation.
But at the time I speak of, and on board our good old ship the Leander,
whose name, I was grieved, but not surprised, to find, was still
held in detestation three or four and twenty years afterwards at New
York, I am sorry to own that we had not much of this discretion in
our proceedings; or, rather, we had not enough consideration for the
feelings of the people we were dealing with. We have since learnt to
respect them more—or, as they prefer to express it, they have since
taught us to respect them: be it either way, it matters not much; and
if it please the Americans more to say they have instructed us in this
point of good manners, than to allow that we have come to a knowledge
of better habits, well and good. I am grievously afraid, however, that
if we come again to be placed in like circumstances, and our ships of
war are in want of men, whilst Englishmen are to be found in numbers
on board American ships, we shall always fall upon some good excuse
for impressing His Majesty’s liege subjects, find them where we may.
However civilly we may then set about this duty—as a duty it certainly
will appear—the old charges, I fear, will again be raised up against us.
To place the full annoyance of these matters in a light to be viewed
fairly by English people, let us suppose that the Americans and French
were to go to war, and that England for once remained neutral—an odd
case, I admit, but one which might happen. Next, suppose that a couple
of French frigates were chased into Liverpool, and that an American
squadron stationed itself off that harbour to watch the motions of
these French ships, which had claimed the protection of our neutrality,
and were accordingly received into ‘our waters,’—I ask, “would this
blockade of Liverpool be agreeable to us, or not?”
Even if the blockading American frigates did nothing but sail backwards
and forwards across the harbour’s mouth, or occasionally run up and
anchor abreast of the town, it would not, ‘I guess,’ be very pleasant
to be thus superintended. If, however, the American ships, in addition
to this legitimate surveillance of their enemy, were to detain off the
port, with equal legitimacy of usage, and within a league or so of the
light-house, every British ship coming from France, or from a French
colony; and if, besides looking over the papers of these ships, to see
whether all was regular, they were to open every private letter, in the
hope of detecting some trace of French ownership in the cargo, what
should we say? And if, out of some twenty ships arrested daily in this
manner, one or two of our ships were to be completely diverted from
their course, from time to time, and sent off under a prize-master to
New York for adjudication, I wonder, how the Liverpool folks would like
it? But if, in addition to this perfectly regular and usual exercise
of a belligerent right on the part of the Americans, under such
circumstances, we bring in that most awkward and ticklish of questions,
the impressment of seamen, let us consider how much the feeling of
annoyance, on the part of the English neutral, would be augmented.
Conceive, for instance, that the American squadron, employed to
blockade the French ships in Liverpool, were short handed, but, from
being in daily expectation of bringing their enemy to action, it had
become an object of great consequence with them to get their ships
manned. And suppose, likewise, that it were perfectly notorious to all
parties, that, on board every English ship arriving or sailing from the
port in question, there were several American citizens, but calling
themselves English, and having in their possession ‘protections,’ or
certificates to that effect, sworn to in regular form, but well known
to be false, and such as might be bought for 4_s._ 6_d._ any day.
Things being in this situation, if the American men-of-war, off the
English port, were then to fire at and stop every ship, and, besides
overhauling her papers and cargo, were to take out any seaman, to work
their own guns withal, whom they had reason, or supposed, or said
they had reason, to consider American citizens, or whose country they
guessed from dialect, or appearance; I wish to know with what degree of
patience this would be submitted to on the Exchange at Liverpool, or
elsewhere in England?
It signifies nothing to say that such a case could not occur, as
the Americans do not impress seamen; for all who have attended to
such subjects know well enough, that if they come to be engaged in a
protracted war, especially at a distance from their own shores, there
is no other possible way by which they can keep their armed ships
manned. This, however, is not the point now in discussion. I merely
wish to put the general case broadly before our own eyes, in order that
we may bring it distinctly home to ourselves, and then see whether or
not the Americans had reason for their indignation.
The truth is, they had very good reason to be annoyed; and if the
guiding practical maxim amongst nations be, that ‘might makes right,’
as I conceive it always has been, and ever will be, so long as powder
and shot exist, with money to back them, and energy to wield them,—then
we really cannot pretend to find fault with the Americans, because
they took advantage, or tried to take advantage, of that moment when,
our ‘right’ being the same, our ‘might’ appeared to be waning. I
allude to their declaring war against us in 1812, when we, fighting
single-handed, in the cause of European independence, were so hard
pressed by Napoleon and others. For the Americans to have taken an
earlier share in the struggle against us, when we were lords of the
ascendant, would have been the extremity of Quixotism. But when John
Bull was pressed on all hands by numbers, and his strength exhausted
by long contests, albeit in the cause of liberty, which his brother
Jonathan professes to adore, he, Jonathan, would have been a fool, a
character which he certainly never was accused of enacting, if he had
not taken advantage of the moment to try his strength. The provocation
we gave was certainly considerable, and the retort, it must be owned,
very dexterously managed. The result, I trust, is, that things are on
a better footing than before; both parties have learned civility and
caution, and they will not agree the worse on that account. To forgive
and forget, is the old English maxim, as our friends well know. Let
them imitate us in this respect, and they will be all the happier, and
not a whit less powerful.
In putting a parallel case to ours off New York, and supposing
Liverpool to be blockaded by the Americans on the ground of their
watching some French ships, I omitted to throw in one item, which is
necessary to complete the parallel, and make it fit the one from which
it is drawn.
Suppose the blockading American ships off Liverpool, in firing a shot
ahead of a vessel they wished to examine, had accidentally hit, not
that vessel, but a small coaster, so far beyond her, that she was
not even noticed by the blockading ships. And suppose, further, this
unlucky chance-shot to have killed one of the crew on board the said
coaster: the vessel would, of course, proceed immediately to Liverpool
with the body of their slaughtered countryman; and, in fairness, it may
be asked, what would have been the effect of such a spectacle on the
population of England—more particularly if such an event had occurred
at the moment of a general election, when party politics, raging on
this very question of foreign interference, was at its height?
This is not an imaginary case; for it actually occurred in 1804, when
we were blockading the French frigates in New York. A casual shot from
the Leander hit an unfortunate sloop’s main-boom; and the broken spar
striking the mate, John Pierce by name, killed him instantly. The sloop
sailed on to New York, where the mangled body, raised on a platform,
was paraded through the streets, in order to augment the vehement
indignation, already at a high pitch, against the English.
Now, let us be candid to our rivals; and ask ourselves, whether the
Americans would have been worthy of our friendship, or even of our
hostility, had they tamely submitted to indignities which, if passed
upon ourselves, would have roused not only Liverpool, but the whole
country, into a towering passion of nationality?