Booty: Remembering the Decatur vs. Barron Duel

March 22, 1820: After years of bad blood between the two, U.S. Navy captains Stephen Decatur and James Barron meet to settle their honor with a duel. While the hows and whys of the actual duel continue to be disputed by historians, the facts are clear. After Decatur shot first, wounding Barron in the hip, Barron shot Decatur in the lower abdomen. With his bowel punctured, Decatur would linger two days at his Lafayette Square home in Washington D.C. crying out in abject pain.

For more on the details of this unfortunate moment in American naval history, see this post on James Barron.

Header: Miniature of Stephen Decatur and the plaque now attached to the home where he died via The Decatur Minute

Seafaring Sunday: What's in a Name

March 3, 1819: An Act of the U.S. Congress legislates the naming of navy ships:

Ships of the first class for states, of the second class for rivers, and of the third class for cities and towns.

This form of naming began before the legislation, at least to some degree, as can be noted by the name of the great frigate pictured above.

Header: USS Chesapeake c 1812 by F. Muller c 1900 via Wikipedia

History: Why Turn Pirate?

Yesterday marked the two hundredth anniversary of the beginning of the War of 1812.  On June 18, 1812, the U.S. declared war on Britain specifically to protect "free trade and sailors' rights."  The issue was Royal Navy harassment of both U.S. merchant ships and naval vessels as well.  The famous Chesapeake/Leopard affair of 1809 saw James Barron's USS Chesapeake fired on and boarded by HMS Leopard.  In the fray, some American sailors were "pressed" into Royal Navy service after being erroneously identified as British citizens and deserters.  These kind of incidents continued to happen until the outcry from the common sailors and their families was enough to cause Congress to make the difficult decision to go to war once again with the mighty British Empire.

The issue of ill treatment aboard Royal Navy and British merchant vessels was a long standing one and it was arguably one of the primary causes for the rise in piracy that led to the early 18th century "Golden Age" of same.  What happened aboard ship, though technically governed by Admiralty Law, was almost entirely hinged on how sane, rational and humane an individual captain and his officers might be.  Knowing that ultimate power corrupts ultimately, one can easily imagine how bad things could become afloat if the governor of your little wooden world was a sadist.

All it took was for an officer or captain to decide they had it in for a man and things could turn ugly.  As Gaile Selinger, pirate historian, notes, history is full of stories of men being permanently crippled or dying due to seemingly unfounded harsh treatment aboard ship.

Men could be chained below decks and held indefinitely, sometimes with very little or no food and water.  Sweating was a popular punishment as well, with various ways devised to work a man quite literally to death.  Men might be forced to climb up and down the rigging, hour upon hour, until the simple fell to their death.  Hugh Pigot, the famously cruel captain of HMS Hermione, would effect this punishment and, once the man dropped over of exhaustion, have him tossed into the sea dead or alive.  On other occasions men were forced to run around the deck to the same end.  Pirates notoriously adopted this form of torture, adding the pricking with sharp objects shown in the engraving above.

Boys were sometimes made to sit at the main masthead as punishment for an infraction, sometimes as simple as misspelling a word in a letter home.  They might be left up there for days; if they fell asleep and tumbled to the deck, so be it.  Men were also similarly tortured by being hung from the top.  Battered against the hardwood of the mast and exposed to the elements, death would often result.

The general malevolence of Royal Navy officers toward common seamen can be summed up in the writings of one of their own, Nathan Uring, who called sailors "... unthinking, ungovernable Monsters... when there is no power nor laws to restrain them."  Even writers of nautical fiction who hold the Royal Navy dear had to concede that trouble could arise at least now and then.  Patrick O'Brian has Jack Aubrey's usual coxswain, Barrett Bonden, aboard another ship at one point in the Aubrey/Maturin series.  When Bonden requests a transfer to HMS Surprise, he is given the ridiculous punishment of 500 lashes for his trouble.  Needless to say, Captain Aubrey takes immediate action.  Unfortunately, most sailors weren't so lucky.

Given all this and more, it seems a simple thing to imagine why a man would turn pirate.  Better to take your chances on your own, and not have as much worry about torture, denied pay or lack of shares in a prize.  At least you knew what you were getting into: a short life, but a merry one indeed.

Header: Pirates "sweating" a prisoner, 19th c engraving via Photographers Direct

History: The Continental Navy and Pirate Democracy

The first was named Alfred, in honor of the greatest Navy that ever existed; the second, Columbus, after the discoverer of this quarter of the globe; the third, Cortez, after the discoverer of the northern part of the continent; the fourth, Andrew Doria, in honor of the great Genoese admiral; and the fifth, Providence, the name of the town where she was purchased and the residence of Governor Hopkins and his brother Esek, whom we appointed the first captain.


This quote comes from John Adams in his role as a member of the Continental Congress. In it, he delineates the first five vessels of the Continental Navy. Upon those vessels, of course, discipline was not an option but Congress was keen to ensure that the potentially out of control discipline that reigned in the Royal Navy of the day did not trickle down to the newly established fleet of the United Colonies of North America. To that end, a written set of Rules and Regulations were approved and enacted on November 28, 1775.

There are 44 Articles in total dealing with everything from victualling to pay to “divine service”. Some specific points are worth noting on this 236th anniversary of their establishment, particularly those that obviously try to distinguish the new naval force from its ancient parent.

Article 1 is telling in and of itself; the first issue on hand is not day to day life aboard ship but duty, honor, and the importance of setting a good example:

The commanders of all ships and vessels belonging to the Thirteen United Colonies are strictly required to shew in themselves a good example of honor and virtue to their officers and men…

A commander may be the law at sea but he is not above it. Like a modern head coach of an NFL team, whatever happens aboard his ship is ultimately his responsibility and/or fault. Leading by example is not just a good idea, it is a given.

“Divine service,” which in general meant reading from the Bible, is expected to be performed twice a day with a sermon preached on Sunday barring “bad weather or other extraordinary accidents prevent it.” Most ships of this time, even in the Royal Navy, did not carry a chaplain, however. Sailors imagined holy men aboard as bad luck. Although Article 2 does not say so, a reading of the Articles of War – which Article 7 states must be done once a month – was an acceptable substitute.

Other Articles ban cursing and drunkenness, with the commander given specific parameters as to punishments for same. Article 4 specifically gives the most severe punishment open to a captain without recourse to consultation with a superior officer – a Commodore – or tribunal of courts martial:

No Commander shall inflict any punishment upon a seaman beyond twelve lashes upon his bare back with a cat of nine-tails…

This clearly speaks to the brutal practices of some Royal Navy captains who would order up to 500 lashes, sometimes for minor offenses.

Care is taken to see that men are paid in a timely manner and that their names are entered into ship’s books appropriately. “A convenient place” is to be set up for sick and injured men and the need for a surgeon and surgeon’s mates is also indicated. Fishing is not just encouraged but mandated when possible, so that the men and particularly the sick have fresh food. The purser is admonished to inspect stored provisions “… and if the bread proves damp to have it aired on the quarter-deck or poop…”

Unlike the Royal Navy, where sailors who died or were killed at sea might have their things sold at auction by their mates, Article 23 mandates that “… cloaths, bedding and other things of such persons…” should be returned to their families.

Article 26 specifically addresses a commander’s duty when faced with an enemy ship. This Article, wherein the captain is again expected to lead by example and “order all things in his ship in a proper posture for fight” was the one repeatedly thrown up in James Baron’s face over the Chesapeake/Leopard Affair, eventually leading to the duel that killed Stephen Decatur.

A commander is given permission to take a life in time of battle when a man deserts his “duty or station”. This occurred when David Porter’s Essex met HMS Phoebe in Valparaiso Harbor. Essex’s gunner deserted his post, saying he would not stay to be slaughtered “like a sheep”. Porter, enraged, gave his adoptive son, Midshipman David Farragut, a pistol and admonished him: “Do your duty, sir.” The gunner was not located before Essex struck to Phoebe. The only other Article that addresses immediate punishment by death addresses cases of murder.

Article 32 gives any crewman, from ship’s boy to First Lieutenant, the right of redress if he feels he has “cause for complaint”. This Article specifically states that if the petitioner does not receive a fair hearing from his direct superior, he may petition the captain.

While these Rules and Regulations for a new navy maintain the disciplines necessary for the running of a capable ship, the tone is very different from those of the Royal Navy. The new egalitarianism and the belief that every man should be heard seeped into the wood and brass of those first five ships and it carries on to this day. One might boldly say that a bit of pirate democracy stood on the decks of the Navy of the United Colonies of North America.

Header: The Continental Fleet at Sea by Newland Van Powell c 1974

Ships: Six Frigates

The United States Navy was reestablished by order of Congress in 1794. Since the Continental Navy had been largely a privateer operation, and the ships that she did have had been sold after the Revolutionary War, the fledgling navy had no ships of her own. Secretary of War Henry Knox proposed that six heavy frigates be built. They should be both strong of hull and fast sailors, something not often seen at the time. And they needed to be ready as quickly as possible given naval threats not only from England and France but from Barbary corsairs as well.


Joshua Humphreys was given the task of designing the ships. Although he is generally credited with their building as well, in fact five other ship builders had a hand in overseeing their execution along with Humphreys. As Ian W. Toll notes in his excellent book on the birth of the U.S. Navy Six Frigates, Knox had the foresight to suggest to President Washington that the building of each ship be completed at different dockyards on the Atlantic Coast. This would not only insure quicker build times but also pump money into local economies which were lagging after the war. Washington agreed immediately and construction was approved in April of 1794.

USS Chesapeake was built at Gosport, Virginia by Josiah Fox. Launched in August of 1799, she would achieve notoriety in the Chesapeake/Leopard Affair. HMS Leopard fired upon Chesapeake in 1807, ostensibly because Commodore James Baron refused to comply with a search request. Baron, his guns unready for a fight, struck almost immediately and would be vilified for his action – or inaction – for the rest of his life. Chesapeake, of 36 guns, would go on to be captured by HMS Shannon during the War of 1812. When she was broken up in 1820, some of her timbers were used to build Chesapeake Mill in Wickham, England.

USS Congress was built at Portsmouth, New Hampshire by James Hackett. Also a 36, Congress was launched at the same time as Chesapeake. She served on the Mediterranean Squadron and in the West and East Indies. She became a receiving ship in 1824 and was broken up ten years later.

USS Constellation was built at Baltimore, Maryland by David Stodder. She carried 36 guns and was launched in September of 1797. She famously captured the French man-of-war L’Insurgent during the Quasi-War, making her the first American built ship to win such a victory. She would go on to duty in the West Indies and on the African Station hunting slavers until she was broken up in 1853. Some of her timbers were used to build a second Constellation; she is now in dry dock and functions as a museum.

USS Constitution was built at Boston, Massachusetts by George Claghorn. Old Ironsides, as she became known, was a true 44 launched in October of 1797. Her greatest victories were achieved during the War of 1812 when she captured the British ships Guerriere, Java, Cyane and Levant. She was marked for breaking in 1830 but, saved by popular outcry, she is now the oldest commissioned vessel afloat.

USS President was built at New York, New York by Forman Cheeseman and launched in April of 1800. Of 44 guns, she served on the Mediterranean Squadron and in the War of 1812 when she was captured by HMS Tenedos after suffering severe damage from running aground. Her captain, Stephen Decatur, struck to the British but it was soon revealed that the Battle of New Orleans had been won by General Jackson the same day. The war was over. Though the British paroled Decatur and his men, they kept President as prize. She was broken up in 1817.

USS United States was built at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania by Joshua Humphreys. Launched in May of 1797 she also carried 44 guns. She captured HMS Macedonian in the War of 1812 and was commissioned into the Confederate States Navy during the Civil War. She was scuttled in 1862 but raised again after the war. Her repair was never properly finished and she was broken up in 1865.

Header: Battle Between USS United States and HMS Macedonian by Thomas Birch

People: Chesapeake's Valliant Commander

October 1st was the 230th anniversary of the birth of Captain James Lawrence, USN. Lawrence, whose famous urging to his crewmen “Don’t give up the ship” has been a Navy rallying cry since he spoke those fateful words, is unfortunately not as famous as his utterance. Though he died young at only 31 years of age, Lawrence had as impressive a career as far more noted naval heroes of his time.


Lawrence was born during the Revolutionary War. His mother, Martha, was apparently a supporter of the rebellious colonies in which she lived. Her husband, John, had Loyalist leanings to the point of preparing to move his family from Burlington, New Jersey to Nova Scotia. Martha died shortly after James’ birth and John, apparently not the steadfast type that his son would grow into, left the infant with his half-sister and fled to Canada. Father and son would never meet face to face.

James grew up in Woodbury with his aunt’s family, not knowing until later that he was not one of the clan. Though he had begun to study law in his early teens, James took a sudden inclination to go to sea and joined the newly rebuilding U.S. Navy as a Midshipman in 1798.

The Quasi-War with France was in the offing, and James had plenty of opportunity to show his aptitude for sailing. He was first placed aboard the brig USS Ganges and then transferred to the frigate USS John Adams. His capabilities brought him a Lieutenant’s commission in 1802, just in time for the First Barbary War. Lawrence was aboard USS Enterprise as Second Lieutenant when USS Philadelphia was captured by the Tripolitans. The timing was perfect; James distinguished himself as second in command under Stephen Decatur in the daring raid that destroyed Philadelphia in Tripoli harbor in 1804. The following year he would command Gunboat No. 6 on a political mission to Italy and then take up the position of First Lieutenant aboard John Adams.

With the First Barbary War over, Lawrence – still with the rank of Lieutenant – took command of first the sloop Vixen and then Wasp. By 1807 he was back home in the U.S. in the port of New York. It was probably during this period by land that young James Lawrence met the daughter of a French merchant in the city, Julia Montaudevert. She was only seven years younger than Lawrence and, in fact, a virtual old maid by the standards of the day at nineteen years old. She was said to have a quiet charm and beautiful dark eyes. Lieutenant Lawrence was smitten; the pair married in 1808.

Lawrence was promoted to Master Commandant while in command of the brig Argus late in 1810. At this time he was given command of the sloop Hornet, a fast runner who carried a remarkable armament for her size. Lawrence was immediately dispatched “… to Europe on a diplomatic mission” according to his biography at the Naval History Center website. They do not say what the diplomatic mission concerned, however.

With the onset of the War of 1812, Lawrence took Hornet all over the Atlantic to hunt for British ships. He captured the privateers Dolphin and Bonne Citoyenne in 1812, following up with the capture of HMS Peacock in 1813. When he returned to Boston with his prize in March of the same year, Lawrence found himself promoted to Captain and put in command of one of the finest ships in the U.S. service, Chesapeake. He also found he was a father when Julia presented him with their nearly two year old daughter Mary Neill Lawrence.

James had precious little time to spend with his new family. His orders as Captain of Chesapeake were to approach and engage HMS Shannon. Captained by the veteran Philip Bowes Vere Broke, Shannon had been blockading Boston harbor with great success. Lawrence took Chesapeake out on June 1, 1813. Unknown to him, Julia was again with child when he sailed.

Lawrence engaged Vere Broke almost immediately upon getting underway. Chesapeake and Shannon began firing at 4:00 PM and Vere Broke’s highly trained crew got the upper hand almost immediately. All of Chesapeake’s officers were either wounded or killed. Captain James Lawrence was struck several times by sniper fire. As men picked him up from the deck to carry him below, he shouted: “Tell them to fire faster; don’t give up the ship!” Some sources give the quote as: “Don’t give up the ship! Fight her till she sinks!” Either way, Chesapeake would only fight for a quarter of an hour; Shannon’s angry boarding party overwhelmed her only minutes after Lawrence expired.

Chesapeake was taken as prize to Halifax, Nova Scotia where Lawrence and his officers were laid to rest with honors. The news of Chesapeake’s defeat cheered the British, who had suffered – and continued to suffer – heavy losses at sea against the Americans.

Paroled Chesapeakes brought the news of Lawrence’s brave last words home. His close friend and colleague, Oliver Hazard Perry, had a blue flag made with white lettering proclaiming “Don’t give up the ship”. This he flew on his flagship during his victory at the Battle of Lake Erie in September of 1813. A replica of the flag is now on display in the Naval Academy at Annapolis.

Julia Lawrence gave birth to her son James after his father’s death. The boy died in infancy. Mary Neill Lawrence went on to marry another naval officer in 1838, William Preston Griffin. Julia successfully had her husband’s remains transferred to New York. The Lawrences are now interred in Trinity Churchyard in Manhattan.

Header: Lawrence’s grave, Trinity Churchyard via Wikipedia

Seafaring Sunday: "Don't Give Up the Ship!"

October 1, 1781: James Lawrence, USN who, when mortally wounded while in command of USS Chesapeake during the War of 1812, urged his crew: "Don't give up the ship!" is born in Burlington, New Jersey.

Header: James Lawrence by Stuart Gilbert

Women at Sea: Birthing on Wave

Women aboard ships, regardless of the nature of a vessel’s business, were much more common in times past than popular culture would like us to believe. Though many women did dress as men either to join with a husband or lover at sea or simply to go to sea on their own, just as many showed up in skirts and petticoats. Anne Bonny famously walked onto her lover Jack Rackham’s ship in a bright cotton gown complete with corset and panniers.


On navy ships, warrant men in particular – gunners, carpenters, etc. – tended to bring their wives to sea well into the 19th century. This practice ceased only when the influence of Queen Victoria, with her staunch belief that a woman’s place was in the kitchen, reached its zenith.

Many of the cruises of naval ships were years long undertakings and, then as now, where there are men and women procreation cannot be far behind. Accounts of births at sea are numerous in ships logs and men’s memoirs from as early as the 11th century. Alvin the Bard writes of a woman named Avrid giving birth to a healthy baby boy aboard one of William the Conqueror’s ships sailing for England. This is his only mention of Avrid, however; why she was aboard ship is never explained.

In the 18th and 19th centuries, the birth of children was regularly documented, particularly on men-of-war which had large crews and plenty of room. Henry Wadsworth, a midshipman aboard USS Chesapeake, was with her in 1803 during the First Barbary War. The frigate left Algiers in February of that year and, according to Wadsworth’s memoirs, the captain of the foc’sle’s wife gave birth on the 22nd. The baby, a strapping boy, was born in the bosun’s storeroom which would have been relatively warm and dry. Another of Chesapeake’s mids, Melancthon Woolsey, organized a christening party and the baby was named Melancthon Woolsey Low in his honor. Chesapeake, it seems, was full of women and a bit of “Real Housewives” drama accompanied the celebration. Wadsworth tells us that the wives of the carpenter, bosun and Marine corporal were not invited to the christening. Snubbed, they huddled in the corporal’s quarters and got roaring drunk.

The Boston Gazette of October, 1811 has a brief piece about a baby girl born at sea who was left at a foundling hospital with money raised by the crew. Her mother died in childbirth and the baby was cared for by various members of her ship’s people for five months until the reached shore. The little girl’s name was given as Sally Trunnion.

The Royal Navy, much like her U.S. daughter, carried women to sea often. Records of births are just as numerous there as in America. One young man, John Nicol, was aboard HMS Goliath at the Battle of the Nile in 1798 where Nelson achieved a decided victory. David Cordingly, in Women Sailors and Sailors’ Women, notes that Nicol was on a gun crew and after the battle he wrote:

I was much indebted to the gunner’s wife, who gave her husband and me a drink of wine every now and then which lessened out fatigue much. There were some of the women wounded and one woman belonging to Leith died of her wounds, and was buried on a small island in the bay. One woman bore a son in the heat of the action…

On another occasion, again noted by Cordingly, a ship’s surgeon approached his captain with the news that one of the ship’s women had been in labor for twelve hours. The surgeon requested that a broadside be fired so that “… nature would be assisted by the shock.” The broadside was duly fired, and the lady was doubtless much relieved to give birth to a son.

When a committee in Parliament decided to award medals to Royal Navy men who had participated in the Battle of the Glorious First of June, it was Queen Victoria herself that stepped in to clarify the issue. Regardless of their service, no woman’s name would appear on the medal roll. One young sailor was literally listed as “Baby” on the roll, he having been born a few days before the battle. His mother however, and all her sisters who were there as well, are nowhere to be found.

Header: The Glorious First of June by Philippe Jacques de Loutherbourg c 1795

History: Chesapeake vs. Shannon

With the War of 1812 already a year old, the U.S. Navy was doing well for itself. Far better, in fact, than the Royal Navy could ever have imagined. Up to May of 1813, the U.S. had taken four British warships in single combat, which was certainly four more than the superpowers of the world would have imagined them capable of. Add to that the devastation of the British merchant service in the Atlantic and one might almost feel that Captain James Lawrence was rightfully smug as he prepared his new command to leave Boston Harbor. The Captain would have done well to remember that pride goeth before a fall.


Lawrence had taken command of the three-masted frigate of war USS Chesapeake in May and now, on June 1, 1813 he was preparing to run the British blockade of Boston and get her out into the open ocean. The beautiful ship was well armed with 48 guns and well crewed with 340 men aboard her. Everyone in Chesapeake’s compliment was ready to meet the British head-on. So much so in fact that as they caught the breeze out of the harbor they raised a flag which bore the American slogan for the War of 1812: Free Trade and Sailor’s Rights.

Lawrence was sailing with a handicap, however. Not only was Chesapeake new to him but she was new to almost every man aboard her, the majority of whom were new recruits. On top of this, her officers, aside from Lawrence, were unusually green and had not had time to work their men – particularly their gun crews – as any fighting officer would have wanted to. Though it must have seemed like a lucky meet to Lawrence, who had little respect for British warships, to immediately happen upon HMS Shannon just out of Boston that sunny afternoon was in fact a horrible omen.

Both ships were over 1,000 tons, with Shannon being the slightly lighter. Shannon carried a considerable number of guns with over 90 cannon on her gun deck and 8 swivels on her quarterdeck. Most formidably, however, she was manned by a crew of 280 veterans. Her captain, Philip Bowes Vere Broke, was a fighting commander of the first order who worked his gun crews almost ruthlessly until their speed and accuracy could hardly be bested.

Broke offered a challenge to Lawrence at 4:00 PM and Shannon took in sail well off shore to allow Chesapeake to approach. Lawrence heaved his ship to with her larboard faced Shannon’s starboard. At a little before 6:00 PM, both ships opened fire. Casualties were mutual but Chesapeake’s were almost immediately devastating; all her officers were wounded or killed within ten minutes. Lawrence was hit by sniper fire and, taken below; his final order was the now famous phrase “Do not give up the ship.” He died in Chesapeake’s sick berth.

Shortly after Lawrence’s death, Chesapeake veered into Shannon’s bow. Broke, not one to miss an opportunity, ordered an immediate boarding. By 6:15 the U.S. flag had been taken down and Chesapeake was prize to the British.

Casualties were high on both sides with Shannon suffering 30 killed and 55 wounded. Chesapeake, however, saw almost 50 dead and nearly 100 wounded. The U.S. ship was taken to Halifax, Nova Scotia and her men paroled from there. The loss, with its shocking swiftness and carnage, was a huge blow to American morale particularly at sea. It would be another year before the U.S. Navy fully recovered.

Header: Chesapeake vs. Shannon, colored lithograph by L. Haghe c 1830

People: The Unfortunate Commodore

Today's post is about a U.S. Navy man who learned the ropes on his father’s ship during the Revolutionary War, was highly praised for his meritorious service upon one of the first six frigates built after that war and went on to accomplish two of the most controversial moves in naval history. James Barron is so obscure at this point that he is only afforded a couple of paragraphs at the Naval History website and – perhaps even worse in our Internet age – when you search for a picture of him pretty much all you get are paintings and drawings of his arch rival Stephen Decatur.

Barron was born in Virginia on September 15, 1768 to merchant sea captain Samuel Barron. The elder Barron was a staunch revolutionary who loathed the British and their crippling taxes that kept wealth just out of his reach. Because of his seafaring knowledge, Samuel was appointed Commodore by the Virginia State Navy at the start of the Revolutionary War and by 1780 young James had joined his father’s crew as a Midshipman. When the State Navies dissolved after the Revolution, James continued to sail with his father and became an accomplished sailor, commanding one of his father’s ships on a crossing to the West Indies. By 1798, when the U.S. Navy was firmly established, James Barron was commission into it as Lieutenant.

Given a berth aboard United States, Lieutenant Barron distinguished himself. His captain was so impressed that within a year he was recommending Barron for promotion to Captain. The naval board agreed and gave Barron command of the sloop of war Warren which saw service in the last few months of the largely naval Quasi-War with France. The end of those disagreements did not slow Barron down as Warren quickly entered the melee in the Mediterranean now known as the First Barbary War. Under the watchful eye of Commodore Edward Preble, Barron and his ship preformed admirably, taking two Tripolitan galleys. When things were settled with Tripoli, Preble recommended Barron for promotion to Commodore.

Barron was by now an established Virginian on the rise. He was married to a local girl (whose name is also unfortunately lacking in the records available to me) and by 1803 they had five daughters and a small plantation. James Barron’s future looked exceedingly bright, and it only got brighter when he was handed his Commodore’s commission and command of the frigate USS Chesapeake.

In June of 1807, Barron had Chesapeake preparing for a trans-Atlantic voyage. She had put in her stores and guns and was fully crewed. This was the height of the Napoleonic Wars and French ships from the West Indies frequently dropped anchor in the friendly harbors of the U.S. British ships dogged them, sometimes even going so far as to try to blockade French ships in U.S. waters. Along with this intrusion, the British were known to board and search U.S. ships to “search for deserters” from the Royal Navy. In fact what the British were doing amounted to seagoing impressments. Any individual captain would have no way of knowing all the names of British deserters around the world so anyone picked out and clapped in irons was simply being chosen at random based on a hunch. This kind of indignity was common for merchant vessels but the British were getting high handed by 1807, and they began to threaten Navy ships.

On June 22nd, Commodore Barron and Chesapeake were at anchor off Maryland. The deck was littered with rations, munitions, cordage, spars and sails and the sailors were busy packing everything away in the hold. Some time in the late morning Chesapeake was hailed by the Royal Navy frigate Leopard. Captain Humphreys, RN, informed Barron that he needed to board his ship and search for British deserters. Barron, at first imagining Humphreys was joking, simply said no. Humphreys pressed the issue, and threatened action if he was not allowed to send a boarding party across. Barron, realizing that the moment was upon him, flatly refused before ordering his ship be made ready for battle.

The problem with the order was the impossibility of it. Like some ill-armed merchant, Chesapeake had only one gun on deck ready for loading. With her main deck scattered with all manner of junk, she was in no shape to clear for battle and, when Leopard fired as per Humphreys’ threat, Chesapeake managed only a meager shot with that one cannon. Barron and 17 other men were wounded and three men were killed with Leopard’s broadside. Barron struck to Humphreys immediately. Humphreys boarded as promised and took five men back to Leopard, only one of whom proved to be a British national.

The U.S. outrage over what would quickly become known as the Chesapeake-Leopard affair was palpable. The very active American press called for an explanation from the government; why was so much money being spent to build up a navy that couldn’t even protect its own sailors? Though the public called for another war with Britain, President Jefferson chose diplomacy. He managed to have four of the five sailors repatriated (the British sailor was hanged for desertion) but not before instructing the naval board to take care of their problems. They did this via court martial which found Barron negligent and suspended him from service for five years. It is important to note that Stephen Decatur, the hero of Tripoli and the epitome of American seafaring manhood at the time, sat on the board that convicted Barron.

James Barron retired to his home to wait out his five years. He returned to the service, this time captaining small frigates and sloops of war. His name is rarely mentioned in the seafaring annals of the War of 1812, which made heroes of men like John Rodgers, James Dacres, David Porter, Daniel Tod Patterson and of course Stephen Decatur all over again. Barron stayed in the background, a middle aged man who had lost the respect of his peers and was no longer able to keep up with the young lions.

By 1820 Barron, who continued to be a controversial figure in the navy with some politicians grumbling about why he was still in the service, took a seat on the Naval Board. With him was his now long time rival and former subordinate Commodore Stephen Decatur. Despite the fact that they served together and that Barron was in line to become senior officer on the board, Decatur heaped insults on Barron. He continued to nit-pick at the Chesapeake-Leopard affair until Barron could no longer ignore it and save face. Barron challenged Decatur in February and Decatur agreed to meet his opponent on the dueling field the following month.

The choosing of seconds was critical to the outcome of any duel but in this case it was particularly interesting. Barron chose Captain Jesse Elliott, who never made any bones about his hatred of Decatur, once calling him a “fop” in the “homosexual” sense (Decatur, though married, had no children and was a bit of a fashion plate which led to rumors about men at sea and so on). Decatur, on the other hand, asked William Bainbridge, by then a Commodore, to second him. Bainbridge readily agreed. What Decatur didn’t know – or chose to ignore – was that Bainbridge hated him too and almost as much as Barron and Elliott. Decatur’s superior attitude and almost charmed success made him very few friends in the competitive naval hierarchy.

As the date for the duel approached, Barron began to get cold feet. Decatur was a crack shot known to be able to hit a man aboard an enemy ship from his own quarterdeck with a pistol (pretty awesome marksmanship if you consider the pistols then in use, the unpredictable movements of any given human being and the heaving of both ships at sea). Barron doubtless imagined what would become of him and he approached Bainbridge with an offer of apology. Bainbridge promised to convey the offer to Decatur but never did.

On March 22nd, early in the morning, Barron and Decatur faced off in Bladensburg, Maryland. Decatur shot first, wounding Barron severely in the hip. Barron would walk with a limp for the rest of his life. What happened next is open for debate. Did Barron’s rage at Decatur’s constant insults and/or his refusal to accept an apology get the better of him? Or did nerves? Or his painful injury? Whatever the case, Barron shot Decatur – seemingly quite deliberately – in the lower abdomen. Decatur collapsed, bleeding profusely, and was hurried off the field to his home at Lafayette Square where he lingered in agony while his punctured bowl pumped sepsis into his body. Stephen Decatur died on March 24th after howling repeatedly that he “… did not know that any man could suffer such pain!”

Decatur, a national hero, was now a martyr thanks to James Barron. Over 10,000 people attended his funeral, including President James Monroe, and Barron was vilified all over again in the press. Though he continued to serve in the Navy, Barron never returned to sea. He finally retired voluntarily in 1839, perhaps sick and tired of hearing how horrible he had been. He died quietly twelve years later at his home in Virginia.

James Barron was a seaman of great promise, whose career went unfortunately astray and never seemed to right itself. It is interesting to note that Barron’s descendants now live all over the U.S., contributing to the country he loved. Decatur, on the other hand – though his name is everywhere – left no progeny at all. His only close living relative at the time of Barron’s death was his wife. Mrs. Decatur died penniless in 1860, still grumbling about James Barron who killed her beloved hero.

Header: James Barron, engraving via Naval History and Heritage Command

Tools Of The Trade: Men Pressed From Their Homes

In our modern world we have a horrible vision of what the British (and Americans) used to call “press gangs”. These bands of glorified thugs roamed the streets of harbor towns and farming villages literally bashing down doors and dragging able men away from their livelihoods and families to a hellish life at sea. No one was safe unless he could show a severed limb, was blind or deaf. Whole farming communities would be left without a single man save the very old or the virtual babies. The gangs were a government backed form of terror.

The truth of history is in this case, as in so many others, far more interesting than the fiction. While the men who worked under the auspices of the Royal Navy’s Impress Service did have the right to round up any able-bodied, male citizen of Britain between the ages of 18 and 55, it rarely happened that they followed this theory to the letter. Though many sailors were indeed taken up by the press, it was not so common for a laborer or merchant’s boy to be dragged off to sea.

The Royal Navy went through a period of tremendous growth in the last half of the 18th century. Since Britain is an island, a seafaring force has always been essential to her defense. By the 1750s, though, a strong naval force had become essential to keeping Britain’s many colonies safe and thriving as well. Ships were built in unheard of numbers and men were needed to work those ships. Unfortunately, they weren’t always willing to sign on for what could turn into years at a time in unknown and dangerous waters.

Of course there were the lifelong sailors who knew nothing else but when ships multiplied the old salts tended to stay with their trusted Captains. Since individual commanders were in charge of manning their ships once they were given their commission, a Captain could theoretically be stuck in port for an indefinite period should he be unable to recruit sailors for his ship. And therein lay the crux of the problem. Ships needed men who knew their way at sea.

The Impress Service was set up by the Admiralty with the permission of the Crown and based on the right of the King to demand service of any subject in defense of the realm. Though there were Impress men in most if not all port towns by 1755, many of the gangs were made up of seamen from a particular ship who’s Captain had sent them ashore to round up a few men to complete his crew. It was rare that these men, able seaman themselves for the most part, would want a farmer as a mate. As the Brethren know, a gawpus is good for only one thing: standing about with his lubberly mouth open and that means more work for every other Jack aboard us.

For this reason many men were pressed, not from jobs by land, but from other ships. From the 1780s on it was not uncommon for a Royal Navy ship to hale a merchant or privateer vessel, board her under some pretense and begin taking men from her crew. The Admiralty laws stated that officers and apprentices (such as the carpenter’s mate for instance) could not be pressed but in a pinch things could be a little less “lawful” at sea.

During and particularly after the American Revolution, impressment of U.S. merchant and eventually navy sailors by the Royal Navy became first a problem and then an international issue. Privateer and navy men were called out as deserters by the British and were therefore not being subject to the press but to “repatriation”. Triple P favorite David Porter, who spent time in U.S. merchants as a very young man, was treated to this tactic three times. He managed to escape in each instance but the “attention” he received from the Royal Navy made him one of their most formidable – if not vengeful – foes in the War of 1812. That war, in fact, might have been avoided had the British not began blatantly pressing men from U.S. Navy ships, including the now famous HMS Leopard vs. USS Chesapeake incident of 1807 in which American Commodore Barron was taken prisoner for resisting the impressment of his men.

It would be a falsehood to paint a rosy picture of the press gang. Sailors were certainly subject to certain horrors. These could include beatings, being chained and/or being dragged away from an alehouse in a drunken stupor. The Royal Navy made the situation worse by introducing the use of the press tender to ferry men down river from London and other larger cities. The ships, in widespread use by the “hot press” of 1803, had a box-like “room for impressed men” where sailors would be packed not unlike slaves for the miserable trip to Portsmouth, Plymouth or the Nore. This treatment fell upon one William Robinson, a 20 year old volunteer at the time, who later wrote:

In this place we spent the day and the following night huddled together, for there was not room to sit or stand separate; indeed, we were in a pitiable plight, for numbers of them were sea-sick, some retching, others were smoking, whilst many were so overcome with the stench that they fainted for want of air.

Despite the very real possibility of such misery, most sailors agreed that the Impress was its own blessing. They had a greater fear of unilateral conscription in which the length of service could become far longer, or even indefinite, if the government saw fit to make it so. As Brian Lavery puts it in his informative book Jack Aubrey Commands:

Though impressment was a huge gap in British claims to support liberty of the subject, the average backbencher felt that it was better than the state bureaucracy which would be needed to replace it. The sailor and his employer the merchant tended to prefer a ramshackle system to one which might be rather more difficult to evade.

Header: Horrors of the Press Gang, a cartoon from 1780