Salem was the foremost privateering port of the Revolution, and from this pleasant harbor, long since deserted by ships and sailormen, there filled away past Cape Ann one hundred and fifty-eight vessels of all sizes to scan the horizon for British topsails.They accounted for four hundred prizes, or half the whole number to the credit of American arms afloat.This preeminence was due partly to freedom from a close blockade and partly to a seafaring population which was born and bred to its trade and knew no other.Besides the crews of Salem merchantmen, privateering enlisted the idle fishermen of ports nearby and the mariners of Boston whose commerce had been snuffed out by the British occupation.Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Charleston sent some splendid armed ships to sea but not with the impetuous rush nor in anything like the numbers enrolled by this gray old town whose fame was unique.
For the most part, the records of all these brave ships and the thousands of men who sailed and sweated and fought in them are dim and scanty, no more than routine entries in dusty log-books which read like this: "Filled away in pursuit of a second sail in the N.W.At 4.30 she hoisted English colors and commenced firing her stern guns.At 5.90 took in the steering sails, at the same time she fired a broadside.We opened a fire from our larboard battery and at 5.30 she struck her colors.Got out the boats and boarded her.She proved to be the British brig Acorn from Liverpool to Rio Janeiro, mounting fourteen cannon."* But now and then one finds in these old sea-journals an entry more intimate and human, such as the complaint of the master of the privateer Scorpion, cruising in 1778 and never a prize in sight."This Book I made to keep the Accounts of my Voyage but God knows beste what that will be, for I am at this time very Impashent but I hope soon there will be a Change to ease my Trubled Mind.On this Day I was Chaced by Two Ships of War which I tuck to be Enemies, but coming on thick Weather I have lost site of them and so conclude myself escaped which is a small good Fortune in the midste of my Discouragements."** A burst of gusty laughter still echoes along the crowded deck of the letter-of -marque schooner Success, whose master, Captain Philip Thrash, inserted this diverting comment in his humdrum record of the day's work: "At one half past 8discovered a sail ahead.Tacked ship.At 9 tacked ship again and past just to Leeward of the Sail which appeared to be a damn'd Comical Boat, by G-d."* From the manuscript collections of the Essex Institute, Salem, Mass.
** From the manuscript collections of the Essex Institute, Salem, Mass.
There are a few figures of the time and place which stand out, full-length, in vivid colors against a background that satisfies the desire of romance and thrillingly conveys the spirit of the time and the place.Such a one was Captain Jonathan Haraden, Salem privateersman, who captured one thousand British cannon afloat and is worthy to be ranked as one of the ablest sea-fighters of his generation.He was a merchant mariner, a master at the outbreak of the Revolution, who had followed the sea since boyhood.But it was more to his taste to command the Salem ship General Pickering of 180 tons which was fitted out under a letter of marque in the spring of 1780.She carried fourteen six-pounders and forty-five men and boys, nothing very formidable, when Captain Haraden sailed for Bilbao with a cargo of sugar.During the voyage, before his crew had been hammered into shape, he beat off a British privateer of twenty guns and safely tacked into the Bay of Biscay.
There he sighted another hostile privateer, the Golden Eagle, larger than his own ship.Instead of shifting his course to avoid her, Haraden clapped on sail and steered alongside after nightfall, roaring through his trumpet: "What ship is this? An American frigate, sir.Strike, or I'll sink you with a broadside."Dazed by this unexpected summons in the gloom, the master of the Golden Eagle promptly surrendered, and a prize crew was thrown aboard with orders to follow the Pickering into Bilbao.While just outside that Spanish harbor, a strange sail was descried and again Jonathan Haraden cleared for action.The vessel turned out to be the Achilles, one of the most powerful privateers out of London, with forty guns and a hundred and fifty men, or almost thrice the fighting strength of the little Pickering.She was, in fact, more like a sloop of war.Before Captain Haraden could haul within gunshot to protect his prize, it had been recaptured by the Achilles, which then maneuvered to engage the Pickering.
Darkness intervened, but Jonathan Haraden had no idea of escaping under cover of it.He was waiting for the morning breeze and a chance to fight it out to a finish.He was a handsome man with an air of serene composure and a touch of the theatrical such as Nelson displayed in his great moments.Having prepared his ship for battle, he slept soundly until dawn and then dressed with fastidious care to stroll on deck, where he beheld the Achilles bearing down on him with her crew at quarters.
His own men were clustered behind their open ports, matches lighted, tackles and breechings cast off, crowbars, handspikes, and sponge-staves in place, gunners stripped to the waist, powder-boys ready for the word like sprinters on the mark.
