The HMS Roebuck was a ship that tangled with the Americans numerous times. One advantage that she had over other British ships was a relatively shallow draught (vertical distance between keel and waterline), which proved helpful when it came to navigating some of the shallower waters off the American coast.
The HMS Roebuck had already had an encounter just south of today’s events back in March. She was also involved in the Battle of Long Island, which took place during the summer, in a battle on the Hudson River in October 1776, and then in 1777 during another attempt to take Philadelphia, this time as part of a successful assault.
There were other small battles that went on for another couple of years before she was finally recalled to England for a refit, after which she returned to America, successfully engaging again with the Americans. I
In 1783 HMS Roebuck finished her war service and was recommissioned as a hospital ship for the French Revolutionary Wars. In the late 1790s she was recommissioned as a warship and participated in the Anglo-Dutch War and then the Napoleonic Wars. Once the Treaty of Amiens was ratified, Roebuck was was used as a guardship, then a receiving ship. Finally in 1811 she was formally decommissioned and broken up.
HMS Roebuck was in action–most of it battles–for 37 years, a relatively long time for any ship of that era. Even though they were on the enemy side of the war, we can’t help but admire her record, which was quite glossed-over in this relatively small space.
When you have seven ships and you encounter a single ship belonging to the enemy, the Battle of Block Island teaches us that it’s still possible to be overconfident.
Some people tried to frame the Battle of Block Island as a draw, but those people really weren’t paying attention. The HMS Glasgow took some damage, but far more damage was done to the ships that engaged her: The Cabot had its steering disabled and mostly just got in the way, the Alfred lost its tiller as well and also served as an obstacle. Providence held back and was undamaged; Columbus came in late and her fire was ineffective; likewise the Andrew Doria, which got stuck behind the Alfred. And the Glasgow got away, besides.
Between Esek Hopkins’ earlier disobeying of his orders and now this debacle, among other transgressions, he was formally censured. By 1778 he had been dismissed altogether from the Navy.
Esek Hopkins wasn’t just the Commander In Chief of the Continental Navy; he was the only Commander In Chief of the Continental Navy. As we noted just a day ago, the navy was disbanded shortly after the war (sold off, you may recall) until a few years later, when the US Congress decided we needed a US Navy and we had to start all over again.
In the 1760s he was a merchant who once took on a slave ship. Unfortunately he didn’t really know what he was doing, and more than half the slaves died enroute to the West Indies; furthermore the surviving captives were in such poor health that they sold for very little.
For a couple of months, in 1775, Esek Hopkins was appointed as a brigadier general to shore up forces in Rhode Island, but two months later he was appointed Commander in Chief of the Continental Navy authorized by the Continental Congress to protect American commerce.
His specific orders, which were issued on January 5, 1776, were:
You are instructed with the utmost diligence to proceed with the said fleet to sea and if the winds and weather will possibly admit of it to proceed directly for Chesapeake Bay in Virginia and when nearly arrived there you will send forward a small swift sailing vessel to gain intelligence….If…you find that they are not greatly superior to your own you are immediately to enter the said bay, search out and attack, take or destroy all the naval force of our enemies that you may find there. If you should be so fortunate as to execute this business successfully in Virginia you are then to proceed immediately to the southward and make yourself master of such forces as the enemy may have both in North and South Carolina…Notwithstanding these particular orders, which it is hoped you will be able to execute, if bad winds, or stormy weather, or any other unforeseen accident or disaster disenable you so to do, you are then to follow such courses as your best Judgment shall suggest to you as most useful to the American cause and to distress the Enemy by all means in your power.
Having been given eight small ships to carry this out, Hopkins instead read the last part of his orders very closely, and did exactly that part of it. Instead of hanging around Virginia and the Carolinas, he made for the Bahamas, where he executed the raid on New Providence.
While this move proved advantageous to the colonies as a whole, the Southern Colonies were especially upset and the rifts between them and the Northern Colonies got a little wider. Ultimately (though not right away) Hopkins was politically damaged for this action. It didn’t help that Hopkins was also accused of torturing British prisoners in his care, but that led to a military policy of immediate reporting of any misconduct committed by any person acting in the service of the United States.
Captain John Barry was commanding the Lexington, looking for Lord Dunmore’s fleet when they more or less stumbled on the HMS Edward off the coast of the Virginia Capes.
By most accounts the battle went on for two hours and included the Edward trying to lure the Lexington into the capes, though it’s not clear why. Possibly there was some help there in the form of other ships or land-based guns. And possibly because being in the capes meant that geographically, the Lexington wouldn’t have as much room to maneuver. But in the end the Lexington was victorious.
Capturing a ship from the world’s mightiest navy, and bringing that ship back to Philadelphia, was a huge morale boost to Continental forces, especially given that the Continental Navy was so small and newly-established. Plus, John Barry became a celebrity and eventually was promoted to Commodore.
The image in today’s cover art is an engraving of Citadel Hill, around 1780.
Citadel Hill is a very popular historic site in Halifax, and while four forts have been built on this site, none of them have ever had to withstand a direct attack. In a couple of instances, structures near the Citadel were attacked, but never the building itself. It’s possible that the forts that were erected on the site served as deterrents.
The first Citadel was built in 1749. Fortifications were constructed on this hill to protect against raids by the French, colonial Akadians, and local tribes, especially the Mi’kmaq (pronounce it “MicMac”). By 1761 the fort was in ruins and a second, larger Citadel was built in 1776. This is the one in the artwork. While the garrison was always on alert, again it was never attacked, and by 1784 it was again in ruins. The third Citadel was built starting in 1796, when the old one was dismantled. This one was larger still and looked much like the current model, except it had more earthworks. During the War of 1812 some quick renovations were made in case the Americans attacked, but again the whole thing fell to ruin by 1825.
Construction for the current Citadel began in 1828. It was a huge masonry-construction star-shaped fort that took 28 years to finish. An incident in the nearby waters nearly dragged the Citadel into the American Civil War but again there were no attacks on the fort. Eventually it was restored by historians and in 1956 it opened as a historic site and home to the Halifax Army Museum. In the 1990s it was restored again to its 1869 appearance and is maintained as such.
The grounds of the Halifax Citadel are open year round. From spring to fall, a living history program features re-enactors portraying the 78th Highland Regiment (stationed at Halifax between 1869 and 1871), the 78th Highlanders (Halifax Citadel) Pipe Band, the Third Brigade of the Royal Artillery, soldiers’ wives, and civilian tradespeople. Parks Canada also hosts several re-enactment events each year by volunteers of the Brigade of the American Revolution and the two living history associations.
The Citadel’s role in the history of Halifax and North America is communicated through guided and self-guided tours, audio-visual presentations, and various exhibits. On average, the citadel sees over 200,000 visitors annually. A ceremonial firing of the noon gun is conducted daily by staff, and continues year-round, even when the site is closed to visitors. The artillery is also used for formal occasions such as 21-gun salutes.
The “Army Museum”, located in the Citadel’s Cavalier Block, displays a rare collection of weapons, medals, and uniforms exploring Nova Scotia’s army history. It is an independent non-profit museum, and staff work in close partnership with the Citadel staff and Parks Canada.
In July 2006, the Halifax Citadel celebrated the 100th anniversary of the withdrawal of the last British military forces from Canada. The Citadel hosted over 1,000 re-enactors from around the world. Approaching the Christmas season, Citadel Hill annually hosts a “Victorian Christmas”. Visitors are treated to crafts, carolers, and games, as well as a visit from Santa Claus.
Ghost tours are held at the fort in the weeks leading up to Halloween. Ghost tours! Nobody ever died in battle there, but we’re doing ghost tours. Fantastic.
When you first hear the word “Privateers” and its definition, your mind probably goes to your basic concept of a pirate: someone who attacks a ship and plunders its hold for anything valuable. And you wouldn’t be entirely wrong, but there’s still a difference.
A privateer is essentially a pirate who’s working on the right side of the law. Privateers are given commissions through a document called a Letter of Marque, which authorizes a vessel to engage with any ship they consider unfriendly. This wasn’t unique to America; privateering was done all over the world. But in our case, it was a response to the fact that America was sorely out-gunned by the British and needed whatever help they could get. And early privateers had a high success rate, until the British realized that privateers were in use at all.
One of our most famous privateers is John Paul Jones, who volunteered his services and, rather than using his ship to raid British vessels near America, did most of his work near the English coast. He would raid towns, attack vessels and send the Congress their share of the spoils.
So the bottom line when it comes to the difference: permission. Privateers and pirates did much the same thing, except privateers had consent.
Portrait of William Montgomery Crane. By Unknown author – The National Cyclopaedia of American Biography, Volume XII, 1904, page 422, via Wikimedia Commons.
If you’re going to have a kid in 1776, you’re probably going to be feeling a little patriotism when you do so. Such was the case with William Montgomery Crane, who got his middle name from General Richard Montgomery, under whom his father served around this point in the Revolutionary War.
Crane’s father was General William Crane, but at that time he was a lieutenant in the expedition to Quebec, and was part of the New Years Eve assault on that city. Crane was badly wounded in the ankle, an injury that bothered him for decades and eventually led to the foot being amputated, and his eventual death in 1814.
As far as his son William is concerned, we had to gloss over this, but Crane spent a few years in the Mediterranean during the Barbary War, working on protecting ships from piracy. After the Revolution, American ships naturally lost protection from the British Navy and were vulnerable to pirate attacks when they refused to pay protection. President Thomas Jefferson relied on a strategy of using the US Navy to put together blockades, patrols and even direct assaults on the pirate ships. Eventually the tactic worked and Crane was recognized for his efforts when his gunboat endured heavy fire to destroy a battery’s walls in Tripoli in just a couple of hours.
Etching of William Alexander, Lord Stirling, as a Major General. Etching by H.B. Hall, 1892. via New York Public Library.
The capture and ultimate disposition of the HMS Blue Mountain Valley and her crew was, in the bigger scheme of things, a relatively minor event in the American Revolution, however it did suddenly bring both New Jersey and New York into more active participation in the war.
And even though the Blue Mountain Valley was beset by storms that they couldn’t possibly control, the fact that the ship was so easily captured despite the protections they’d put in place so far became a major point of debate back in England. It led to a policy prohibiting the use of transport ships to America unless they had a Naval escort.
A policy like that is pretty good for keeping the ship and cargo losses down, but it wreaks havoc on the Naval resources. So this event was a win in the short run for the Americans, but it was a long-run win as well because of the way it inconvenienced the British over the next several years.
The Pine Tree Flag, which was the ensign of the Massachusetts State Navy. There are a few variations of this, because the original was destroyed by the British.
While the Massachusetts Naval Militia was pretty much wiped out in 1779 (oops, spoiler alert), it wasn’t the end of a state-based Navy for Massachusetts.
Massachusetts began to rebuild, but in 1780 a new state constitution was adopted, and just as the navy was delayed in its original inception by bureaucracy, the Massachusetts State Navy wound up dissolved the next year. They were re-established for the War of 1812, but again disbanded when that war ended.
Nowadays, any state naval militia are automatically part of the United States Militia, and in Massachusetts specifically, any attempt to reactivate a naval militia in Massachusetts must be done either by the governor of Massachusetts or the Massachusetts General Court.
There are five state naval militia extant, so far as I can tell: Alaska, New York, Ohio, South Carolina, and Texas.
Joseph Warren conferring with Israel Putnam before the battle at Bunker Hill, at which Warren was killed.
Mike’s pretty much covered the story of the capture of a British ship in the episode, so I’m going to tell you a little bit about Joseph Warren, who (you may recall) was killed at the battle of Bunker Hill.
Warren became a doctor early in his career, and he also became a Patriot before it was fashionable. He was a powerful speaker, and for several years in a row he would deliver a speech commemorating the anniversary of the Boston Massacre.
In the fall of 1774, he composed the Suffolk Reserves, which urged armed resistance to the British and a boycott of British goods.
So by the time 1775 rolled around, he was one of the most influential men in Massachusetts; in fact he was the president of the Provincial Congress, which by then was the body actually running things there.
In addition, he was on the Safety Committee, ensuring that gunpowder and ammunition was available to militiamen who needed it.
We’ve been talking about the Siege of Boston since April. That was his doing; he’d organized the siege in the first place. George Washington took over a while later. He then organized the building of the earthworks at Bunker Hill before that battle started. And when the British began to overrun the Patriots, he was instrumental in giving them an opportunity to escape. But that’s where his luck ran out: a British soldier recognized him and shot him in the head, killing him instantly.
The Brits then stripped his body and stabbed it several times, then buried him in a shallow grave with another Patriot who’d been killed. Later on, Paul Revere had to identify the body.
The point to all of this is that, had he survived the battle, Joseph Warren would almost certainly have been a much larger figure in the American mythos; maybe he’d even have been our first President instead of Washington.
