Download Captain Boyle and the Messerschmitt

Captain Boyle
and the
Messerschmitt
A Superhero and a Batplane, 250 years
before DC Comics, and it all began here
on the Bay. Make that a Batboat. . . .
Story and illustrations by
ou’ll find the real heroes in the back alleys
of history, many with unfamiliar names. Once
in a great while you’ll also find that remarkable
conjunction between a courageous heart and a new
technology, a combination that changes all the rules and even
defines a time. Such a time was 1812. The hero in point was a merchant
skipper turned privateer, Captain Thomas Boyle. The technology was
a radically fast and nimble ship, the Baltimore pilot schooner.
Boyle was born to the sea, into a family of Marblehead, Mass., watermen. His portrait by
an itinerant artist of the day shows a youngish man decked out in Regency fashion with
a high pompadour and a long nose: broad forehead, placid eyes, an unaggressive chin,
altogether unimposing. He shipped out at ten and was commanding family merchant
vessels at sixteen—precocious, yes, but not so unusual in an age when Royal Navy
“squeakers,” pubescent midshipmen, were commanding gun batteries and squads of
seasoned sailors before their voices changed. By the outbreak of the War of 1812, Boyle
had been commanding leather-tough sailormen on blue water for over two decades.
Given that the United States merchant service was remarkable in those days for its
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egalitarian relaxation of the Navy’s strict hierarchy (a
deckhand might question a captain’s orders with no
repercussion), we can assume that Boyle led by
assurance and trust, not by flogging rules.
Boyle and other merchant captains turned eagerly
to privateering and its potential rewards when war
broke out between Britain and our new nation. The
Royal Navy was blockading our ports and preventing
honest trade; beside that, the perils of civilized cannon
fire were not much scarier than a full North Atlantic
gale. One impetus for the war was especially painful to
merchant captains: the impressment of American
sailors into the Royal Navy.
[For the author’s more detailed account of
the reasoning behind the War of 1812, visit
www.
]
The war began during Britain’s Regency, when the
Prince of Wales (soon to become George IV) acted for
the seriously deranged George III (the one who lost the
American colonies). After the Revolutionary War the
rulers of Britain haughtily despised the United States as
a nation of backwoodsmen and grasping shopkeepers.
They underestimated the emerging character of our
“colonial” society where energy, money and ingenuity
spoke louder than birth status. The young United States
took pride in its meritocracy. New ideas were the most
potent currency. Innovators were our nobility. The
British also overlooked our inexhaustible indigenous
resources: we had the wilderness, and we had the sea.
Because the New World had been traveled by
Native Americans without the wheel and without the
horse, overland routes evolved from footpaths, often
impassable by freight wagons. It forced the new
Americans to be waterborne, navigating the smallest
streams with the graceful native canoe and ranging the
lakes and coasts in beautifully designed and built
sailing vessels.
Our wilderness had its own wealth: It was the
mother of all lumber stores. A familiar American saying
was that a squirrel could travel from the Atlantic to the
Mississippi River from tree to tree, never touching the
ground. This isn’t particularly surprising, but it misses
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the real point: that hardy squirrel would have
leapt through pine, fir, beech, cedar, birch,
oak, elm, holly, walnut, locust, hickory—an
agronomy textbook of prime material suited to
special structural needs. As a waterborne
nation we turned our native ingenuity to
boatbuilding, and we produced an array of
marvelous craft.
Shipbuilders in the
At the beginning of the War
Chesapeake had evolved of 1812 the odds seemed
their own Messerschmitt, insuperable. The Royal Navy
numbered about 190 ships of the
a weatherly, fast, line, each mounting more than
handy vessel for the 74 guns, plus 250 frigates
mounting 30 to 50 guns, along
competitive pilot trade.
with innumerable “small
change” sloops, brigs, transports, store ships and
revenue cutters. The United States Navy consisted of six frigates, a few brigs and two sloops.
The cheapest and fastest way to raise our
navy was to issue “letters of marque,” government authorization for private armed vessels to
take or destroy enemy shipping. This volunteerism (which had as its impetus sharing the prize
values with the government, 50/50) placed on
the owners the burden of building, outfitting,
provisioning and crewing. The blockaded
merchantman shipped a few cannon and
took a flyer on privateering, essentially
becoming a “private man o’ war.” It was to be
a battle of quality over quantity, and subtlety
over brute force.
Captain Boyle was master of no
ordinary merchant vessel. His was, essentially,
the Messerschmitt of its time. In the last months
of World War II, bombers and fighters were
stunned by the appearance of an aircraft so
advanced, so fast and powerful, that it couldn’t
be touched. The Messerschmitt 262 was a
shark-like twin-engine jet plane that flew a
hundred miles an hour faster than our best
fighters, carrying heavy cannon, rockets and
bombs. It was a technology beyond reach. Had it
been produced earlier, it would have affected the
complexion of the entire war. It was the Batplane.
Captain Thomas Boyle essentially flew
a Batplane.
Most ships of the day were square-rigged.
The sails hung from yards rigged across their
masts and had a quadrilateral “square” shape,
which made them excellent “scoops” for driving
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a ship before the wind. Indeed, ships planned
their voyages to run down the trade routes of the
world—prevailing wind and water currents
typified by the North Atlantic Gyre (which
includes the Gulf Stream) moving clockwise
around that ocean. If you sailed out of Boston for
Africa, you went with the winds and Gulf Stream
to Ireland, then south—downwind and with the
current—to Africa. Returning, you sailed
downwind to the Caribbean and caught the Gulf
Stream north along the North American coast.
“Jamming” into the wind, the square sails
had no stiff leading edge, but were pulled
forward and taut by braces; the resulting airfoil
was flexible and imperfect. Even especially
“weatherly” square-riggers could venture less
than ten degrees toward the wind. This shallow
angle was reduced further by leeway, the
tendency of the ship to move sideways from the
pressure of the sails. Square-rigged ships’
rounded bottoms didn’t “grip” the water.
Shipbuilders in the Chesapeake had
evolved their own Messerschmitt, a weatherly,
fast, handy vessel for the competitive pilot
trade. Pilots vied to reach incoming merchants
first to get the commission for guiding the
cumbersome, deep-laden merchantmen up
through the drowned-river channels of our
Chesapeake’s hydrography.
The pilot schooner [see Lynx illustration,
opposite page] had “slack bilges, plenty of
deadrise, and pronounced drag.” This sounds
like a dastardly insult, but it’s all admiration.
“Slack bilges” indicates a gentle wineglass
curve from keel to rail, more like a champagne
flute than a brandy snifter [A]. The deadrise
refers to the angle the hull takes from the keel
[B]; for the clipper it was a steep angle. “Drag”
is a term for increased depth aft [C], which gave
the clipper a deep “fin” to resist leeway. This
and the raked stern–the rudderpost slanted far
forward of the vertical [D]–also gave it a turning
pivot [E] to handle quickly. Altogether the shape
was slim and slippery and sea-holding. Freeboard [F] (the profile of the vessel’s hull above
the waterline) was kept low for the same
reason, while the beam [G] (the vessel’s
width) was proportionally broad for stability.
The pilot schooner’s rig [see Pride of
Baltimore illustration, opposite page] was
another futuristic vision: two tall masts,
daringly raked (slanting aft), with topmasts and
L eft : Lines of the
Baltimore Schooner
Lynx.
A Draft of the Baltimore Schooner Lynx – Built 1942 at Fells Point – 95 feet 8 inches on deck
royal masts to support square topsails and
royals for running before the wind. But spars
and rigging were kept slim and light to reduce
“tophamper” (weight above the water that
affects stability) and windage (air resistance
that can reduce the overall efficiency). Both her
masts bore fore-and-aft sails [B]: the forward
edges of the sails were attached to a tight line
in the case of a jib or staysail, or to a spar like a
mast, boom or gaff. Fore-and-aft sails have
much simpler, more efficient airfoils and can
be trimmed more precisely. The draft (depth of
the airfoil curve) of the big mainsail and the
foresail could be adjusted by changing the
angle of the gaff above the sail. Her bowsprit
was doubled: it could be lengthened by sliding
a slimmer sprit forward to anchor the enor-
mous cloud of fore-and-aft jibs and fore-staysails [C] important for working into the wind.
Handling jibs and gaff sails was simpler: Only a
few sailors were required to do the work of a
dozen square-sail topmen.
With this hull and rig the Baltimore pilot
schooner could work nearly thirty degrees into
the wind. This may not sound like much, but
geometrically it’s gigantic. [see illustration, page
56] To reach a point 10 miles directly to windward, a Baltimore schooner sailing 30 degrees
into the wind would log 20 miles. A squarerigger sailing 10 degrees into the wind would log
57.6 miles to reach the same point. The clipper
would also run faster and make less leeway. To
windward, in a race between the schooner and
the square-rigger, there was no contest. KKK
B elow : Sail plan of the
Pride of Baltimore I, by
naval architect Thomas
Gillmer.
Sail Plan of The Pride of Baltimore I
A
A—Square topsails
B
A
B
and royals
B—Fore-and-aft sails
A
C—Sprit
D—Fore-and-aft jibs
B
and fore-staysails
B, D
B
B, D
B, D
Thomas Gillmer
C
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Being able to sail at
35 degrees to
windward allowed the
Baltimore schooners to
travel half the distance
than a traditional
square-rigger.
Bear in mind that these swift ships were
pilot schooners and not “Baltimore clippers.”
The term “clipper” came into use around 1830,
long after the likes of Captain Boyle and his
uber-schooner took on the British Navy in 1812.
These new-fangled vessels were the progeny of
the American wilderness and Yankee ingenuity
and merely the starting point in what would
become a rapidly developing technology that
resulted in the Baltimore clippers that dominated world trade a generation later.
By contrast, these first swift thoroughbreds
were delicate creatures, as beautiful and
insubstantial as dragonflies. A moment’s
inattention, an error of weather judgment, brief
overenthusiasm, and the light, sky-high rig could
tear itself to pieces. Getting the best out of a
Baltimore schooner in 1812 required two parts
daring and eight parts caution. Captain Thomas
Boyle, born to the sea, had the experience, the
requisite daring and the exquisitely nice judgment to wring prodigious performance out of
these temperamental greyhounds. On the open
ocean with a hellbender like Boyle commanding, not a single ship in the entire Royal Navy
could touch a Baltimore schooner.
Boyle began privateering with the Baltimore schooner Comet, 90 feet 6 inches long
with a beam of 23 feet 6 inches. She carried a
pair of nine-pound cannon and 10 to 12
carronades [see cannon llustration, opposite
page]. Over the course of four voyages Boyle
captured 29 British merchantmen. He then left
the Comet in Beaufort, South Carolina, and
traveled to New York City where he took
command of the Chasseur, 115 feet 6 inches
long with a 26-foot-8-inch beam, mounting 16
12-pound cannon. Boyle was part owner of the
Chasseur and knew her like no other skipper.
He shipped out for the Grand Banks and thence
to England where, over the next three months,
he took 18 British merchantmen.
But what gives him a glowing page in
history is the vessel he gave back to the Brits.
He returned one of his prizes to the Thames on
condition that its captain nail Boyle’s proclamation on the door of Lloyds’ Coffee House, the
hub of shipping and maritime insurance
interests. It was a near-copy, almost a satire, of
the Royal Navy’s proclamation of blockade on
the American coast:
PROCLAMATION: Whereas, It has
become customary with the admirals of Great
Britain, commanding small forces on the coast
of the United States, particularly with Sir John
Borlaise Warren and Sir Alexander Cochrane,
to declare all the coast of the said United States
in a state of strict and rigorous blockade
without possessing the power to justify such a
declaration or stationing an adequate force to
maintain said blockade; I do therefore, by
virtue of the power and authority in me vested
(possessing sufficient force), declare all the
ports, harbors, bays, creeks, rivers, inlets,
outlets, islands, and seacoast of the United
Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland in a state
of strict and rigorous blockade. And I do further
declare that I consider the force under my
command adequate to maintain strictly,
rigorously, and effectually the said blockade.
And I do hereby require the respective officers,
whether captains, commanders, or commanding officers, under my command, employed or
to be employed, on the coasts of England,
Ireland, and Scotland, to pay strict attention to
the execution of this my proclamation. And I do
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hereby caution and forbid the ships and vessels
of all and every nation in amity and peace with
the United States from entering or attempting to
enter, or from coming or attempting to come
out of, any of the said ports, harbors, bays,
creeks, rivers, inlets, outlets, islands, or
seacoast under any pretense whatsoever. And
that no person may plead ignorance of this, my
proclamation, I have ordered the same to be
made public in England. Given under my hand
on board the Chasseur.
THOMAS BOYLE By command of the
commanding officer
J. J. STANBURY, Secretary.”
The gobstopping chutzpah of this proclamation
must have caused some mirth and comment at
Lloyds’ Coffee House. But Boyle continued to
take merchant prizes with impunity. The Royal
Navy was “encouraged” to capture the privateer
but “If [the Royal Navy] pursued, [the privateers] put on their sea-wings and laughed at the
clumsy English pursuers” (London Times,
February 1815). Unless a Baltimore schooner
was caught inside a restricted bay or bottled up
in a river, a privateer skipper needed only to
beat to windward to escape the plodding
square-riggers. The Royal Navy ultimately
dispatched 14 sloops of war and three frigates
to fend off Boyle’s threat—unsuccessfully.
In short order, Lloyds’ Coffee House
insurance rates rose astronomically. Ships
bound for Britain from the British loyalist port
of Halifax were obliged to pay an insurance
surcharge of 33 percent. Some underwriters
simply refused to insure vessels in the North
Atlantic. The weaving industry, a British
specialty, was particularly stricken because
Boyle and other Yankee privateers were
strangling the supply of cotton from the
plantations of the American South.
Meanwhile, the miniature U.S. Navy roared
as loudly as possible during the War of 1812,
defeating a long string of “invincible” Royal
Navy men o’ war with their six heavy frigates.
In August of 1812 the USS Constitution confronted
and sank the HMS Guerriere. British sailors
witnessed 18-pound cannonballs bouncing off
the Constitution’s 25-inch oak frames cut from
the inexhaustible American wilderness. Thus
the name “Old Ironsides.”
While the American Navy did its best to
cripple the British military fleet, the enterprise
Cannons and
carronades delivered
and tenacity of the converted merchant
their payloads with
privateers delivered mercantile Britain a
amazing accuracy.
decisive blow to the pocketbook. Within a
month after war was declared, 65 privateers
sailed against British merchantmen. Six months
later, they had taken three hundred prizes. In
Baltimore, the news magazine Niles Weekly
Register published a running list of privateers’
captures; by 1814 it topped a thousand.
And why didn’t the Limeys get their own
pilot schooners? Answer: They tried. Many fine
Chesapeake-built schooners were trapped and
captured as they replenished stores or offloaded
prize goods in harbors. These were duly manned
with jolly British tars and sent out to conquer.
But their seamanship failed them. The unfamiliar schooners were so over-canvassed, so
temperamental and delicately
balanced, that the British crews The Royal Navy ultimately
couldn’t coax anything near
dispatched 14 sloops of
optimal performance out of
war and three frigates to
them without losing spars,
blowing out sails or sinking.
fend off Boyle’s threat—
A few captured Baltimore
unsuccessfully.
schooners tried their best. On
Captain Boyle’s third cruise aboard the Chasseur,
he overtook an obvious Chesapeake craft sailing
under British colors in the Caribbean. The former
Atlas, built in St. Michaels, had been captured
and renamed the HMS St. Lawrence and
outfitted as a decoy cruiser for just this purpose.
Boyle thought she was a placid merchant but
was surprised with a sudden broadside.
Continued on page 74
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Continued from page 57
He was under-gunned at the time.
Boyle had jettisoned many of his
cannon to lighten Chasseur during a
squall—the schooners may have been
thoroughbreds but they were a beast to
handle in heavy weather, even with an
experienced crew. Nevertheless, Boyle
boarded and took the St. Lawrence
within fifteen minutes. His action
report notes that cannon fire from both
boats was “very severe and destructive
and we found we have an heavy
enemy to contend with . . . Saw the
blood run freely from her scuppers.
Gave orders for boarding which was
cheerfully obeyed . . . “ The butcher’s
bill was stern for a short action:
St. Lawrence had 15 killed and 19
wounded; Chasseur had five killed and
19 wounded. Boyle sent the wounded
and the remaining crew into Havana
aboard the ravaged St. Lawrence.
An excellent way to get a punch
in the snoot would be to call a
privateer a “pirate.” This was a dire
insult. A pirate was considered to be a
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The Pride of Baltimore
II under full sail on
the Chesapeake Bay.
Photo courtesy Pride of Baltimore, Inc.
Captain Boyle and the Messerschmitt
lawless renegade with no ethical
boundaries, while a privateer was
something like a volunteer naval
combatant, as close to being an
officer and a gentleman as the
egalitarian United States would
permit. And this brings us back to the
nature of heroism: It isn’t all derringdo. There is an aspect of honor and
respect in the very brave. Boyle was
a hero we can easily and heartily
admire. This is part of a letter given
to Boyle by the captain of the
St. Lawrence after the battle.
In the event of Captain Boyle’s becoming a prisoner of war to any British
cruiser I consider it a tribute justly due
to his humane and generous treatment
of myself, the surviving officers, and
crew of His Majesty’s late schooner St.
Lawrence, to state that his obliging
attention and watchful solicitude to
preserve our effects and render us
comfortable during the short time we
were in his possession were such as
justly entitle him to the indulgence and
respect of every British subject.
The short battle with the St. Lawrence
occurred after the Treaty of Ghent had
ended the War of 1812. Several of the
war’s battles were fought “after the fact”
because information took weeks to
travel from one place to another. When
the news arrived Captain Boyle turned
north and returned to Baltimore. He and
the Chasseur were saluted wherever
they were seen.
Boyle’s Baltimore schooner had
been given a second name as an
honorific when she returned from her
triumphant British “blockade,” a name
with which we’re familiar: The Pride of
Baltimore. She was the fastest sailer that
had ever been built and one of the
loveliest. Hezekiah Niles of the Niles
Register said, “She is, perhaps, the most
beautiful vessel that ever floated in the
ocean, those who have not seen our
schooners have but little idea of her
appearance. As you look at her you may
easily figure to yourself the idea that she
is about to rise out of the water and fly in
the air, seeming to set so lightly upon it!”
Captain Thomas Boyle faded, like
most volunteer warriors, back into the
blur of mercantile life but took up
privateering again during the Spanish
American Wars of Independence. He
died in 1825 at the age of 50 on a
voyage between Alvarado, Mexico, and
Philadelphia. He was buried at sea.
Chasseur was built four times.
Boyle sailed a second version outfitted
for Mexican privateering voyages. Then
150 years later the Pride of Baltimore
was built to Chasseur’s specifications
but sank with the loss of two lives in a
Caribbean squall; after a period of
mourning the Pride of Baltimore II
was built. She
survives. h
, storyteller,
artist and damned
good cook, writes and
draws from his new
studio in Gainesville, Fla.
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