WHEN THE United States MOORED NEAR CHESTER, both ship and commodore showed excessive wear and tear. Leaving the frigate in Barron's capable hands, Barry stopped at Stoddert's office long enough to make his report and present the envoys' dispatches. Before he departed for Strawberry Hill, Stoddert reviewed the navy's activities in the Caribbean. Once again, Truxton's deeds shone brightest. Having rescinded his resignation and back commanding the Constellation, he found and fought another French frigate, la Vengeance. The Frenchman was about to surrender when the Constellation lost her mainmast, allowing la Vengeance to escape.1
The long separation was hard on Sarah Barry. Strawberry Hill's sixty acres required continuous oversight, and for the past two years both Barry and the Hayes brothers were away for months at a time. Sarah informed her husband that this recent separation would be the last in which she stayed at Strawberry Hill, miles away from family and friends, snowbound for weeks at a time during winter. She wanted to move back to the city, letting the estate serve as their summer residence as was the custom of Philadelphia gentry. That spring they purchased a house on Chestnut Street.2
While Rush attended to Barry, Humphreys attended to the United States.3 The Bay of Biscay had decimated his pride and joy. With “most of the Wales Rotten,” Humphreys decided to “take out most of her hanging knees”—the live oak supports for the ship's sides. Further examination compelled him “to take out everything from the extreme end of the ship.” It was necessary to take the frigate apart in order to save her.4
That spring the federal government began moving to Foggy Bottom, Maryland—the swampland Stoddert and Washington had chosen for the nation's capital. Adams gave responsibility for the transfer of every lock, stock, and document to Stoddert, who was also called on to serve double duty in the cabinet.5 Fed up over their never-ending subterfuge, Adams dismissed McHenry and Pickering, leaving him without a Secretary of War or State.6 Until replacements were approved, Adams asked Stoddert to take over the War Department.7 Once Stoddert accepted, Adams started out for the ramshackle capital of the nation.
With repairs on the United States looking to take months, Stoddert began dismantling Barry's crew. James Barron was given leave to visit family in Virginia. Before he left, Barry gave Barron a new signal book to be used by the entire navy that he had been working on for some time. Barry asked Barron to review it and have it printed.8 Stoddert assigned Decatur to the brig Norfolk, bound for San Domingo. John Mullowny's Ganges was in port, and Stoddert ordered Barry to transfer thirty sailors to his protégé. In return, Mullowny left Barry a “box of segars” from Havana.9
Where Mullowny gave Barry reason to smile, Charles Stewart was giving him headaches. After Barron's departure, Barry turned over day-to-day command of the frigate's repairs to Stewart. Whether from another bout of ill health, or his own foul mood over lack of both promotion and action, Barry rode Stewart hard. When the lieutenant requested shore leave, Barry, preoccupied with other matters, dismissed him. Finding Stewart still ashore a day later, Barry laid into him for “willful neglect” of orders. His tirade wounded Stewart, who worshipped Barry. Soon his hurt turned into anger, and he pressed for “removal to another Ship; for I will no longer be the object of your unmerited Censure.” The letter stung; Barry genuinely liked Stewart, and had high hopes for him. Whether it was the mellowing of age or the realization that the incident stemmed from his own crotchety behavior, Barry left Stewart's defiant note unanswered. In doing so he saved Stewart's career. Weeks later, when Stoddert promoted him to command of a schooner, Barry was “perfectly satisfied,” hoping Stewart “will be more active when he comm[ands] then when he is comm[anded].”10
He also aided Midshipman James Caldwell, who asked Barry's “Advice on a Subject of the most Interesting Nature”: money. Caldwell was intrepid, but also “a Young man of no Fortune.” Recalling days when his own ambition clashed with lack of money, Barry engineered Caldwell's transfer to the Constitution. Talbot also saw merit in the boy, making him prizemaster of a captured schooner.11
In between courts of inquiry and overseeing work on both his new home and his ship, Barry waded through the thick packets of mail that included applications for officer's berths and other petitions. Two letters gave him a chuckle. One of Truxton's sailors, George Miller, due to “a bit of Frolick” and “too much Grog on board,” was languishing in jail. The contrite tar begged Barry for a second chance, signing off piously, “may God Protect your undertakings.” The other letter came from Samuel Chandler, “Brought up in the Church of England,” and applying for the chaplain's berth. Knowing Barry's upbringing, he added, “I often visit the Catholic Church.” Impressed by such ecumenism, Barry approved Chandler's request. Whether Chandler saved Miller's soul is not known.12
With Barry down to two lieutenants, Somers and Meade, Stoddert sent Talbot's son, Cyrus, to fill the vacancy left by Barron's departure. From Norfolk, Barron wrote Barry, “tired of an Idle Life” and asking Barry to help him get his own command. Barron had other news: the signal book Barry created and gave him for printing was finished. “I have ordered one hundred & fifty to be struck which will furnish each Vessel with three,” he continued, predicting “thare Superiority to the System now practiced in the British Navy.” The war had not brought Barry the success he hoped for, but he would always be proud that his signal book was used by the entire navy.13
As Humphreys had repairs well in hand, Barry decided to pursue the latest fad of Philadelphia society, a stay at the New Jersey shore. Long Branch was the most popular destination: not far from Monmouth battlefield and a two-day coach ride in good weather. Charles Biddle found it “the most agreeable place to spend some days in the summer,” everything the well-off Philadelphian could ask for: “good living, a fine country to walk in, a number of vessels constantly in sight, and generally good society.” Sarah was elated, and Barry urged Isaac Austin to close shop and come along, “as the benefit you would receive from the jaunt and batheing in the salt water” had “no comparison” for relaxation.14 For three weeks they enjoyed a seashore vacation, eighteenth-century style. (Barry was one of Long Branch's first visitors of note; by the end of the century seven presidents had visited, including the mortally wounded James Garfield.)
The sun and salt air, a tonic for Sarah and Isaac, restored a youthful spring to Barry's step, and newfound determination to resume his duties. Newspaper headlines warned of the increase in “Captures made by Guadeloupe Privateers,” and Stoddert wanted every idle warship heading to the Caribbean. Returning home, Barry expected that Humphreys had performed his usual miracles, with the United States back in fighting trim.15
He was dejected at the sight of her. “It is astounding to see the Condition she is in,” he wrote Stoddert. “There was not a plank above the water what is rotten,” he continued. After adding that “she will not be out of the Carpenters' hands before the first of October,” Barry changed the subject: hearing that Truxton's expense accounts were reimbursed, Barry wanted the same done for him.
He then took a page out of Stoddert's book—actually, his letters—and mimicked the secretary's penchant for carping about dallying captains and idle ships: “it is very distressing to me to be confined so long in port when my country is suffering so much by captors.” Citing the numerous French successes, he threw a jab at Stoddert and Adams, being “very much surprised when I hear so many of our merch[ant] vessels is captured”: this did not happen on his watch. It was also a criticism of the squadron leaders in the West Indies. Talbot, whom Barry hardly knew, was serving admirably if unspectacularly, an apt description of Barry's past two years. But Decatur, Murray, and Truxton were friends.16
By October 3, 1800, repairs on the United States were nearly finished; unbeknownst to Adams, Stoddert, and Barry, the Quasi-War was finished. Adams's envoys had successfully negotiated a treaty with Talleyrand, although it would be weeks before word reached American shores. From Washington, Stoddert sent orders to Barry to enlist a crew, and fill his officer vacancies.17
One application arrived as the muster rolls were nearly complete. To Barry's surprise, Stoddert nominated his own son: “I am afraid my Boy is too careless and too thoughtless ever to make a good sailor—I am afraid, too, you will be too kind to him, and he has already been spoilt by too much indulgence. I hope you will not treat him too well—nor excuse him from any of the duties performed by other boys his age and standings. I shall be much obliged if you would order him to be very attentive.”18
While Barry was flattered by Stoddert's request, there were extenuating circumstances. Stoddert knew the war was about to end, and this might be young Ben's only chance at action on the high seas; the Constitution's officers may have been prejudiced against a “southerner,” regardless of who his father was; and Murray was known to have a heavy hand with his young officers. Nevertheless, Stoddert's reason may have been the obvious one: Barry was a master at molding officers. Truxton had been the war's hero, but even Stoddert could not deny that under Barry the United States had served as a de facto naval academy. The list of officers promoted from Barry's frigate was second to none: Ross, Mullowny, Barron, Decatur, Somers, Stewart, and Caldwell had all distinguished themselves on board what everyone knew to be “a happy ship.”19 Stoddert could not have done better for his son.
That said, the secretary continued complaining about Barry behind his back. Well aware that the combination of the commodore's seniority and his determination to return to the theater of action were politically insurmountable, Stoddert still did not want to give Barry the plum assignment of replacing Truxton at the head of the navy's largest squadron. He wanted that to go to Talbot, but in one letter indiscreetly bewailed, “I know not what to do with Barry if he is not sent thither.” Finally, he decided that the United States “will leave the Delaware in time enough to escape the Frost—Barry will command her,” confiding to Truxton that Barry's “rank and title” deserved “the Guadeloupe station.”20
By November 10, Adams learned of the peace treaty, but the news came too late to affect the election. The peace Adams sought could not save his presidency. Stoddert knew his days, too, were numbered. From Philadelphia, Barry waited impatiently for final orders: “We have every thing ready for sailing,” one young sailor wrote. The only noteworthy event was the delivery of a baby, “a young sailor born on board our ship,” described as “a fine looking boy.”21 Who the woman was or why she was on board is not known.
The child was delivered by the frigate's surgeon, Edward Cutbush, who had joined Barry's staff a year earlier. A protégé of Rush, he was meticulous and far-sighted in ordering supplies, and had been advised by Rush in treating Barry's asthma attacks. A member of the American Philosophical Society with a passion for research, he was intent on studying the Gulf Stream on this voyage, and bought a sea thermometer for his studies. Cutbush, a real-life Stephen Maturin, was thrilled that Barry was both amenable and generally interested.22 (On their return voyage, Cutbush diligently recorded air and water temperatures, skulking about the galley at all hours and frequently interrupting Barry's slumber in the process. He became convinced that “the Thermometer may become an Instrument of great utility in the hands of Navigators.”23)
A few days later, Barry received new orders. The wife of Philadelphian Edward Shippen had written Stoddert requesting passage to Antigua, on Murray's Constellation. Instead, Stoddert offered the United States as a substitute.24 He assured Mrs. Shippen that Barry, “old as he is,” would not mind. With this cavalier offer, Stoddert showed he considered Barry nothing more than commander of a packet, relegating the navy's flagship to that status just to make his point.25 Barry had seen his share of slights and insults, but nothing cut like this.
Last-minute delays kept the frigate in the Delaware until December 6, when Stoddert finally ordered Barry to “assume the command of our Squadron, on the Guadeloupe station.” Due to “The present state of uncertainty” about the treaty, Adams and Stoddert acknowledged that “it is difficult to prescribe the conduct to be pursued toward French National Ships.” Accordingly, Barry was not to make “Encounters with Ships of this Description.” As to privateers, however, Barry and his squadron were “to treat them as heretofore . . . unless Peace should be produced”—all this contingent upon the French navy and the privateers leaving American merchantmen alone.26
Just before departure Barry was laid low by another asthma attack. His lung capacity was deteriorating; one nineteenth-century physician, noting how the “hypertrophy of the bronchial muscles” resulted in “a permanent thickening of the walls and consequent narrowing of their caliber,” could well have been describing the commodore's condition. Barry sent the frigate downriver in Cyrus Talbot's capable hands, coming on board at Bombay Hook on December 14; two days later, the frigate was “Off Cape Henlopen, Wind light, atmosphere clear.”27
Two sails were sighted on New Year's Day; peering through his spyglass, Barry identified one as an armed schooner, then “tacked and chased her.” This race was over before it started; that evening, the United States “brought to the Amer[ican] Brig Sally from New Haven.” The prize crew of eight Frenchmen surrendered peacefully. The Sally's captain told his rescuers he was “captured by the French schooner Diamaid the day before.” An hour later, Barry “saw the French privateer to the leeward,” and the game of cat and mouse continued as before. The schooner took the United States on an eight-hour chase, even losing the frigate at nine o'clock. But any relief the French captain felt was short lived when the United States soon reappeared on the horizon. In the wee morning hours, the frigate “came up with the prize.”28 The Diamaid was Barry's last capture.
One week later, Barry was at St. Kitts. The local newspapers carried the latest reports from America: “Governor Davie had reached America,” bringing the peace treaty with him. While waiting to relieve Truxton, more news arrived: Jefferson was elected president. Barry and his fellow captains could only surmise how this development would affect their future; most Republicans were no friends of the navy. On January 15, 1801, Truxton sailed into view on board the President, the latest forty-four-gun frigate. Like Barry, Truxton was flying the broad blue pennant of a commodore. He may have disputed Talbot's seniority, but not Barry's: one quick order from Truxton “hauled down ours & ran up a long one”—the banner of a captain. After assuring Barry of the scarcity of French privateers, he departed with his squadron for home.29
Barry proceeded to his most frustrating haunt, Guadeloupe, to see what kind of reception an American ship would receive. As before French guns were run out, and troops went to their stations. Only this time it was “to Receive the Commodore” and “fire a Salute,” a far cry from Barry's previous visits. In return, he assured French officials that no fighting would start with the United States. The war had decimated the economy of Guadeloupe; beef soared to twenty dollars a barrel and flour twice as much.30
For two months, Barry kept his captains busy with cruises and convoy escorts. Finally, one captain, David Jewett, spoke for them all, seeking permission to “return to the United States as soon as [Barry] will permit.” On April 12, supply ships arrived with Stoddert's latest orders: Barry was to send his squadron home and “make your best way to Philadelphia.” The good news was relayed to his captains. Once the ships were resupplied, Barry saw no need to tarry. By evening he was “off the NW end of St. Eustatia.”31
Barry was determined to see how the United States would fare on the sail home. He handled her cautiously heading to the West Indies; now, not even a “Heavy hard Sea from the Northward and West” kept him from pushing “his favorite” to her limits. She responded wonderfully, logging 220 miles one day. By April 21, she made Delaware Bay; Barry “Took a Pilot on board” and was greeted by springtime in the Delaware: “wind blows very heavy with Thunder and lightening.” The severe storms forced Barry to proceed slowly upriver, not reaching Chester until April 28. It took just nine days to reach Cape Henlopen, but over a week to get to Philadelphia.32
Barry disembarked from the United States at Chester and took a carriage directly home, to find Strawberry Hill draped in black cloth. His nephew Michael Hayes had died. Whether he was lost at sea or died in Philadelphia is unknown. His small estate of five hundred dollars was divided between his sister Eleanor Kavanaugh and Betsy Hayes.33
From Strawberry Hill Barry sent word to Washington of his arrival. In February, Stoddert tendered his resignation to President-elect Jefferson, ironically citing his health as the primary reason (in fairness, his old wound from the Brandywine was giving him new pains that accompanied his aching financial condition), agreeing to stay until a successor was named.34 Jefferson's search dragged into March, as one Republican after another declined to accept a cabinet post most believed would be of no consequence in Jefferson's presumably antinavalist administration. Finally, Samuel Smith was persuaded to serve on an interim basis.35
Before leaving office Stoddert wrote a flurry of proposals: selling “all the Public Vessels, except the [thirteen] Frigates;” reducing the navy's muster rolls; and recommending that only twenty-eight captains be retained (Congress soon whittled that to nine). In his final act as secretary, he took the money from the unbuilt seventy-fours to buy the shore lands that became the navy yards in Washington, Norfolk, Boston, Philadelphia, Portsmouth, and New York—exactly what Barry suggested years earlier.36
Samuel Smith's first order to Barry came in early May: pay off his crew and keep only as many needed to sail the United States to Washington, “where it is intended she shall be laid up.” This time Barry turned to family for his second officer, placing the frigate under Richard Somers' command as she slipped down to New Castle. The twenty-three-year-old was proud of his small success, bringing the ship downriver with “no Accident happening.” The passage became one extended family affair; Patrick Hayes, just downriver in the Hope, “stayed and spent the evening” on board. After a fine dinner in his uncle's cabin, Patrick was rowed back to his ship in the early morning hours, getting under way at daylight. Barry made for Washington under a “spare leading breeze from the Westw'd.”37
He had already voiced concerns that the Potomac might be too shallow for the frigates draft, and he was right. The United States struck the river's soft bottom several times. Two schooners were dispatched; once alongside the frigate everything possible was unloaded to lighten her, from “2 Guns 24 Pounders” to “1 puncheon vinegar.” Their holds bursting with ordnance and supplies, the schooners waddled like hippos upriver towards the new navy yard. Lighter by 700 tons, the United States was next waylaid by guests, including Jefferson and his new Treasury Secretary, arch antinavalist Albert Gallatin. Their visit was short and semisweet, with Barry saluting the president with his few remaining small guns. Barry continued up the eastern branch of the Potomac after officials assured him that “no injury [would] arise.”38
They were right—only the ship rose. Despite her sluggish passage, the United States hit a bank of mud with such impact that “she scied seven feet”—her proud bow rising higher and higher into the air. It was the Effingham in reverse. Fortunately, Barry had kept the ship's block and tackle on board. All hands worked feverishly to get the frigate off the mud at high tide. It would take three more days before the United States was “moor'd at last.”39
Barry found the new capital a shabby hamlet of shacks and cheap hotels, eventually locating the new Secretary of the Navy's office. Once he handed over his report and inventory, Smith handed him a letter from Sarah and told him he could leave the frigate under Somers' supervision and depart for Philadelphia “whenever it shall be agreeable.” Returning to his cabin, he read Sarah's letter, written “by candlelight and With Out Spectacles.” Commiserating over his troubles in getting up the Potomac, she was completely confident he “surmounted them all” and looked forward to “at least a few months of your society to make me happy.”40 For twenty-four years, Sarah never failed to send letters like this one, encouraging her husband. All she asked in return was his companionship.41
Smith said he could leave Washington “whenever it was agreeable.” That very hour was agreeable to Barry. He closed the door to his cabin and came on deck. The few remaining hands snapped to attention, the bos'n's whistle blew, and Somers ordered the broad blue pennant lowered. It fluttered to the deck in the humid air and was neatly folded. With one last salute, Barry climbed down the gangway, the first steps of his journey home.
At Strawberry Hill he found Sarah with Benjamin Rush, tending to Isaac. Only 49 years old, the watchmaker was dying. Sarah brought him to Strawberry Hill for its peace and quiet, Patrick's family having moved to their own home in town following the birth of a third child, Thomas. Isaac died on June 15. Sarah was devastated.42
After Isaac's burial, the Barrys spent a week at Long Branch, accompanied by James and Jude. While some Philadelphians felt the journey “too distant and rough for female participation,” the trip was made as much for Sarah as for Barry's health. Whether the salt air and booming surf eased her broken heart, it did wonders for her husband. “Our good old uncle,” Betsy Hayes wrote Patrick, “is much improved since his return.”43
An artificially suspenseful letter arrived from Smith. Only nine captains were to be retained. Smith dragged out the obvious through several sentences before revealing that “the President has been pleased to select you as one of those who are retained.” Barry was put on half-pay status “until called into actual Service.” He did not see this as the first step to retirement. There might not be any official duties, but he was still intent on another command, holding out hope for becoming the navy's first admiral.44
News from the Barbary Coast was not good, especially the embarrassing treatment of William Bainbridge. After delivering the latest tribute to Algiers, Bainbridge's frigate, the George Washington, was commandeered to take the dey's ambassador, his harem, and a private zoo to Constantinople, flying the Algerian flag at the maintop in place of the stars and stripes. On the positive side, President Jefferson found the navy an invaluable resource for his foreign policies, and offered command of a Mediterranean squadron to Truxton. The hero of the Quasi-War again played the rank card, hoping Jefferson would do what Adams did not: place him above Talbot. When Jefferson declined to do so, Truxton turned down his offer. In a twist, the president turned not to Talbot but to Richard Dale. It was an assignment Barry would have loved.45
All that summer, he invited visitors to Strawberry Hill in an effort to keep Sarah's spirits up. The Hayes family came for short stays, as did the remarried Reynold Keen, whose growing family overran Barry's estate, raising enough clamor that Barry was happy to see them one day and wishing he was away at sea the next. A happy Richard Somers visited in August with news; he was promoted to first officer of the frigate Boston, commanded by Barry's friend Daniel McNeill, who passed along his pleasure at “hearing of the reestablishment of [Barry's] health.” Barry seemed pleased with his leisure time, but beneath the surface was an urge to get to sea. One more successful cruise and he could swallow the anchor on his terms.46 He waited for word from Smith.
It came, instead, from another old colleague, Thomas Tingey, now superintendent of the Washington Navy Yard. By now Samuel Smith's brother, Robert, was Secretary of the Navy. Robert lacked Samuel's administrative skills, but at least someone had answered Jefferson's call. The president was contemplating sending another squadron to the Mediterranean and the United States was being refitted—the very news Barry hoped for. Acting at Jefferson's behest, Tingey inquired “whether you determined to command her yourself or to surrender your old favorite to be enjoyed and commanded by another.”47
The letter reached Strawberry Hill on August 14, and Barry replied immediately: “If I am called upon and my health will admit I shall as a good citizen feel my self bound to come forward and do my might to Subdue any Enemy to my Country.”48 Barry waited, and waited, for further orders, not knowing Tingey's true feelings about him. Barry did not know that Stoddert had included Tingey in his diatribes about Barry, and Tingey had passed them along.49
With fall approaching, Barry made two investments: a new home, at 126 Spruce Street, and a joint venture with Patrick. Uncle and nephew purchased the schooner Edward and Edmond, along with a hold full of goods for $6,000. Barry handled the financial details while Patrick took the ship on a voyage to Cuba.50
Patrick no sooner reached the Capes when Barry received orders from Robert Smith—not to go to sea but to accompany Alexander Murray to prove some guns. Another letter from Smith followed shortly, requesting information on his “old favorite's” false keel. Barry asserted he “never discovered any deficiency in her” and that “her bottom is in perfect good order.” Give his frigate “a Bower Anchor” along with “two Cables and some sails” and she would be ready; give him his orders and he would start rounding up officers and a crew.51
But that winter Barry's recent spate of good health abruptly ended. The asthma attacks were so severe that Murray wrote Smith: “Capt. Barry being too unwell to attend,” he went alone to prove the guns.52 Barry's inability to make a day trip was enough for Smith and Tingey. They began looking for a new squadron commander.
The year 1801 ended with a cold snap; Sarah Barry was particularly glad they were settled in their new home, closer to family and friends. For the first time in years the Barrys spent Christmas in Philadelphia, with Betsy Hayes and her three children, while Patrick was at sea.53
Throughout the winter Barry devoured the newspapers for developments from the Barbary Coast, learning of Charles Stewart's victory over one of the dey's warships and that Somers and the Boston were at Tripoli. Truxton refused yet another offer to command a Mediterranean squadron, believing his assigned frigate, the Chesapeake, too small for a commodore's command. Citing an attack of gout, he decided to “quit the navy.” Richard Morris was given the assignment.54 Barry was still “on the beach” as far as Smith and Tingey were concerned. His future seemed intertwined with that of his frigate, languishing at the Washington Navy Yard.
At Strawberry Hill that spring, Barry heard from his niece, Eleanor Hayes Kavanaugh. She received Patrick's letter about Michael's death “with a sorrowful heart,” but not yet the money promised her from her brother's estate. Her husband's failing health and her suffering children compelled her to ask that at least a hundred dollars “be sent at once.” Another letter came from Nancy Merriman Kelly, the cousin born to Barry's Aunt Margaret shortly after his own birth. Her mother's death was just one of “many other Calamities,” the worst concerning her husband, Michael Kelly. “I Lost my husband in the Disturbance”—her euphemism for the recent Irish rebellion against the British Empire—“in one of the Engagements.” At fifty-nine, Kelly had joined “the Boys of Wexford” at New Ross on June 5, 1798, and was one of the first to die in three days of vicious fighting. For years, Barry's father had given her “half a Guinea” out of the money Barry sent home; could he send that to her, “Being in Such in Need?” He could.55
Barry also suffered a new wave of asthma attacks that spring, but after a visit to an Easton, Pennsylvania, spa he was well enough “to try some guns in Jersey.” To the family, he seemed healthier than he had been in months; Sarah happily commented that “My dear Cap' Barry” was “quite well.”56
He returned from New Jersey to find Strawberry Hill in a maelstrom. Sarah was gone, but the three Hayes children were there, under Jude's watchful eye. Yellow fever was again sweeping through Philadelphia, but Betsy, in the last days of another pregnancy, would not risk the carriage ride to Strawberry Hill, sending her children and a servant. Sarah left for Philadelphia the very next day, “determined not to quit until I see Betsy safe in bed.”57
Just below Philadelphia, an embittered Patrick paced the deck of the Edward and Edmond. His voyage to Cuba had been a disaster; the schooner leaking, the value of the flour in her hold was plummeting due to a glut on the market, and his investors, including his brother-in-law, William Jonas Keen, were furious. Confined aboard ship for a quarantine of “ten tegious [tedious] days,” he was worried over Betsy's condition. Fears of financial ruin overwhelmed him. Barry urged Patrick to “say nothing” further about the trip until he reached home, but it was Sarah who provided the wisest counsel: “We have another event to Keep us which I have already told you I am sure is in waiting for you,” she wrote. “Do not my dear Nephew suffer your self to be so agitated. Keep your stren[g]th up,” she finished, “there is not any thing to fear with the blessing of God.”58
Her words were prophetic. The damage to the schooner was not severe. To offset his nephew's losses, Barry gave Patrick his shares in the venture. By August, Patrick was doubly blessed—command of the merchant ship George Washington, “as sound as though just off the stocks,” and a fourth child, Isaac Austin Hayes. Barry was the infant's sponsor at his baptism.59
Summer's end found Barry battling asthma, a bureaucrat's cost report from his gun-proving trip, and joining Dale and Bainbridge in Philadelphia as they grilled midshipmen for their lieutenant's exam. In the Mediterranean, Richard Morris seemed more concerned with social affairs than duty (he brought his wife along, whom his officers called “the Commodoris”). Jefferson relieved him, fueling rumors that Barry would be offered command and spurring letters from other idle officers. One land-locked lieutenant, “very anxious to join your ship,” implored Barry for a berth, “being heartily tired of doing nothing.”60 So was Barry.
In anticipation of his departure, Barry sold the home on Spruce, purchasing a larger, three-story house at Tenth and Chestnut Streets.61 All through autumn he waited for Smith's letter. He was fifty-seven years old, and knew this command would be his last. In late November a package came from Smith, and Barry opened it with great expectation. There were no orders. Instead, he found a gold medal, struck by Congress to honor the “gallantry and good conduct” of Thomas Truxton for his service during the Quasi-War with France. As Barry was “Senior Officer in the Navy, and entitled to the most respectful consideration,” Smith could not “resist the inclination I feel of presenting one [of Truxton's medals] to you.”62 Jones was the first naval hero to be so recognized, Truxton the second. For all his accomplishments in two wars, Barry was never similarly honored. Pride in his friend's accomplishment was mixed with the lack of news regarding his own appointment.
In December, the long-awaited orders from Smith came: “We shall have occasion to keep a small force in the Mediterranean, and upon the return of Commodore Morris we shall expect your services at that station. This information I consider it proper to give you at this time in order that when called upon you may be prepared to perform this duty without injury to your private affairs.”63 But the long-anticipated chance at “honor and success” was too late. Smith's letter came to a man no longer capable of going to sea. Barry's asthma was unrelenting, and Rush's treatments were becoming less and less successful.64
Barry began 1803 with a letter to Smith, sorrowfully declining the offer he had been yearning for. The captain who once easily clambered up the gangways of ships could barely climb a flight of stairs.65 Smith was right about one thing: Barry began putting his “private affairs” in order. He sold some investments, including his shares in the “Schuylkill Bridge”—a venture that netted more than seven hundred dollars. In February, Rush told Barry what he already knew: time was getting short.66
Summoning William Jonas Keen, Barry dictated his will, a three-page document witnessed by John Brown, Reynold Keen, and young Somers, about to depart for his first command, the schooner Nautilus. Barry named Sarah, Patrick, and John Leamy as executors. While ashore, Somers brought Barry the latest news from the Barbary Coast. Following Barry, Dale also refused Smith's request to command a squadron in the Mediterranean; like Truxton, he was intent on being an admiral first, and a squadron commander second. Smith next turned to Edward Preble, who would prove to be the very man Jefferson and Smith were looking for.67
By May, Barry's condition was taxing Rush for new approaches for relief. He started bringing a colleague; “in consultation with Dr. Physick” now appeared regularly in his ledger. But even Philip Syng Physick, the leading surgeon of his day, could not delay the inevitable. Barry knew where he wanted to spend his remaining days: Strawberry Hill. Rush told Sarah the journey to the country was risky but worthwhile, and arranged transportation. On a May morning, several carriages and wagons lumbered out of Philadelphia, through the growing township of Northern Liberties. After a slow ride up Frankford Road, they turned onto the dirt path that led to Strawberry Hill.68
Summer did not pass peacefully. Barry's attacks became stronger, and Rush and Physick made several visits to Strawberry Hill. The spells were similar to his attack in Lisbon—a feeling of suffocation. Like Rush, Physick advocated bleeding, and while they continued in their use of emetics, the labida was now laced with laudanum, which relaxed Barry's spasms and suppressed his cough. The doctors showed Sarah how to administer a teaspoon under her husband's tongue, which quickly brought Barry a drugged calm. He was no longer a sick man. He was an invalid.69
The squadron that was to have been Barry's departed in July.70 Preble's captains read like a reunion of Barry's officers: the Siren, Charles Stewart; the Argus, young Decatur; and the Nautilus under Somers.71 Barry gloried in their promotions; if he could no longer fly his country's colors, at least they could. Betsy Hayes brought him Patrick's letters from the other side of the world, upbeat reports of his successful trading in Canton.72 If Stewart, Decatur, and Somers were carrying Barry's legacy to the shores of Tripoli, Patrick was the able successor to his merchant days.
His condition steadily worsened, but he did not complain. To his visitors he seemed remarkably at peace. Sarah was alarmed, but he was not. On August 23, William Jonas Keen noted the changes and wrote Somers, “sorry in the first place to Inform you of Commodore Barry's Illness,” adding, “he is now thought to be on his last tack.” Keen found Barry resigned to his end: “He said to me this day that he was nearly done which I feel is true.” Keen also wrote Betsy, staying at Somers Point, that Barry's brave front was “only flattering us to make the easier exit.” Rush was summoned again; Keen, knowing the comfort Betsy was to Sarah, urged his sister to “pack up and come.” He met her at the Arch Street Ferry, and brought her at once to Strawberry Hill.73 By September 10, Barry was drifting in and out of consciousness. Sarah suggested returning to Philadelphia to be closer to his doctors, but Rush ruled it out.74 The only thing to do was make his friend as comfortable as possible.
September 12, 1803, began as “a pleasant day” with winds “inkling to the east”—the telltale sign of approaching storms.75 As Sarah, Betsy, and William looked on, Barry's breathing became shallow. With dawn came a steady rain. It continued through the morning when, in the great bedroom, Barry died. There were no conscious returns to storms pounding the Barbadoes, or battles fought from the Alliance's quarterdeck, or to the grand vistas of China. Barry simply passed away.76
Word was sent posthaste into town. Funerals were frequently held the day after a death, and Sarah wanted word of her husband's passing printed in the afternoon papers. His body was carried down to the waiting wagon while Sarah, Betsy, and her children climbed into the carriage. The same small caravan that brought Barry to his beloved estate now took him back to Tenth and Chestnut Streets; Rush and Physick, making their final visit as physicians, were the first of his friends to pay respects to the widow. The afternoon edition of the Pennsylvania Gazette posted the announcement, ironically next to reports about “the dreadful rebellion in Dublin.”77 It stunned Philadelphia:
BARRY.—The friends of the late Commodore Barry are requested to attend his funeral, to-morrow morning at 10 O'Clock . . . from his late dwelling, 186 Chestnut Street, The Members of the Cincinnati are particularly requested to attend the funeral of their deceased member.78
It was sunny but brisk on the fourteenth. At the appointed time, members of the Cincinnati led Sarah, her family, “Capt. Rush's well-disciplined volunteer corps,” and the “numerous train of [Barry's] fellow citizens” to St. Mary's Roman Catholic Church at Fourth and Locust Streets. Sailor and landsman, merchant and dockhand, Republican and Federalist filled the pews as the colors of the sun-lit stained glass windows fell over them during the requiem mass. When the service ended, the mourners silently walked behind the church to the graveyard for the interment.79 With bare heads they heard the priest utter the words requiescat in pacem, and then went home.
Newspapers spread word of Barry's death around the country, most reprinting the headline from the Massachusetts Spy: “At Philadelphia, Comm. John Barry, to his valour was owed much the honor acquired on the seas during the Revolution.” Others mentioned “the scope of his character,” his being “a warm and steady friend,” and “a firm patriot.”80
The will was executed. To Patrick and Betsy Hayes, Barry gave “one-thousand Spanish milled dollars,” with his “wearing apparel” and “instruments of navigation” earmarked for Patrick. Each of their children received $100.00 except John Barry Hayes; the namesake received two hundred dollars. Barry wanted William Austin to have his silver-hilted sword “As a token of my esteem.” The gold-hilted sword that belonged to John Paul Jones was given “to my good friend Capt. Richard Dale,” who served both captains so well. To “my negro man James and my mulatto woman Jude” he provided freedom and “an annuity of twenty pounds lawful money” each year. Their manumission came with a caveat; it would only be granted upon Sarah's remarrying or her death. Until then, they were still her property. Everything else was bequeathed to Sarah.81
Moved by his own sorrow and the citywide depth of feeling at Barry's death, Rush wrote his old friend Jefferson, requesting official acknowledgment via a letter from Jefferson to Sarah, and the wearing of a black armband by federal government representatives as a sign of national mourning. While “No one would more willingly than myself pay just tribute due to the services of Capt. Barry,” Jefferson refused. After citing his own appeal to Washington “that we might wear mourning” in observance of Franklin's death, and that Washington “thought it best to avoid it,” Jefferson deemed “it is prudent not to engage myself in a practice that may become embarrassing.”82 There would be no official mourning.
Sarah accepted the well-meaning Rush's offer to write the eulogy for Barry's tomb. It was the first in an outpouring of flowery tributes and overblown poems that Barry would have found uncomfortable. It fell to two old friends, the sailor John Kessler and the Irishman John Brown, to sum him up as he lived: “the first of patriots, and best of men.”83