1812

WHILE THE BRITISH were frustrating Madison along the Canadian frontier, the American blue-water fleet was running into difficulties its senior officers had long anticipated. Before the war began, Commodore Rodgers expressed a view generally held by his colleagues, that the navy would have the most success in the first months of the war. After that, the Royal Navy’s overwhelming numbers would drastically curtail American naval operations. At the start of the war, the light regard in London for the naval prowess of the United States helped the navy achieve a series of remarkable victories, but they in turn caused the Admiralty to deploy additional resources to the American theater, which made life even more difficult for the navy than Rodgers had anticipated.

The British public clamored for the Royal Navy to destroy the maritime power of the United States, and the Admiralty kept pushing Admiral Warren to tighten his blockade along the coast. Their lordships pointed out to him that his failure to stop America’s warships and privateers from putting to sea forced the Royal Navy in the first weeks of 1813 to deploy two line-of-battle ships, two frigates, and more sloops of war around St. Helena and a similar assortment of warships in the neighborhood of Madeira and the Western Islands. The Admiralty demanded to know why Warren, with all the ships he had, allowed the Constitution , the President, the United States, the Congress, the Argus, and the Hornet to come and go as they pleased from Boston Harbor. On March 20, 1813, Croker wrote to Warren emphasizing again that all the American warships must be blockaded. If they were allowed to roam, the problem of finding them would be nearly impossible, making the convoying of merchant fleets far more difficult. Furthermore, if privateers by the hundreds were allowed to prowl, they would add an even greater hazard. A tight blockade of the entire coast was the only remedy. The Admiralty insisted that Warren include a 74-gun battleship in every blockading squadron outside an American port.

Warren’s strengthening blockade necessitated Commodore Broke’s return from Halifax in late March to patrol off Boston in the 38-gun Shannon, accompanied by the 38-gun Tenedos, under Captain Sir Hyde Parker. They were part of a powerful squadron that was led by Captain Thomas Bladen in the 74-gun La Hogue and included the 38-gun Nymphe, under Captain Farmery P. Epworth.

Bladen was anxious to prevent John Rodgers and the President from leaving Boston Harbor, but recurring thick fog gave Rodgers an opening, and on April 23 he stole out to sea unmolested to begin his third cruise of the war, accompanied by the Congress (Captain John Smith). Contrary winds kept the two frigates confined to Boston Bay for a few days, but when the wind turned fair, they broke out on the afternoon of May 3. Near the shoal of George’s Bank they passed to windward of the La Hogue and the Nymphe. Captain Bladen could not catch them, however, and they went on their way, splitting up and cruising singly after May 8.

Having failed to stop the President and the Congress from putting to sea, Commodore Broke set his sights on the Chesapeake, which was preparing to sortie from Boston. He yearned to fight her one-on-one. While he was watching for his chance, the Admiralty, dismayed by American naval victories, was contemplating issuing an order to forbid any frigate from engaging the 44-gun American frigates alone. The order was not issued until July 10, 1813, however, and in any event, it would not have applied to the Chesapeake, since she was not among the larger class of American frigates.

Broke was so anxious for a duel that during the last week of May he wrote a clever, insulting letter to Captain James Lawrence, the Chesapeake’s new skipper, challenging him to come out and fight, as if it were an affair of honor between the two men, rather than a battle that was sure to cause dozens of casualties. Broke sent a captured American prisoner to deliver his letter to Lawrence. The prisoner left it at the post office in Charlestown, but Lawrence never received it. The post office delivered it to Bainbridge by mistake, and he passed it on to Secretary Jones. Bainbridge was commandant of the Boston Navy Yard at the time, having turned command of the Constitution over to Charles Stewart.

To emphasize how urgently he wanted a single-ship duel, Broke sent the Tenedoes away and made the Shannon conspicuous by sailing her just outside the harbor in plain view. Captain Lawrence did not need an inducement to fight; he was anxious to have it out with the Shannon. When Broke sent his challenge, Lawrence had been in Boston only a few days. He had received orders from Secretary Jones on May 6, directing him to proceed to Boston and take command of the Chesapeake. Lawrence arrived in the city on May 18. His assignment was the most important the president had given to the seagoing navy. He was ordered to cruise in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, interdicting supply ships and troop transports making for Quebec, the principal port supplying British land forces in Canada. Madison’s invasion plans for Canada in the spring of 1813 would be helped immeasurably if Lawrence could seriously limit enemy provisions getting through to Quebec.

It had taken Madison and Jones some time before they had settled on a new assignment for Lawrence. Since defeating the Peacock in February, he had become a national hero. To begin with, they appointed him commandant of the New York Navy Yard, which allowed him to be home with his wife and child. Jones then gave him command of the Constitution—as choice an assignment as the navy had to offer. But a short time later, Jones learned that the Constitution was not ready for sea and that the Chesapeake’s skipper, Samuel Evans, was seriously ill. Jones wanted the navy’s few warships put into action as soon as possible, and he considered Lawrence an ideal replacement for Evans. On the first of May he ordered Lawrence to take command of the Chesapeake, which was in Boston along with the Constitution.

When he arrived in Boston, Lawrence went right to work, and two days later he reported to Jones that he found the Chesapeake “ready for sea.” He also told him that he had tried unsuccessfully to exchange ships with Captain Stewart. Lawrence evidently felt that Jones would have no trouble approving the switch. Despite his preference for the Constitution, Lawrence was eager to get to sea and into action, which is exactly what Jones wanted. Lawrence’s old ship, the Hornet, was to accompany him, but she was in New York, under James Biddle. Lawrence wrote to Biddle explaining his plans and places of rendezvous. The British were blockading New York, however, and getting to sea would be exceptionally difficult. Lawrence felt that if anyone could get the Hornet out, it was Biddle.

Lawrence was pleased with all of the Chesapeake’s young but experienced officers. His first lieutenant was twenty-one-year-old Augustus Ludlow, who had never been first officer on a ship before but was a veteran seaman, having been in the navy since 1804. He had served aboard the President, the Constitution (where he was promoted to lieutenant), and the Hornet, and more importantly, he had been on two cruises in the Chesapeake. Ludlow was a replacement for four older officers: Lieutenants Page, Thompson, and Nicholson were sick, and Acting Lieutenant Pierce was such a troublemaker that Lawrence got rid of him immediately, reporting to Jones that Pierce could not get along with anyone in the wardroom. The absence of all these officers required two midshipmen to be promoted to acting lieutenant, William Cox and Edward J. Ballard. Like Ludlow, they were young and new to their jobs, but both had been in the service a long time, had served on the Chesapeake, and were ready for their new duties. The second lieutenant was George Budd.

Lieutenant Ludlow wrote to his brother Charles that the Chesapeake was in better condition than he had ever seen her. Furthermore, her crew were all experienced seamen, except for the thirteen powder monkeys. Only 36 of the 379 men aboard were British seamen, and they appeared prepared to fight for their new country. Lawrence and Ludlow felt the crew was every bit as ready as the ship.

By the thirtieth of May the Chesapeake was ready for action, and Lawrence weighed anchor, leaving Boston’s inner harbor and dropping down to President Roads off Long Island at the edge of the harbor, where he could spend a few days making final preparations for sea while keeping an eye out for the blockading squadron. Persistent fog and rain would likely give him enough cover to get to sea. The following morning, fog and rain, which had blanketed the area for the past few days, was still around. Instead of putting to sea, however, Lawrence left the ship and went into town for a luncheon. While he was there, he received word that a single British warship was off Boston Light. Deciding there was no immediate danger, he remained in town that night and rejoined his ship the following day.

When Lawrence came aboard first thing in the morning, Lieutenant Budd reported that the Shannon was visible, and, as far as he could tell, she was alone. Lawrence climbed the main rigging to have a look for himself. By then, the weather had cleared. He came back satisfied that she was the Shannon. He hailed a pilot boat and sent her out to see if there were other enemy warships about, and then mustered all hands to tell them that if the Shannon were alone, he meant to engage her and urged them to do their patriotic duty. Some hands took the occasion to protest that they had not received their prize money from the last cruise, whereupon Lawrence ordered the purser to pay them.

In deciding to fight the British ship, Lawrence was disregarding his orders to intercept supplies moving to Quebec. Lawrence’s mission was important to the war effort; he was ignoring it for a chance at personal glory. Even if he succeeded against the Shannon, he would have to return to Boston for extensive repairs that might take months, making it impossible to pursue an assignment the president believed was vital. In addition, Lawrence was risking one of the few warships in the American arsenal for no good reason.

Going against the clear purport of his orders was not Lawrence’s only problem. Unlike many frigates in His Majesty’s service, the Shannon had a skipper who had been in command for seven years and a crew that had been with him for a long time. They were undoubtedly among the best in the Royal Navy. Lawrence would have his hands full.

On Tuesday, June 1, at eight o’clock in the morning, Lawrence ordered the Chesapeake unmoored and then went to his cabin and scratched out two letters. To Secretary Jones he wrote, “My crew appear to be in fine spirits, and I trust will do their duty.” The second letter was to his wife’s brother, James Montaudevert. “An English frigate is close in with the lighthouse, and we are now clearing for action. Should I be so unfortunate as to be taken off, I leave my wife and children to your care.”

At noon Lawrence hove out to sea with a light seasonal wind from the southwest. The Shannon immediately came into view, looking a bit shabby from having been on blockade duty for weeks. The Chesapeake, on the other hand, having just been refurbished, looked brand new.

The two ships were evenly matched. The Chesapeake had fifty guns and 379 men. Her main battery was twenty-eight long eighteen-pounders on the gun deck, and on the spar deck above, she carried eighteen thirty-two-pound carronades, two long twelves, one long eighteen, and a twelve-pound carronade. The Shannon carried fifty-two guns and 330 men. Her main battery was twenty-eight long eighteen-pounders on the gun deck, and on the spar deck she carried sixteen thirty-two-pound carronades, four long nines, one long six, and three twelve-pound carronades. The officers and crews of both ships were experienced seamen, but Broke had a distinct advantage in that he had had command of his excellent crew for many years, while Lawrence was new to his men.

The instant the Chesapeake hove into sight off Boston Light, Broke and his officers had telescopes trained on her, and when they saw her coming toward them, it was obvious that Lawrence had taken up the challenge. Broke could not have been more pleased. He moved out to a position twelve miles south-southwest of Cape Ann under easy sail. He wanted to be offshore for maneuverability and sufficiently far from Boston that Lawrence would not be aided by other vessels, although, by the look of things, the American captain did not want any help. He was sailing directly at Broke. At 4:30 the Shannon lay to with her head to the southeast, having just steerage way, waiting for the Chesapeake. Broke was under topsails, topgallants, jib, spanker, and even royals, since he expected the wind to die away. He was taking a big chance, leaving it in Lawrence’s power to begin the action in whatever way he chose.

At five o’clock Lawrence ordered royals and topgallants taken in, and half an hour later, he had the courses hauled up. Under topsails and jibs, he came down fast with the weather gauge. Broke had done nothing to deprive him of it. Lawrence could now sail straight for the Shannon’s stern, rake her with a deadly broadside or two, and gain a decisive advantage. Or, since he had more men than Broke, he could drive right up to the Shannon, firing as he went, and board. Instead, in what can only be described as a misguided act of chivalry, or a terrible mistake, Lawrence refused to exploit the opening Broke was giving him, and within forty-five minutes he rounded to within pistol shot (less than fifty yards), bringing the Chesapeake on a parallel course with the Shannon, setting up an artillery duel and playing to Broke’s strength.

Because of the initial position Broke deliberately took, he was uncertain what direction Lawrence would take, until he saw the Chesapeake luffing up on the Shannon’s weather quarter and her foremast coming in a line with the Shannon’s mizzen. As she did, Broke fired his after guns and the others successively, until the Chesapeake came directly abreast. At that point, Lawrence unleashed his broadside. It was ten minutes to six. With the two ships continuing to run roughly parallel to each other, they unleashed terrifying broadsides, while from the tops their marksmen rained musket balls down on the enemy’s deck. The first shots from the Shannon damaged the Chesapeake’s rigging, killed the sailing master Mr. White, and wounded Lawrence. Seconds later, full broadsides tore into the Chesapeake and cut her foresail tie and jib sheet, rendering her headsails useless. The Chesapeake’s broadsides did considerable damage to the Shannon as well, but the British ship did not have key officers killed and her captain wounded so early in the fighting, nor have her steering compromised.

The Chesapeake now shot up into the wind uncontrollably, presenting her stern and larboard quarter to the enemy, while making it impossible for Lawrence to bring more than one or two of his own guns to bear. Seeing the Chesapeake’s quarter presented to him, Broke unleashed devastating half-raking broadsides that tore into the quarterdeck, killing the men at the wheel and making the Chesapeake completely unmanageable. The wind now pushed her back toward the Shannon. Expecting the two ships to collide, Lawrence shouted, “Boarders away.” A bugler sounded the call to assemble, and Lieutenant Ludlow took command of them. Just then, a hand-grenade thrown from the Shannon landed on one of the Chesapeake’s arms chests on the quarter deck, exploding the contents in a terrifying roar. In moments, the Chesapeake—in irons, unable to steer—backed into the Shannon, her mizzen channels locking in with the Shannon’s fore rigging.

When Broke saw Ludlow’s men assembling, he called for his own boarders. As he did, Lawrence suddenly slumped to the deck, felled by a musket ball from a marksman in the Shannon’s tops. He cried out to be taken to his cabin. Lieutenant Ludlow was shot at the same time and severely wounded. At this point, Acting Third Lieutenant William Cox appeared from below. He had been in charge of the guns on the starboard side of the Chesapeake’s gun deck, the side that was not firing, and since he wasn’t needed there, he climbed up to the quarterdeck. Hearing Lawrence’s call to be taken below, he ordered a couple of men to help him carry the captain to his cabin. When he disappeared below, Cox did not realize he was the senior officer in command on the spar deck. After seeing to Lawrence, Cox attempted to return to the fight on the upper deck, but he ran into a flood of men retreating below and could not get past them.

Meanwhile, Broke had his boarders assembled and was leading them onto the Chesapeake’s quarterdeck. With Lawrence and Ludlow severely wounded and Cox having gone below, the Chesapeake’s boarders were leaderless and disoriented. Deadly musket balls continued raining down from the Shannon’s tops. Second Lieutenant George Budd, now the ship’s senior officer, was below on the gun deck running operations there, unaware of the situation on the spar deck above.

Broke pressed his advantage, and as he led his boarders forward, a pistol shot fired by the Chesapeake’s chaplain hit him. It didn’t stop him, though; he continued on against little organized opposition. Broke and his men quickly gained control of the quarterdeck and were fighting their way to the forecastle when Lieutenant Budd, having been alerted by one of Lawrence’s aides, reached the spar deck with some men. He found that the Shannon’s boarders had already gained possession of the quarterdeck and were fighting their way forward. Budd ordered the fore tack hauled on board in hopes of shooting the Chesapeake clear of the Shannon. He then tried to regain control of the quarterdeck, but he was soon wounded himself and collapsed momentarily. Despite his injury, he rose and made another valiant effort to collect his men and resist the Shannon’s boarders, but many of the Chesapeake crew had fled below, desperate to get away from the slaughter.

In the course of the fighting, a cutlass had slashed Broke’s hard hat and sliced through his skull, nearly killing him, but he retained command and now had control of the entire upper deck, which was a bloody mess. The dying Lawrence told his men in a whisper, “Don’t give up the ship,” and then repeated it. But with Broke in complete command of the upper deck, Lieutenant Budd was forced to surrender. After he did, Broke passed out.

Totally dejected, Lieutenant Budd allowed himself to be taken down to the cockpit, where his wound could be treated. When he arrived, he found Lawrence and Ludlow mortally wounded; the sight badly shook him. Both the Fourth Lieutenant Edward J. Ballard and Marine Lieutenant James Broom were also wounded.

The butcher’s bill was horrific on both ships. In addition to Lieutenant Watt, the Shannon lost her purser, the captain’s clerk, and twenty-three seamen, while Captain Broke and a midshipman were wounded, along with fifty-six other men. As bad as these casualties were, the Chesapeake suffered much worse. She had forty-seven killed and ninety-eight wounded.

The high casualties and the damage done to the Shannon disprove the charge made later by historians that Lawrence and the Chesapeake were not ready to fight. They lost because of Lawrence’s decision not to exploit the initial tactical advantage he had and because of bad luck, not because the Chesapeake was unprepared. Lawrence may have been guilty of not following orders; he undoubtedly should have avoided the Shannon and stuck to the mission the president had assigned him, but had he not given up his early tactical advantage, been mortally wounded, or lost his headsails, he might well have been the victor.

The baleful duty of reporting the defeat to Secretary Jones fell to George Budd. While he scratched out details of the fight, the Shannon and the Chesapeake sailed to Halifax with Captain Broke barely clinging to life, although eventually he recovered. Lawrence was not so lucky; he lay on the Chesapeake’s wardroom table in excruciating pain, unable to speak for four horrific days before mercifully succumbing. He and the other American officers who died were buried with full military honors in Halifax, the British paying solemn tribute to their bravery.

In all the confusion during the last moments of the fighting, George Budd had neglected to order the navy’s signal book destroyed, and it was captured, which forced Secretary Jones to write a new one. The assignment went to Charles Morris, who was in Washington at the time waiting for his new command, the Adams, to be converted to a corvette.

When news of the Shannon’s victory reached London the first week of July, the reaction was initially subdued. The Times noted that “the heroism of British seamen prevailed” but refrained from its usual gloating. After giving the matter more thought, however, the Times wrote, “American vanity, raised to the most inordinate height by their former successes in three very unequal contests, has been . . . stung almost to madness, by this unequivocal proof of their inferiority to us in fair and equal combat.”

The initial tepid response to the Shannon’s victory was a result of rejoicing over Wellington’s stunning triumph at Vittoria on June 21. After four years of vicious fighting, the French had suffered a crushing defeat and were retreating wholesale out of Spain back to the Pyrenees. No one doubted that Wellington would soon be on French soil. And Vittoria was only one indication that Napoleon’s power was eroding. His spring and summer campaign in Saxony against Russia, Prussia, and their allies was sapping his strength, and he had agreed to an armistice. With these stupendous events to contemplate, the American war was far from British thoughts. But also far from their thoughts was a reconciliation with the United States. Liverpool was still intent on revenge; he was just biding his time.

Although Lawrence’s heroic death and his dying admonition not to give up the ship were deeply inspirational, President Madison and Secretary Jones were angry that he had disregarded his important orders and by doing so had needlessly lost one of the navy’s few frigates. Jones now issued explicit orders that captains avoid one-on-one battles. He wrote to Charles Stewart, who had assumed command of the Constitution in May, to put to sea when he saw an opening, but “should any attempt be made to allure you by a challenge to single combat, I am directed by the President to prohibit strictly acceptance either directly or indirectly.”

In the aftermath of the battle, George Budd was mad enough with Lieutenant Cox to prefer charges against him, formally accusing him of cowardice. Budd claimed that Cox should have assumed command on the spar deck and not personally brought the captain below. A court-martial tried Cox almost a year later. Commodore Decatur was president of the court, serving with Captain Jacob Jones, Master Commandant James Biddle, and several lieutenants. Decatur convened the court in April 1814 and convicted Cox of neglect of duty and unofficer-like conduct, sentencing him to be cashiered from the navy. President Madison approved the verdict. Cox, who considered himself entirely innocent, responded by enlisting in the army and serving as a private until the end of the war. In 1952, 138 years later, after Cox’s descendants had spent decades trying to clear his name, President Truman finally set aside the court’s unwarranted verdict.

IN APRIL AND May 1813, the British blockade had tightened even more in New York than it had in Boston. The 74-gun Valiant, under Captain Robert Dudley Oliver, and the 44-gun Acasta (the largest frigate in the British service), under Captain Alexander Kerr, patrolled off Sandy Hook, with other ships joining them periodically. The Royal Navy’s most famous officer, Sir Thomas Masterman Hardy (Nelson’s flag captain during the Battle of Trafalgar and his favorite) patrolled at the eastern end of Long Island in the 74-gun Ramillies, accompanied by the 36-gun Orpheus, under Captain Hugh Pigot. They were occupying Block Island and using it, among other things, to water their ships. From time to time additional men-of-war accompanied Hardy. Neither Oliver nor Hardy had any trouble obtaining food from farmers along the coasts of New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut.

Oliver was the senior officer in command of the blockading force. His first priority was keeping Stephen Decatur and the American warships confined in New York. Decatur’s United States was being repaired, as were the Macedonian, under Jacob Jones, and the Hornet, under her new captain, Master Commandant James Biddle, who had joined her on May 22. The brig Argus, under Lieutenant William H. Allen, was also in New York, and she was ready for sea. As a reward for his brilliant work against the Macedonian, Secretary Jones gave Allen command of the Argus, but he did not promote him to master commandant, as Allen and every other officer in the navy expected.

During the first week of May, Jones ordered Decatur to cruise with the Argus off South Carolina and disrupt the British blockade there. Afterward, Decatur was to send the Argus to join the Chesapeake on patrol in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Decatur worked hard to get the United States into shape, and on May 9 he sailed her, in company with the Argus, to Sandy Hook, planning to leave early the next morning. But at daybreak the Valiant and Acasta were in full view, and Decatur, ever conscious of the sluggish sailing of the United States, decided not to attempt a breakout until foul weather gave him more of an edge. The refurbished Macedonian soon joined him, and the three ships waited for dirty weather. Five uneventful days passed, and during that time revised orders arrived for the Argus, directing Allen to take Senator William Crawford, the new American ambassador to France, to L’Orient or any other place along the French coast where Allen could get in. After depositing Crawford, Allen was to cruise around the British Isles and take whatever ships came his way. Allen relished the assignment.

While Allen waited for the ambassador, Decatur, growing impatient, decided to exit the harbor by a different route. He withdrew to New York and then to Hell Gate, where he planned to pass into Long Island Sound and escape into the Atlantic between Montauk Point and Block Island at the eastern end of the island.

For six days an easterly breeze kept him in the East River, but on May 24 the wind hauled around to the west, fair for making the treacherous trip through Hell Gate, and Decatur sailed through easily with the Macedonian and Hornet. He then beat down the Sound against a persistent easterly and stormy weather. During the trip, lightning struck the mainmast of the United States and traveled through parts of the ship. Decatur made repairs as he went, and on the twenty-ninth he was off Fishers Island, near the mouth of the Thames River, waiting for an opportunity to break out into the Atlantic.

On the first of June, Decatur made his move, standing through the Race (a tidal rip west of Fishers Island at the eastern end of Long Island Sound that can run at four miles an hour), and steered for Block Island Sound. The Valiant and the Acasta were visible in the distance to the south and west. Captain Oliver had ordered Hardy to switch places with him so that he could capture Decatur, but he was too far away to even make an attempt. Decatur appeared to have a clear opening, but as he approached Block Island, he thought he saw two more warships of considerable size. At the same time, he spotted Oliver racing to cut him off from New London. Convinced that he would soon be trapped between two large British forces, Decatur hauled his wind and beat back through the Race, retreating to the safety of the Thames River and New London before Oliver could catch him. The Acasta got close enough to the slower United States to fire a few ineffectual shots, but that was all.

Since it was the renowned Decatur who failed to escape, no one questioned his account, but there were no British warships, large or small, off Block Island at the time he was trying to get to sea. He had a clear opening. The ships his lookouts saw were not British warships. Instead of being loose in the Atlantic, he was now trapped in the Thames River. Oliver stationed a large force at the mouth of the Thames to keep him bottled up.

After reaching New London, Decatur worked hard to protect himself. He wrote to Secretary Jones, “I immediately directed my attention and all my exertions to strengthening the defenses of the place.” The Federalist government of Connecticut had left the seacoast defenseless. Decatur asked Jones to send him twenty pieces of heavy cannon.

WHILE ADMIRAL WARREN was making it difficult for the U. S. Navy to get to sea, American privateers were proving impossible to contain. Dozens were putting out, menacing British ships from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the West Indies and any other place captains and their owners thought might be profitable, including around the British Isles. They seemed to be everywhere, even at the western end of the St. Lawrence River, operating out of Sackets Harbor. The Neptune and the Fox were two such. They performed a heroic action on July 19, 1813, capturing the British gunboat Spitfire and fifteen fully loaded bateaux she was escorting in the St. Lawrence.

Privateers were particularly effective in the West Indies, becoming bolder with time, even landing on Jamaica and raiding plantations for food. Cries for protection were heard in London from West Indian merchants and planters. Protests rained down on the Admiralty from every place the privateers swarmed. Especially vocal were British merchants trying to navigate in their home waters.

Taking advantage of dirty weather and adverse winds, privateers slipped out from their ports with relative ease. They became America’s answer to Britain’s blockade. Secretary Jones had always had a high appreciation of their value, unlike his captains, who scorned them. American naval officers felt that money alone motivated privateers. They could never be counted on to fight enemy warships unless they were forced to. And privateers drove up prices for everything naval vessels needed, often creating unnecessary shortages. In Jones’s view, however, commerce raiding was so vitally important, and the navy’s ships so few, that privateers, whatever their drawbacks, were necessary. In fact, they were the only possible response to Britain’s blockade.

On March 3, 1813, a desperate Congress authorized any citizen to attack any British armed vessel of war without a privateer’s commission. Few did. Preying on merchantmen was far easier. In the course of the war, Madison commissioned 526 privateers and letters of marque to operate on the high seas and on the Great Lakes. Most of them came from Massachusetts (150), Maryland (112), and New York (102). According to Lloyds of London’s list, in the first seven months of the war, American privateers captured five hundred British merchantmen, and their success continued unabated, in spite of everything the Admiralty did to combat them.

Britain’s privateering was on a much smaller scale. Unlike the United States, privateers were not a critical part of the Admiralty’s naval strategy. Most British privateers were letters of marque, and Nova Scotia was their main base. In the opening months of the war, forty-four of them captured more than two hundred prizes.