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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 52 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 53 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 54 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 55 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 56 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 57 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 74 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. 75