The Sailing Irishman

This special Saint Patrick's Day installment celebrates Commodore John Barry: The Irish lad who became the father of the US Navy.

John Barry

1745—Ireland. In a small tenant farm along a windswept coastline in County Wexford, a boy named John Barry is born into a family of poor Catholic farmers. Life under the English penal laws ground Irish spirits into the sod. Like many Irish families, the threat of eviction always loomed, and one day, the landlord forced them off their meager piece of land. Homeless, the Barrys moved to the rugged seaside village of Rosslare. The luck of the Irish—hardly, but it did offer young Barry a way out. He learned the ropes on his uncle’s fishing skiff, and sailing it through choppy waves was the lad’s first call of the sea. Who could predict that someday he’d make the Royal Navy tremble at his name and build what would eventually become the world’s most powerful navy?

Cabin Boy to Captain

Barry’s no stranger to hard knocks. As a lad, he barely had shoes, but he’s got grit. By his teens, he was aboard ships, starting as a cabin boy—fetching water, scrubbing decks, and dodging the mate’s boot. The sea is a brutal school, but Barry is a quick study. With broad shoulders and a cool head that marked him as a natural leader, he quickly climbed the ranks. The 1760s found him in Philadelphia, a bustling port on the Delaware River, becoming wealthy through trade. By twenty-one, Barry was a merchant shipmaster, captaining vessels for big names like Reese Meredith. With his impressive height—over six feet—he was burly, yet calm and composed even in raging storms and churning seas. Soon, he was in high demand as a skipper. “Big John” Barry was the man owners wanted at the helm of their ships.

Citizen of Philadelphia

He spends years hauling cargo across the Atlantic, dodging icebergs and setting speed records—such as the fastest day of sailing in the century aboard the prestigious Black Prince. By the 1770s, John Barry had reached the pinnacle of his fortunes. However, storm clouds were gathering on the horizon—tension between the colonies and British authorities. Soon, Barry would exchange merchant manifests for cannonballs.

Merchant Captain at Sea

From Merchant Navy to the Continental Navy

When the First Continental Congress gathered in 1774, Barry was already friends with future Revolutionary War financier Robert Morris. When the Second Continental Congress opted to create a navy in 1775 using merchant vessels, Barry’s Black Prince was transformed into the USS Alfred, which raised the Grand Union flag—America’s first naval ensign. Barry advocated for a naval command and was appointed captain of the USS Lexington, a 14-gun brig, that December.

Command of USS Lexington

He was the first army or navy officer to receive a Continental commission, signed by none other than John Hancock, President of the Continental Congress, on March 14, 1776. History is about to be made!

First Fight

Barry’s first action occurs on April 7, 1776, off the Virginia Capes. Barry proves his resolve. The Lexington engages with the British tender Edward, a spirited ship serving HMS Liverpool. Broadsides are exchanged—cannonballs flying, wood splintering—for an hour and twenty minutes. Cool as ever, Barry shows his fortitude, issuing orders, and when the smoke clears, Edward strikes her colors—the first British ship captured by a Continental vessel. Barry sails his prize into Philadelphia—the American navy’s first!

Fighting Captain

Warrior on Land and Sea

By late 1776, the Cause was at its lowest point. Washington’s dwindling army was reeling from New York, retreating through New Jersey. What could Barry do? His next assigned ship, the frigate Effingham, was still in the shipyard. Eager to join the fight, he gathers sailors, marines, and heavy artillery, forms an ad hoc naval brigade, and marches to Washington’s aid. At Trenton, his crew transports artillery through snow and ice, pounding the Hessian lines. His brigade performs again at Princeton. Washington personally thanked Barry before charging him with escorting wounded prisoners to British General Cornwallis under a flag of truce. A fighting Irishman on land or sea!

Commanding Guns at Trenton

Back on the water in 1777, Barry commanded the brig USS Delaware and began raiding British shipping in the river of the same name. Like shooting ducks in a barrel for the seasoned naval leader, he took over twenty prizes, including the armed schooner Kitty. In 1778, Barry took command of the frigate Raleigh, seizing three more prizes before she ran aground during a skirmish with British warships. Barry was forced to scuttle his ship but quickly took command of another vessel, the USS Alliance, the fleet’s fastest ship. In 1780, he was given a secret mission: to take Colonel John Laurens to France. That mission—obtaining loans and supplies—helped secure Washington’s victory at Yorktown in October 1781. To top it off, Barry captured a few British prizes on the return trip—just because he could.

Secret Mission to France

The Final Fights

Barry’s most brutal fight occurred on 29 May 1781. Standing tall on the quarterdeck of the Alliance, he faced the struggle of his life. Two British sloops, the HMS Atalanta and HMS Trepassey, pounced on him. All hell broke loose as they closed in—broadsides shredding sails, grapeshot tearing through flesh. Barry sustained an awful wound when a piece of grapeshot tore through his shoulder. He remained at his station, rallying his crew and shouting commands, but the "effusion" of blood eventually forced him below deck. Ultimately, both British warships struck their colors—a double surrender. Now, even British captains concede that he’s an American sea captain to reckon with.

Taking on a Brace of Warships

Fittingly, on 10 March 1783, Barry fought the war’s last naval battle off Cape Canaveral. His Alliance squared off against HMS Sybille and a squadron. Barry is in a bind as he is convoying the Duc de Lauzane, loaded with cash and supplies from the West Indies. Barry outguns Sybille, but the rest of the squadron is on him. He abandons this newly won prize, Sybille, opting to save the convoy and get Duc de Lauzane safely to port. With the war coming to a close, Barry had made his mark as a fighting captain.

Final Fight

Father of the Navy

Our Celtic commodore quickly returned to merchant sailing, making a historic voyage to China in 1787—opening trade with the “reclusive empire.” However, in 1794, with the U.S. Navy forming under the Naval Act, Barry was asked to serve his nation once more—as its first commodore! President Washington himself presented Barry Naval Commission Number One. Barry began overseeing the construction of the 44-gun frigate USS United States, his flagship.

USS United States

During the Quasi-War with France (1798–1801), Barry returned to work, capturing French merchantmen in the West Indies while training the next generation of naval leaders—future legends like Stephen Decatur and Richard Dale.

The Final Watch

Despite increasingly worsening asthma, Barry continued to sail. But on 6 March 1803, United States slides into port with Barry on the quarterdeck for the last time—his sea duty done.  He may have given up his ship, but not the Navy, staying on as its head until he died on 13 September 1803 at his Strawberry Hill home near Philadelphia. The first commodore was buried with full honors at St. Mary’s Churchyard. While happily married, Barry died childless. But his legacy lives in the Navy he shaped and with the men he mentored.

John Barry Gravesite

Legacy of a Legend

Some random shots about John Barry: Author of a signal book for better fleet communication, early advocate for a standalone Navy Department (it happened in 1798). Barry was a man of God—he began each day with a Bible reading. He was a brilliant leader of men—he cared for his crew, keeping them fed and fit. Wise practitioner of discipline— quelled three mutinies with a firm hand and a fair heart, earning lasting loyalty from his men.

Barry's Advocacy Paid Off in 1798

Many tributes came: four destroyers were named USS Barry, Barry statues stand in Wexford and D.C., and the Commodore Barry Bridge. Rhode Island celebrates September 13 as “Commodore John Barry Day.”

John Barry statue in Wexford, Ireland

Who's the Best?

Though not as well-known as John Paul Jones, Barry excelled in war and peace. Starting as an Irish cabin boy and rising to American commodore, he fought on land and sea, built a navy from the ground up, and created a blueprint for courage. Historians often refer to John Barry as the “Father of the American Navy,” a title many attribute to John Paul Jones. Jones's post-Rev War contributions were uneven, with him accepting a commission in Czarina Catherine the Great's navy (see my blog, Yankee Doodle in the Crimea). However, unlike Jones, Barry's legacy includes longevity and institution-building. Jones had flair, while Barry made a lasting impact.

John Paul Jones as Russian Admiral

Next time you hear “I have not yet begun to fight,” tip your hat to Jones—but raise a glass to the quiet giant who led the Revolution to victory and beyond. Fair winds to you, Commodore Barry. 

John Barry in His Office

Book Review: Gone for A Soldier

Avellina Balestri's "All Ye That Pass By: Book 1: Gone for a Soldier" is a significant addition to historical fiction. It focuses not merely on facts, deeds, and battles but also on the nuanced interplay between faith, identity, and the tumult of war in the late 18th century. 

Historical Background

With the backdrop of the French and Indian War and the American Revolution, "Gone for a Soldier" brings to life the lesser-told stories of British Loyalists and the Catholic recusants in England. The novel's protagonist, Edmund Southworth, is a Catholic in a time when his faith could lead to ostracism or worse, providing a unique perspective on the conflict between personal belief and societal expectations. Balestri uses this setting to delve into the complexities of identity during a time of upheaval, where allegiances were often torn between country, faith, and family. All this is set against the vast canvas of Canada and New York during the failed British Saratoga campaign.

The Players

The fictional English Catholic Edmund Southworth stands at the heart of the narrative, embodying the conflict of his era. His journey from a boy intrigued by military life to a man grappling with the contradictions of his Catholic faith and his duty as a soldier is portrayed with depth and sensitivity. Balestri's character development shows Edmund's internal conflicts, moments of doubt, and eventual growth into a figure of moral strength. Generals John Burgoyne, Simon Fraser, and other key officers interact across the vast canvas of this work, and the author catches their personalities just right. Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne has a unique role as Edmund's mentor.

General John Burgoyne

Other characters, such as Edmund's Protestant friends, military figures from the British army, and even historical personalities such as King George III, are made real, building a grand and intimate narrative. Her characters serve not just as foils to Edmund but also as mirrors to society's varied perspectives on religion, politics, and war.

A Tapestry of Conflict

The novel explores several themes, with faith and loyalty being central. Balestri examines how these concepts intersect with personal identity and societal roles. Edmund's Catholic faith is a constant undercurrent, influencing his decisions, interactions, and perception of the war. This exploration of faith in a time of conflict adds a layer of philosophical inquiry to the narrative, questioning how one reconciles personal beliefs with the demands of war.

Death of Simon Fraser

Loyalty is another theme intricately woven into the plot. Edmund's loyalty to his faith, king, and comrades in arms often clashes, providing a rich ground for character development and ethical discourse. The novel also subtly critiques the notion of loyalty to a nation or cause when that loyalty might conflict with one's moral or spiritual beliefs.

A Bit of the Bard

Balestri's prose is both lyrical and precise, capturing the essence of the 18th-century setting while maintaining a pace that keeps the reader engaged. The narrative style is reflective, often pausing to ponder the implications of actions and the nature of human endeavor, which suits the novel's introspective themes. Readers who demand rich historical detail with engaging character interactions and plot developments will enjoy this. As John Burgoyne was a playwright himself, there are many references to Shakespeare's work.

The Bard

Cultural and Educational Impact

"All Ye That Pass By: Book 1: Gone for a Soldier" does not just entertain; it educates. Besides being a significant Revolutionary War tale, by focusing on a Catholic perspective during a pivotal time in British and American history, Balestri fills a gap in historical fiction where religious minorities' experiences during colonial conflicts are often overlooked. This novel is a valuable resource for educators looking to give students a more rounded view of the historical period.

Burgoyne Surrenders at Saratoga

Why Read?

"All Ye That Pass By: Book 1: Gone for a Soldier" is a commendable piece of historical fiction that combines a passion for history with a profound understanding of the human condition. It challenges readers to think about loyalty, faith, and identity in ways that are still relevant today. This work gives readers a rich tapestry of historical events viewed through an intensely personal narrative lens, compellingly exploring human resilience, loyalty, and the quest for spiritual and personal truth. 

This book is for anyone interested in the intersection of faith and war (and who isn't?) or readers seeking a different perspective on the Revolutionary War period. It is a testament to Balestri's skill in weaving history into a compelling narrative, making readers not just spectators but participants in Edmund Southworth's moral and spiritual journey. We await a future book to learn where his journey takes him.

Island in the Sun

 Special Mission

Large puffs of white moving casually with the trade winds highlighted the bright blue November sky over Oranje Bay. Isaiah Robinson, captain of the 14-gun brig Andrea Doria, put his spyglass to his eye. Ahead were the twin peaks with verdant sides that rose rapidly from the sandy shore, on which stood the Dutch trading port city of Oranjestad. He shifted his glass to the large stone fort that sat astride the bluffs overlooking the fort and anchorage that was his destination.

“How will they receive us, sir?” asked a young midshipman standing at his side. The United States declared independence from Britain earlier that summer but had not received diplomatic recognition.

“We shall know soon enough, Mister Sewall,” replied Robinson.

Entering the Harbor at Sint Eustatius

The First Salute

The Andrea Doria sailed briskly and then lazily toward the harbor, cluttered with trading ships throughout the New World and Europe. Sint Eustatius, part of the Dutch Antilles, was a duty-free port that, since its occupation by the Dutch West Indies Trading Company in the early 17^th century, was a hub for maritime trade—both legal and illicit. Tobacco, rice, cotton, and rum passed through her, as she was the hub of a global supply chain that served two hemispheres. But the port was sadly the transit point for the worst kind of trade, human chattel.

Robinson snapped his glass shut and nodded to the Gunners Mate. “Fire the salute!”

Thirteen of the fourteen barrels flashed and belched smoke—one for each state. Andrea Doria had formally announced her arrival. Robinson wondered, What will be their reply?

From his perch at the fort, the governor of the island, Johannes de Graaf, watched the salvo fired by the brig below. He turned to the battery commander and doffed his plumed hat. A salvo of eleven guns erupted, belching a cloud of gun smoke above the harbor.

Captain Robinson smiled in satisfaction. “The signal of a returned salute is two guns less than the saluted.”

“What does it mean, sir?” asked Sewall.

Robinson did not reply to the young officer but turned to the entire crew. “The United Netherlands recognizes us as a sovereign nation!”

The crew erupted in a long round of “Huzzahs” as the Andrea Doria made its way to safe harbor.

The First Salute - Andrea Doria

Island in the Sun

I slightly changed my promise to dedicate the next few editions of the Yankee Doodle Spies blog to characters in the series’ next novel, The Reluctant Spy. Instead, we will profile a place that plays a significant role in the unfolding of this adventure tale. This unique place is an island set in the West Indies. An island that played an essential part throughout the American Revolution and an important part in the fifth book in the Yankee Doodle Spies series, The Cavalier Spy. And as those who read it are aware—this island is Sint (Saint) Eustatius, sometimes called Statia.

Governor Johannes de Graaf

Revolutionary Role

Sint Eustatius’s role in the American struggle for independence did not end with that “first salute.” In fact, Governor de Graaf welcomed the crew, and Robinson provided him a copy of the Declaration of Independence and a letter written in Hebrew, destined for the Jewish merchants in the Netherlands. Sint Eustatius had many Jewish settlers who helped make the island the trading and banking hub that connected the Old World with the New.

The Declaration of Independence

Lively and Prosperous

When Robinson and his crew took to shore, they found a thriving port town with hundreds of storehouses, shops, inns, taverns, and bordellos. The storehouses were jammed with goods from the region’s islands – coffee, cocoa, and rice plus rice, tobacco, and wood from North America and finished products from Europe. The bay was jammed with ships from every corner of the world, waiting to unload or take cargo on board. The little island, a “duty-free” port, was as busy as Amsterdam’s, taking in 3,000 ships a year.

Port of Amsterdam

The Jewish Community

The large Jewish population was the lifeblood of the island’s prosperity. In the early 18th century, Sephardic Jews immigrated to Sint Eustatius from the Netherlands, bringing entrepreneurial skills and talent and establishing financial relations with their brethren in Europe and elsewhere. The population eventually comprised one-tenth of the island. These tradesmen became prosperous enough to build the largest synagogue in the New World, Honen Dalim. Stone bricks were brought in from Europe to build the massive structure.

Many Trading Houses Jewish Owned

Duty-Free Port

Though short on natural resources, the little island in the sun boasted a global web of traders and maritime concerns. The Jewish settlers on St. Eustatius made up a large proportion of those merchants who were also “illegal” sellers of war materials and supplies to the Americans. Couple that with the banking interests in Amsterdam, and you had the makings of a system that had some refer to the island as the “Armory of the American Revolution.”

Prosperous Trading Hub

Robinson would meet with some of the local Jewish businessmen and purchase munitions. This was the beginning of a covert (or not so covert) trade that exchanged American cash crops, such as tobacco, for the necessities of war. This was a crucial pipeline during the early years of the struggle for independence.

Smugglers Hub

But the pesky island that flaunted the rules of maritime trade was in the crosshairs of the empire that policed maritime trade—at least wherever the navy sailed. However, political and diplomatic niceties prevented the British government from doing much to stop the clandestine trade that provided the American rebels their lifeblood. As long as the Netherlands and France were not open allies of America, the better policy was to send occasional squadrons to police the waters. But stamping out the nest of smugglers and (to the British) illicit traders) would have to wait.

Smugglers Avoided Tariffs - 

But Also Supplied the American Revolution

A Vital Threat

A few years into the war, London realized that the threat posed by the little island needed addressing. By 1780, the Admiralty felt the time was ripening for action. France and Spain were in the war, and following the revelations captured along with American emissary Henry Laurens, the focus had turned to the West Indies, where the British felt their greater economic interest lay. With the Southern strategy in play, everything lined up for a reckoning.

The Admiralty

Send Rodney

British Admiral George Rodney, a competent and well-thought naval veteran, was given the task. In late 1780, he sailed with a fleet of fifteen ships of the line, numerous support ships and transports, and some 3,000 men to deal with the “nest of vipers” once and for all.  Arriving at the harbor entrance on 3 February 1781, the arrayed ships posed an impressive site. With some 1,000 naval guns, Governor de Graaf could only look down in dismay as he had only a dozen cannons and fifty men. He accepted Rodney’s offer of surrender.

Admiral George Rodney

Worse Than Thought

The British admiral was stunned by the cornucopia of supplies and munitions on the island and the number of vessels laden with goods in the American trade. Beaches were lined with warehouses brimming with goods, primarily sugar and tobacco. Others were crammed with naval stores—the timber, resin, tar, and hemp rope needed for ships. The magnitude of the island's contribution to the American war was further evinced by the number of munitions taken that belonged to the Royal Navy—sold by British merchants on nearby St. Kitts!

Full Storehouses and Magazines

Months of Rapine

Rodney set to work confiscating whatever had value. With large gambling debts, the more he could seize for Britain, the larger his share of the spoils. The admiral torched, dumped, or looted what he could. The island was sacked like a medieval city. His disdain for the Jews was manifest—he believed many prosperous merchants were mainly responsible for the support of the Americans. In an act reminiscent of later Boer war tactics, Rodney had many of the island’s prominent Jewish leaders rounded up and packed them off to St. Kitts. While now destitute families watched in horror, he had all their possessions seized.

The British Take Sint Eustatius

Not Following Orders

Meanwhile, Rodney took his eye off the ball. He violated his orders to destroy the supplies meant for the American forces and shadow a French fleet bound for North America under Rear Admiral Francois Joseph Paul de Grasse. As he tarried on Sint Eustatius to continue his plundering, the French arrived in American waters and set sail for the Chesapeake. Rodney sent part of his fleet to join Admiral Hood while he, now ailing, sailed for England. De Grasse and Hood squared off at the Battle of the Chesapeake, where the French drove off the British. They then bottled British General Charles Cornwallis’s army at Yorktown, sealing the fate of Britain in North America.

Admiral de Grasse

After Rodney

The British occupation of Sint Eustatius did not last long. Months later, a French fleet recaptured it and was returned to Dutch control in 1784. But the island in the sun was a shell of its former self. Months of destruction and plundering by Hood bankrupted the locals, and the population of around 8,000 began to dwindle. With the war over and the former British colonies now free to trade at will, its importance dwindled.

Statius Contemporary Map

During the Napoleonic Wars, the French and British clashed over it (the Netherlands was made a client and then absorbed by France). The Congress of Vienna returned Sint Eustatius to the Netherlands in 1816. But the “Golden Island” would never be the same as it was during its halcyon days of the late 18^th century.

The Congress of Vienna

Statius Speculation

The tale of the island in the sun has two “what ifs.”

The first is obvious. What if Rodney had not bent to his avaricious side and followed his orders instead of spending months looting and expropriating but pivoted toward the French threat after taking the island? Would America’s fate, and that of the world, have gone differently?

The second is more obtuse. But what if the Jewish population had been left untouched and not gone into a diaspora? Would their trade and finance know-how have grown Eustatius an even greater regional magnet for trade and finance, leading the entire West Indies to prosperity?

Visitors to the island today could scarcely imagine its brief but essential role in events that shaped the course of history. But the island in the sun did have its role—and it is one we should never forget.

 

Palmetto Patriot

This edition begins a series of profiles to introduce some of the historical characters readers will meet when the fifth historical novel in the Yankee Doodle Spies series is released in 2025. One of the first historical characters the reader will encounter is Henry Laurens, a little-known but essential South Carolina founder who became the Continental Congress's president.

Man of Means

Laurens was born the son of a wealthy Huguenot businessman, John Laurens, in 1724. After receiving his early education in South Carolina, his father sent him to Britain, where he cut his teeth on managing money and accounts. His experience in England served him well on his return to South Carolina a few years later and, combined with his strong work ethic, launched him on the path to great prosperity as one of the most powerful merchants in the colony. In just a few years, Laurens expanded his interests by purchasing plantations and expanding his interests in the rice trade, but sadly, his big bucks were made in the slave trade.

                                                     Laurens's Company Advertisement

Husband and Father

In 1750, Laurens married the daughter of a wealthy South Carolina rice planter. Eleanor Ball would bear thirteen children, dying in 1770 right after her last child's birth. Most of his children died young, but at least four grew to adulthood, and one, John Laurens, would reach prominence during the American Revolution.

John Laurens

Militia Leader

Laurens joined the South Carolina militia and rose to lieutenant colonel while serving in wars against the Cherokee and the French and Indian War. Like many of the wealthy planter class, he also served in the colonial assembly, where he was deemed a conservative and leaned Tory.

Militia Fighting the Cherokees

Times of Trouble

As the political situation between Britain and the colonies worsened, Laurens was drawn to the Whigs—but suffered attacks from both sides. A mob of radicals stormed into his house and tore it apart in the search for stamped products. However, British Customs officials confiscated three of Laurens's merchant ships during the Townshend Acts. This made him more sympathetic to the Whigs, and he published a letter calling out the British for their restrictions on American trade. Still, he remained apart from those advocating direct action or independence.

Laurens's Ships Seized by British

A 1771 trip to London to check his sons' education changed things. Incensed by the corruption in British society, Laurens became closer to the Whigs. Three years later, when he returned to America, he supported independence.

Carolina Politics

By 1775, the rebellion was in full swing, and the cautious Laurens fully committed to the cause. He thrust himself into active politics and was elected to South Carolina's Provincial Congress—an illegal body that soon replaced royal authority. Laurens ran the South Carolina Committee of Safety, a critical post as the colonies prepared for armed conflict with Britain. He clashed with some of the more radical politicos in the state when he championed property rights in the state's new constitution to the extent of safeguarding the property of Loyalists from confiscation. Laurens served as the vice president of the new government of South Carolina from March 1776 to June 1777.

                                                   South Carolina Provincial Congress

National Figure

Although long a fixture in his home state, Henry Laurens entered the national stage in June 1777 when he joined the Second Continental Congress as a South Carolina delegate. The next November, he followed John Hancock as president of the Congress—a sort of speaker of the house. He introduced many vital bills, heading the often contentious factions during his tenure. His most notable achievements were the Articles of Confederation and the American alliance with France. It is as president of Congress that we meet Laurens in my novel, The Reluctant Spy. 

Henry Laurens, President of the Continental Congress

President of Congress

The South Carolina native displayed the typical Southern aristocratic sense of honor. This, coupled with a scrupulous attention to detail and an uncompromising view of corruption, actual or perceived, rubbed many of his peers the wrong way. President Laurens was highly respected but never loved. He would take on anyone, including Robert Morris. The mighty Morris influenced many against Laurens when he pushed for an investigation into his actions as the financier of the American Revolution. Laurens's role in the corruption accusations against the American agent in Paris, Silas Deane, also rankled many. By December 1778, Laurens had enough and resigned as president to be replaced by fellow Huguenot John Jay—the father of American counterintelligence.

Financier Robert Morris

Diplomat and Prisoner

A year later, Laurens went from being a controversial figure on the national scene to a controversial one on the international scene when he gave up his Congressional seat to serve as American commissioner to the Netherlands. However, the British intercepted his ship off the coast of Newfoundland. The canny Laurens quickly dumped the trunk full of official dispatches into the ocean, but the Royal Navy salvaged them. The Netherlands' role in aiding America was exposed, giving London a casus belli.

Laurens was taken to London, charged with treason, and thrown into the Tower of London to rot without adequate food or medical care until December 1781, when he was exchanged for British General Charles, Lord Cornwallis, who had been captured at Yorktown the previous October.

The Tower of London

Envoy

But there was no rest for the sick and weary ex-prisoner. Upon release, he sailed to Amsterdam to finish his business with the Dutch. Then Congress directed Laurens to Paris, where he joined Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, and now former Congressional president John Jay in negotiating a peace treaty. He missed the final negotiation and official signing as he was sent back to London to address business matters, and when peace came, the two nations would turn back to trading. He remained in London as an ex officio representative until formal diplomatic relations were established. One wonders how envoy Laurens felt engaging with his former jailers and tormentors—or how they felt dealing with the traitor and former prisoner!

           Signing the Treaty of Paris

Up from the Ashes

By 1784, John Laurens was back in South Carolina. But he returned to a state devastated by years of ruthless warfare and British occupation. His mansion in Charleston had been destroyed, and his businesses were likewise in ruins—he had lost the equivalent of many millions of dollars in service to his country. He spent his remaining years rebuilding the family fortune, turning down public offices of all kinds. He even refused to represent South Carolina at the Constitutional Convention.

Charleston

Laurens had his reasons. He was aging, and his health was not good. But the likely cause was the blow he suffered when he learned his son, Colonel John Laurens (a staunch opponent of slavery), had died of wounds sustained in a minor skirmish in 1782. So, the elder Laurens remained in his native state, rebuilding his holdings until his death on 8 December 1792.

Although tarnished by his deep involvement in the slave trade, the former militia leader, businessman, slave trader, planter, politician, and statesman's contributions to the nation's founding were many—as were his sacrifices. He should be remembered for both but celebrated for his dedicated service to his country.

Bold Breton

The American Revolution had more than its share of bold warriors and badasses—tough men who, once committed to a Cause, remained undaunted and steadfast. This first patriot is unique among them as he fought for two causes, although he would only succeed with one. Armand Charles Tuffin, Marquis de La Rouërie, was a son of Brittany, that ocean-washed corner of France that shared its heritage with the Britons across the sea.

Young Blood

Born to a noble Breton family in 1750, the Marquis went to Versailles at an early age and became an Ensign in the elite Garde Francaise, the Horse Guards, and earned a reputation as impetuous and hot-tempered nobleman—this among a society of impetuous and hot-tempered noblemen. His exploits included wooing a notorious young actress (unsuccessfully) and dueling (successfully) with the comte de Bourbon-Besset, a cousin of King Louis XVI, in 1775. The latter was, of course, over a woman and got him cashiered in disgrace (the Code Duello was forbidden).

King Louis XVI

 

A New Cause

His opponent lived and the young Marquis fled to an abbey in Brittany where he sought solace among the Trappist monks. At one point he tried to poison himself. Talked out of it by friends, he did the next best thing. He abandoned France for the American cause, which he had admired from afar. His journey began in a tempest when his ship, Morris, was pursued by three British frigates. Armand and the other officers and men fought their way into Chesapeake Bay. Rather than provide a prize ship to the British, they ran Morris aground, torched the vessel, and fled inland. A fiery start for a firebrand. It was April 1777.

Chesapeake Flight

A New Commission

Founder Robert Morris had penned a letter of recommendation to George Washington. The desperate nobleman trekked on foot to Philadelphia to deliver it and other correspondence from France to the Continental Congress.  The Marquis de La Rouërie was commissioned under the name Armand—the name he was known by to the Americans. He soon came to General George Washington’s notice and was authorized to raise a corps of eighty riflemen who would function as rangers. Most of the contingent were Germans, and Armand led them in their first combat at Short Hills, New Jersey, in June 1777. Armand’s rangers took horrific casualties, some thirty men, but boldly retrieved a captured cannon from the enemy. He was promoted to colonel for his exploits and proved his mettle a few months later at the Battle of Brandywine, where he took some sixty Hessian infantry prisoners.

Armand's Germans captured Hessian Infantry

Raising a Legion

His success granted him authority to raise a legion—independent units with a mix of infantry and cavalry called the “Free and Independent Chasseurs.”. Chasseur was the French word for hunter—something similar to riflemen or rangers in French military parlance. Armand was soon deploying his Chasseurs in guerilla warfare around New York City.

Armand's Legion

Night Raid in New York

One of Colonel Armand’s most significant exploits during this time was a daring night raid. His target, a notorious Loyalist officer Major Bearmore. A member of Delancey’s brigade, Bearmore was known for his harsh treatment of Whigs in Westchester. Working his way through Westchester and around the King’s Bridge, with 100 infantry and thirty horsemen, his “hunters” reached William’s Bridge undetected by a nearby regiment of Hessians. He left his infantry to provide security for their withdrawal and led twenty dragoons to Bearmore’s headquarters three miles south. At around nine o’clock, his men swept in, seizing Bearman and five others. Armand is said to have thrown Bearman’s six-foot frame across his saddle and galloped off with him. The legion returned with no losses.

New Theater, New Command

Upon the death of Continental cavalry commander General Count Casimir Pulaski at Savannah in October 1779, Armand’s Chasseurs were transferred to the Southern Department and merged with the remnants of Pulaski’s Legion aptly renamed Armand’s Legion. The year 1780 saw Armand’s Legion in action, notably at Camden, where he helped cover what he could of General Horatio Gates’s Army when it routed.

Casimir Pulaski

French Interlude

Armand sailed back to France in early 1781, where he received King Louis’s forgiveness and the Order of St. Louis. He used his time in France to support the Cause by raising funds and gathering supplies. Although brooding over the lack of promotion in the Continental Army, he returned to America in time to partake in the final major campaign against the British.

Order of St. Louis

The Road to Yorktown

 While he was in France Armand’s Legion had been sent north to Virginia where it was employed trying to check General (and traitor) Benedict Arnold’s raids across the Old Dominion. Although whittled down in number through battle losses and illness, Colonel Armand took command of the Legion as it entered the siege works around General Charles Cornwallis’s Army at Yorktown. Not wanting to be denied glory, he and a handful of his Legion joined Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton’s storming party at Redoubt Number 10. Armand was the first officer to breach the parapet and helped force the defenders to surrender. Commended for his bravery, Congress finally promoted Armand to brigadier general in 1782.

Storming Redoubt 10

Cavalry Commander

The war did not end for Armand with Yorktown’s fall in October 1781. Instead, he rode south at the head of the newly named 1st Partisan Corps to assist General Nathanael Greene’s campaign to sweep the British from South Carolina and Georgia. Forcing outposts into surrender and seizing towns and territory was crucial as the British strategy in Paris to bargain for possession of what they held. To that end, they failed, although it took scores of small engagements and lots of hard riding and marching to foil them.

Colonel Armand

Laurels at War’s End

Armand and his Legion were sent north and reached the New York area in December 1782. In March of the following year, Congress promoted the bold Breton to brigadier general. Brigadier General Armand was also named chief of all the Continental Army’s cavalry—a title that once belonged to Casimir Pulaski. The two would share the honorific, “Father of the Cavalry.”

Continental Dragoon

Home to Fame and Rebellion

Brigadier General Armand returned home a hero in 1784—not of the Lafayette caliber but highly celebrated. Settling back home in Brittany, he married a noblewoman (who got ill and died soon after) and threw himself into local politics—championing the liberties of his fellow Bretons. He joined several other Breton noblemen in a petition of Breton grievances to the King in 1787. He turned down a military command to protest the loss of Breton liberties. This snub of the monarch got him tossed from the Army and into the Bastille, the notorious prison whose storming was one of the sparks of the violence that would come during the French Revolution.

Storming the Bastille

French Revolution

He was released from prison and later attended the Estates General but soon became disenchanted as he saw even a revolutionary France as a threat to Breton rights. When France broke into revolution and chaos. Armand tried to stay above the fray. Most of it concerned Paris, not his home in Brittany. However, as the Jacobins seized power and began their excesses and repression, the Royalist and conservative Catholic western France rebelled against the rebellion. This area, known as the Vendee, stood up the revolutionaries of Paris and their anti-Catholic policies. Armand formed the Breton Association, which raised troops. When the Austrians and Prussians declared war on France in 1792, they were ready to join them with 10,000 men.

Vendee Resistance was Determined

Defiant Fugitive

But the French victory at Valmy sent the Austrians and Prussians reeling, and the French central government turned on the Vendee. Armand went on the run when revolutionary dragoons raided his estate. He wandered Brittany accompanied by a few faithful companions for the next year. One of his companions caught a fever, and it eventually spread to Armand, who died of pneumonia on 30 January 1793, right after reading of the execution of King Louis XVI by the revolutionary government.

Armand as Marquis de Rouërie in the Vendee

Sadly, our Colonel Armand has gone almost forgotten—a brave B Player in two revolutions separated by an ocean. But he was an A Player to the men he led and the foes he vanquished. And one must suppose he was an A Player in the hearts of those proud Bretons he led and inspired in the struggle for their liberties and their faith.