Among the people of every civilized nation the possession of property by an individual is, as has often been noted, a pledge of good citizenship. His selfish interest in his property, bluntly speaking, tends to make him behave himself becomingly. And one does not have to study the stories of history very long to see that the same rule applies in a way to nations. The possession of property liable to be lost through war is a pledge of peace on the part of the nation owning it. And of all such property there is none that makes a stronger pledge of peace than the over-sea ship with its cargo. In these last days of the nineteenth century, writers a-plenty have been found who, forgetting or failing to see this fact, have urged that the United States should agree with other nations that in case of war the private property afloat belonging to the enemy should be exempted from capture and destruction. They have urged that the nations who send ships to sea be exempted from this pledge of peace. Or, to put the matter in another way, they have urged the American people to declare to the aggressive nations of the earth:

“If you wish to go to war with us we will promise you, as an inducement to you to do so, that we will not harm your private property afloat.”

One has only to state the proposition clearly to show its absurdity. The doctrines of the Prince of Peace are never so beautiful as when they are in accord with one’s business interests—we are never so horrified by the wickedness of war as when we consider the destruction it would bring upon our property! Can we, indeed, view with complacency the proposition to sink a ship with five hundred unprepared souls by means of a torpedo, and yet shrink from the thought of preserving peace by the threat of capturing and destroying all of the property of an enemy that is found afloat after war is declared?

It is interesting to an American to observe that of all peoples of the earth the British are the most urgent in their desire that the nations shall agree to do away with this pledge of peace—the English, who are dependent upon over-sea commerce for their bread, who have greater interests on the high seas than any other people, and who are the most aggressive of all people in grasping the territories of the earth. It is interesting to an American because this British wish is a tradition growing out of the damage done by American privateers to British commerce in the wars for American independence and recognition as a nation. As was said of the privateers of the first war, a full volume would be needed to adequately describe all of the doings of these “militia of the sea,” but space must be given here to a number of actions fought by the privateers, not only because they were most brilliant, but because they illustrate the character of the American sailor of those days.

No nation was ever as well fitted for a militia contest afloat as was the American in June, 1812. For years her merchants had been harassed by the oppressive legislation of England and France. The American ship that went to sea, no matter what her cargo or destination, was in danger from the cruisers of both nations at once. Even though her voyage was one that must meet the approval of the European courts in Admiralty, the ship was liable to be seized and carried into port until a judge could pass upon the charge brought by her captors that she was violating some law; and so her voyage would be ruined by delay. But freight rates were high. To deliver one cargo was to pay for the ship, and more too, in profits. The American merchants were enterprising and willing to take risks. And so vessels were built for the trade, brigs and schooners that for that day were marvels of speed. Their enormous spars spread a cloud of canvas so great that as one drove along before a smart gale the long, lean, deep-keeled hull was all but wholly hidden from view—the canvass looked like a fog-cloud drifting swiftly over sea. Better still was their pace when beating to windward, for with yards sharp up and sails down flat, only the crack ships of the enemy could keep them in sight for a day, and few, indeed, could overhaul them. With these over-sparred ships the Yankee sailors were entirely familiar. They carried enormous crews, and the men were proud of their ships and of their own ability to make or take in sail.

When war was declared, there were a number of these in each of the American ports. There were pilot-boats, also, built to race with each other, blow high or blow low. The merchants had seen that war would come. They had placed orders for more guns with the foundry, and for more ammunition with the makers. They had laid in muskets and cutlasses and provisions and spare sails. There was little if any need for altering the sides of the ships—for piercing the bulwarks with ports—for that was the day of West India pirates, and all ships carried some guns; but amidships in most of them additional stanchions were placed to brace the deck, and there the Long Tom of song and story was mounted—the long, thick-breeched gun that would stand a heavy charge of powder and throw a round ball, weighing sometimes as high as thirty-two pounds, a mile and more, with but moderate elevation of the muzzle.

The small pilot-boats carried anything they could stand under, or get—a long-nine, with a few swivels and a crew of fifty or sixty men who carried muskets and knew how to use them would do. If the men were all seamen as well as good shots, so much the better, but if not, no matter. The landsman who could see through the sights of a musket was by no means refused. He was welcomed and called a marine. The haymaker accustomed to a pitchfork was just the man to handle a boarding-pike. And so the crews were quickly filled, and then it was up anchor and away to sea for revenge, lawful plunder, and glory. Let the reader make no mistake about the objects in view when they went to sea. The old sailors were going to repay the scars of the British cat and press-gang manacles that many of them wore; they were going for lawful prizes, and they were inspired by the thought that they were to fight for the honor of “the gridiron flag.” The very bravest fights of the whole war—fights in which the Americans unquestionably won through superior pluck—were the fights made by the crews like that of the General Armstrong and other American privateers.

That the owners of these privateers had something in mind besides the gaining of wealth will appear at a glance over the list of names of these privateers, of which 250 were commissioned during the war. There were three named Revenge, one Retaliation, one Orders in Council, one Right of Search, one Rattlesnake, one Poor Sailor, one Patriot, one Teaser, one Thrasher, one United We Stand, one Divided We Fall, one Scourge, one Liberty, one True-Blooded Yankee, one Castigator, and so on. And there were others with names significant in still other directions—the Black Joke, the Frolic, and the Flirt, for instance; or the Saratoga, the Yorktown, the John Paul Jones, the Macedonian, and the Guerrière.

The Congress declared, on June 18, 1812, that war existed between the United States and England. How soon thereafter the first privateer got away to sea is not recorded, but they were not far behind the squadron of Commodore Rodgers, which sailed the day the news of the declaration of war reached New York. The very first vessel captured in the war was a ship bound from Jamaica to London, that was taken south of the capes of the Chesapeake by a revenue cutter, but the first privateer to bring in a prize was the schooner Fame, of Salem, Captain Webb, that arrived home on July 9th, bringing with her a ship of nearly 300 tons, laden with square timber, and a brig of 200 tons, laden with tar. The ship was armed with two four-pounders, but the Fame swept up alongside and carried her by boarding without the loss of a man.

On the next day after the arrival of the Fame, the schooner Dash, of Baltimore, Captain Carroway, captured the first British vessel of war taken—the schooner Whiting, Lieutenant Macey—which was lying in Hampton Roads, Chesapeake Bay. Macey had not heard of the war, and the Dash took him unawares, and so without resistance.

From that time on the work of the privateers was driven with astonishing vigor. By July 16th there were sixty-five of these volunteers on the high sea, and almost every day one or another was returning with a prize. The report of a fight with a British man-of-war was not, naturally, long in reaching port. The Dolphin, Captain Endicott, and the Polly, Captain Handy, both of Salem, Massachusetts, were cruising to the eastward in the region to which Washington had sent his first cruisers in 1775. On July 14, 1812, these two fell in with a ship and a brig, which they supposed to be merchantmen, and made sail for the ship, because she was the larger. On arriving almost within gunshot, however, they saw she was a sloop-of-war, the Indian, of twenty-two guns. Thereat they fled, with the Indian, blossoming studding-sails, in pursuit of the Polly, and firing long bow-chasers in the vain hope of reaching her. Eventually the breeze failed so far that the Indian manned her launch and a number of smaller boats, with a four-pounder in the launch. These quickly came within musket shot, and with three cheers made a brave dash at the Yankee. To this the Polly replied with muskets and with several of her broadside guns loaded with langrage—langrage being a polite name for scrap-iron. The launch was compelled to strike her colors, while the other boats made haste back to the Indian. However, the launch was not captured, for the Indian had been drifting slowly within range, and the Polly had to take to her sweeps to escape. The attacking party numbered forty.

Meantime the stanch privateer Madison, Captain Elwell, of Gloucester, had happened along where the brig was lying-to, waiting for the return of the Indian, and the brig was captured. She proved to be the transport Number 50, a vessel of 290 tons, loaded with army supplies, including 100 barrels of powder, 880 uniforms for the 104th British Regiment, bales of fine cloth for officers’ wear, camp equipage, etc., in all valued at $50,000.

Within a few days the Madison, although armed with but one long gun, captured a ship armed with twelve guns, and sent her into port, and later still, the brig Eliza, of six guns. The Teaser, of New York, Captain Dobson, had the luck to fall in with the American ship Margaret, that had been captured by the British, She was sent to Portland, where she and her cargo of “salt, earthenware, and ironmongery” were valued at $50,000. In short, the privateers were making light work of the coasters that flocked between the ports of the British possessions at the north.

But the most interesting cruise of all that were made in the early days of the war was that of Commodore Joshua Barney in the Baltimore clipper-schooner Rossie, of fourteen guns and 120 men. The reader will remember Barney. He was made a lieutenant in the American navy on July 2, 1776, although then but seventeen years old. He was in the Andrea Doria when she whipped the Racehorse, and he commanded the Pennsylvania cruiser Hyder Ali when she met the General Monk, of vastly superior force, and whipped her so badly that the British historians never recover sufficiently from the shock the story gives them to explain their conflicting statements about the battle.

When war was declared in June, 1812, Barney began fitting out the schooner Rossie at Baltimore; on July 12th he sailed away, and from the time he cleared the capes of the Chesapeake he had such lively times as must have reminded him forcibly of revolutionary days. On July 22d he captured the American brig Nymph, that was violating the non-importation act. The next day he successfully dodged a British frigate that fired twenty-five shots at him. On July 30th he escaped another British frigate by superior sailing. On July 31st he captured the British ship Princess Royal, and burned her. Next day the ship Kitty became his prize, and was found worth sending in. The day after this, August 2d, he captured four different vessels—the schooner Squid, the brigs Fame, Devonshire, and Two Brothers. On the last of these he placed sixty of his prisoners, and sent her as a cartel to St. John, New Brunswick, but while still sailing along in company with the Two Brothers, on August 3d, he fell in with and captured the brigs Henry and William and the schooners Racehorse and Halifax, and so added forty more prisoners to those on the Two Brothers. The brig Henry and the two schooners were sunk as not worth sending to port, while the William was sent to port. He had taken eight vessels in two days.

With the cartel Two Brothers, that he sent to St. John, he despatched a letter to Admiral Sawyer, commanding the Halifax Station, in which he asked the admiral “to treat the prisoners well, and assured him very coolly that he should soon send him another ship-load of captives for exchange.”

Six days later (August 9th) he had a brush with the British ship Jenny, of twelve guns, but she soon surrendered to his superior force. Then he captured two more American ships that were violating the non-importation law, and after forty-five days from the day he left Baltimore he anchored at Newport, Rhode Island. He had captured fourteen vessels, aggregating 2,914 tons in measurement, and one hundred and sixty-six prisoners, the whole value of prizes and cargoes being $1,289,000. Five only of the prizes were sent to port.

After resting in port until September 7th the Commodore sailed again. On the 9th a British squadron of three ships vainly tried to overhaul him, and on the 12th a British frigate chased him for six hours, and then gave it up. On the 16th the Rossie fell in with the British ship Princess Amelia, an armed trader, and for an hour there was a steady combat. The Rossie was badly cut up in sails and rigging, but her hull and spars escaped. She had seven men hurt—one severely. The Princess was badly cut alow and aloft, and had her captain, her sailing-master, and a seaman killed, and seven wounded before she surrendered.

On this same day the Rossie fell in with three ships, and a man-of-war brig that was too strong for her—at least the Commodore hauled off after getting an eighteen-pound shot through the Rossie’s quarter. But he hung about the fleet for three days trying to separate them, though without success. Later, while cruising with the privateer Globe, Captain Murphy, of Baltimore, the British schooner Jubilee was taken, and the American ship Merrimack was taken by Barney alone for violating the non-importation law. He returned to Baltimore on November 10th, having taken and destroyed shipping and cargoes to the value of $1,500,000, with two hundred and seventeen prisoners.

The Globe, while cruising alone before meeting the Rossie, had a stirring time with the British letter-of-marque Boyd. It was on July 31st, and there was a gale blowing when the Globe began the chase. It was three hours before she got within range. Then she opened the combat with her Long Tom amidships—a gun that could throw accurately a nine-pound, round, cast-iron ball to a distance of, perhaps, half a mile—a long nine, in short. The Boyd replied with two long nines, but fired wildly, and the Globe was able to range up where her short guns could bear. There were four of these on a side. The enemy carried two more guns than the Globe, and worked them vigorously until the Globe ranged up where muskets were used. Then the Boyd struck. The kind of marksmanship exhibited is shown by the fact that no one was hurt on either vessel. The Boyd was sent in. On August 14th the Globe captured a schooner of four guns, loaded with mahogany, and a few days thereafter brought to Hampton Roads “a large British ship carrying twenty-two guns, richly laden, which she captured not far from the Bermudas.”

Reports that give the values of some of the “richly laden” ships are by no means lacking. The privateer Paul Jones, Captain Hazard, of New York, before August 1st had captured fourteen British vessels in the West Indies, and early in August took the Hassan, bound from Gibraltar to Havana, “with wines and dry-goods, valued at $200,000.” The Hassan carried fourteen guns, but only twenty men. She held out for half an hour. About the same time Captain Thomas Boyle, of the Baltimore clipper Comet, captured the Hopewell, from Surinam for London. She was valued at $150,000. To this prize Captain Boyle added “the first-class British ship Henry, four hundred tons burden, coppered to the bends, mounting four twelve-pounders, and six six-pounders, bound from St. Croix for London,” with seven hundred hogsheads of sugar, and thirteen pipes of old Madeira wine; this vessel and cargo produced a clear profit to the captors of more than $100,000. A little later, the Saratoga, of New York, Captain Riker, captured the Quebec, from Jamaica, and she was valued at $300,000. She was armed with sixteen guns, and carried a crew of fifty-two. And then there was the ship Richmond, of fourteen guns, and twenty-five men before the mast, “eight hundred tons burden, deeply laden with West India produce, worth $200,000,” that was taken by the privateer Thomas, and sent into Portsmouth.

While the privateers were out for the property they could capture, their deeds were by no means untempered with generosity. The Benjamin Franklin, Captain Ingersoll, of New York, took the Industry, valued at $2,000, and brought her in. But on learning that she was the sole property of a widow, the owner of the privateer delivered her over to her captain.

It should not be inferred from these facts that all the privateers prospered, or even that they generally did so. Privateering was quite as much of a lottery as speculation in gold mines. In the first place, a privateer cost a good deal of money, for that day. The Governor Tompkins cost $20,000. Under Captain Joseph Shumer she carried a crew of one hundred and forty-three men with fourteen guns. Shumer captured twenty vessels. She was then sold at auction for $14,500, and under a new captain tried cruising but never made another capture. The port of New York boasted of one hundred and twenty privateers during this war. The Scourge, of nine guns and one hundred and ten men, took twenty-seven prizes. The Saratoga, of sixteen guns and one hundred and forty men, took twenty-two prizes. The Prince de Neufchâtel, Captain J. Ordronaux, with seventeen guns and one hundred and twenty-seven men, took eighteen prizes. The Divided We Fall, with but three guns and fifty men, took sixteen prizes, while her sister ship, United We Stand, got but one. Of the whole one hundred and twenty, only forty-one got any prizes at all, and of the forty-one, seven got but one prize each, and eleven but two. When court fees and duties on the goods captured had been paid there was so little left for the privateers and their crews that the ships capturing only two prizes really made nothing for the owners. Only about one privateer in five, sailing out of the port of New York, paid a cent of profit to the owners. Many were lost altogether—were captured by the enemy, and these were lost because the militia crews, like shore militia, became panic-stricken at an inopportune time.

After recalling the fact that the London Times said in March, 1813, that the Yankee privateers had captured five hundred British ships in seven months, the story of the doings of these mosquitoes during 1812 may very well conclude with the accounts of two battles off the South American coast in the month of December of that year. The first was that between the American brig Montgomery, Captain Upton, of Boston, and the British war-brig Surinam, mounting guns common to such brigs—eighteen short thirty-twos and two long nines—a better armament, in fact, than the Peacock had when defeated by the Hornet, for the Peacock had twenty-fours instead of thirty-twos. On December 6th the Montgomery got alongside of the Surinam by mistake, and, although armed with but ten six-pounders and two short eighteens, she remained there for half an hour, when the Surinam was glad to let her go. The Surinam threw 297 pounds of metal at a broadside, or eighteen pounds more than the Hornet threw in fighting the Peacock. The Montgomery threw 48 pounds of metal at a broadside—allowing that the American shot were of full weight.

The facts above given are taken from Coggeshall’s “History of the American Privateers,” written in 1856. The author, who was himself a vigorous captain in the privateer service, ends his account of this fight by quoting a stanza of what was a favorite song with the British tars before that war:

The last privateer’s encounter of the year 1812 to be described occurred on December 10th. The schooner Saratoga, Captain Charles W. Wooster, after a voyage of twenty-four days, in which nothing was seen, reached La Guayra, Venezuela, on December 9th. When she entered port the Spanish commandante threatened to open the batteries on her and she was obliged to leave. However, on beating up to windward she met a British schooner with $20,000 worth of dry-goods on board, which compensated for her ill-treatment ashore, and during the rest of the day she lay-to in plain sight of the town. The next morning there was a heavy fog on the water, but when at 9 o’clock this cleared off, the Saratoga was seen still in the offing, but preparing for battle with a brig. The entire population of the town mounted to the house-tops to watch the contest, and shortly before noon had the satisfaction of seeing the Saratoga open fire with her starboard bow gun. The brig replied with vigor, and in a very short time both vessels were buried out of sight in a thunderous cloud of smoke that was constantly illuminated by flashes of flame—a cloud like that in which the Constitution and Java fought.

For a few minutes this cloud swelled up in cumulous folds, and then the flames and thunder ceased and the cloud drifted away down the breeze leaving the two vessels in plain sight and the “gridiron flag” still flying from the trucks of the Saratoga.

This was on the 10th. For three days the people waited and wondered, and then a ship’s long boat came ashore. She brought the second mate and twenty-five seamen of the brig—the Rachel, from Greenock, mounting twelve long nines, manned by a crew of sixty, and carrying a cargo invoiced at £15,000—$75,000 in gold.