The Continental Risque

by James Nelson

  The wind seemed to grow more tenacious with each block, coming off the river and tumbling down the street. Hopkins kept one gloved hand on the top of his wide-brimmed, black hat to prevent it from lifting off and flying away. The other he kept thrust deep into the pocket of his coat. It was November 5, and though it was not yet seven o’clock in the evening, the city was as dark as it would be at midnight.

  He paused at a corner of Third and waited while a coach and four rattled past, a beautiful vehicle with two servants dressed in superb livery on the back and a driver hunched forward over the reins. It rolled past and the sound of the iron wheels was soon lost in the wind and Hopkins continued down toward the waterfront. He could smell it now: brine and fish and tar carried on the cold air. He turned on Water Street, that familiar corner, and paused for a moment, staring at the tavern across the street.

  Through the small, distorted panes of glass he could see a crowd of men in the room downstairs, many of whom he recognized by now, though he did not associate with them. They were ship’s captains and small-time merchants and shop owners who came to the tavern nightly to drink their rum and beer and forget the troubles that went with being ship’s captains and small-time merchants. Like them, Hopkins came nightly to the tavern, but for reasons quite different.

  His eyes moved up to the second floor, to the single window that looked out over Commerce Street. The window was open to defend against an overly zealous fireplace and the clay pipes on which even now the six men inside would be pulling away. Hopkins could hear a voice, John Adams’s voice, over the muted din coming from the tavern downstairs.

  Hopkins could not make out what the Boston lawyer was saying, he could only catch the odd word, but that was all that he needed to hear to know what Adams was talking about. He heard the words ‘Hell Gate’ and the expression ‘—so I made it clear to—’ and the rest was carried away by a gust of wind. Hopkins smiled to himself. He was happy to arrive late and miss hearing once again of Adams’s adventures aboard the Charlemagne and how he, Adams, had been instrumental in their escape.

  Hopkins continued to stare at the window, indulging himself in his private thoughts. For the past week, since its creation on the thirtieth of October, the Naval Committee had met there and plotted how they would, over all objections, create a navy for the United Colonies.

  They were intelligent men, and dedicated: John Adams, Silas Deane, and John Langdon, the original committee of three who had drafted the plan to intercept the ordnance brigs. Christopher Gadsden of South Carolina, who many years before had served as an officer in the British navy and who was dedicated to the idea of sea power. Richard Henry Lee of Virginia, who always joined with the New Englanders in calling for the most radical action, and Joseph Hewes of North Carolina, who had broken with the Society of Friends, to which he and his family belonged, rather than endorse their denunciation of Congress.

  The committee meetings had so far proven to be exciting and stimulating, the most enjoyable duty Hopkins had performed since coming to Philadelphia.

  Dramatic things were happening concerning American naval power. A Committee to Headquarters, consisting of Benjamin Franklin, Benjamin Harrison, and Thomas Lynch had returned from a meeting with General Washington filled with enthusiasm for what the general was doing regarding the organization of the fleet.

  A less charitable man than Hopkins might have said that the committee was unduly influenced by Washington’s naming three of his ships the Franklin, the Harrison, and the Lynch, but still their enthusiasm for men-of-war infected the Congress as a whole. On the fifth of October it had taken Herculean effort to convince Congress just to arm two ships to go after the north country brigs. By the thirtieth of October they had happily authorized one hundred thousand dollars to form a fleet and had created the Naval Committee.

  We few, Hopkins thought, we happy few, we band of brothers. He did not feel like a brother to those men. He was more than twenty years older than the next oldest man on the committee. He felt more like a father. He glanced down the dark street, then stepped over a dubious puddle at the curb and made for the tavern’s front door.

  He walked up the steep stairway toward the second floor. He could see the light seeping out from under the door, could hear Adams’s voice quite clearly now. The attorney had just fired his first pistol shot into the frigate, to some great effect, he believed, and was quickly reloading when Hopkins opened the door.

  ‘Ah, Hopkins, you’re here!’ Adams said. ‘And just in time. I was just relating to these gentlemen …’

  Hopkins shut him up with a wave of his hand. ‘I’ve heard it before, John,’ he said, struggling out of his heavy wool coat. ‘At my age I have heard it all before.’

  He tossed his coat over a chair and looked around the room. They were all there, all of the other members of the Naval Committee, all seated in their familiar seats, relaxing, smoking, and drinking in their familiar postures.

  The room itself was just another second floor of another tavern, like a thousand that Hopkins had seen in his life. The ceiling was supported at regular intervals by heavy wooden beams, two feet apart and perhaps five and a half feet from the floor. One wall was taken up with a big brick fireplace that sucked as much warmth out of the room as it gave off, but which was, given the confines of the room, enough to make it almost unbearably hot. Most of the space was taken up by a big oak table, brought there on Hopkins’s request, and around which the Naval Committee sat, the smoke from their pipes forming a gray cloud, like low-hanging fog, in the upper two feet of the room.

  Hopkins glanced over toward the sideboard on the wall opposite the fireplace. There were bottles of beer, wine, and a bottle of Jamaican rum, especially for him. He wished very much to have a drink, but he pushed the temptation aside. He would have a drink later, probably quite a few, as he did most nights, but he would not start until their business was done. That was a resolve that he had not broken yet.

  ‘Gentlemen, let us plunge in here, headfirst,’ Hopkins said, and the various conversations stopped as the Naval Committee listened respectfully to their patriarch. ‘Stanton has drawn up the list of ships and officers we’ve appointed, so let me read this out. Not all of these men are confirmed, but I reckon they’ll accept. Seems everyone’s ready to be an officer. I just hope there’s as many want to be foremast jacks.’

  He pulled a sheaf of paper out of his waistcoat where he had tucked it away from the wind. ‘So. The ship Black Prince, renamed Alfred, flagship, of twenty-two guns, Dudley Saltonstall flag captain, John Paul Jones, senior lieutenant. The ship Sally, renamed Columbus, of twenty guns, Abraham Whipple commanding. The brig … the brig Sally. I guess it’s another Sally. Well, half the damn ships in these colonies are called Sally or Nancy. The brig Sally, renamed Cabot, of fourteen guns, John Burroughs Hopkins commanding …’

  Hopkins read through the list, which was approved for presentation to the Congress as a whole, and the discussion moved on to the organization of the Marine Corps, which the committtee had just created five days before. The talk went well into the evening as the committee worked through the structure, the number of officers, the number of troops, the duties, and the pay of the nascent corps.

  It was well past eleven o’clock when Hopkins, glancing at the bottle of Jamaican rum sitting patiently on the sideboard, called for an adjournment.

  ‘First there’s one other matter I would like to discuss,’ said Adams, ‘as we’re on the subject of ships and officers. You have heard, no doubt, of some of the events that took place on my passage to Philadelphia?’

  As it happened they had and did not wish to hear more, so Adams continued, ‘The Charlemagne is not a converted merchantman, she was built to be a man-of-war, and she is being offered by William Stanton, her owner and secretary to this committee, for employment in the navy.’

  ‘Another ship in the navy?’ asked Lee. ‘Does Mr Hopkins have yet another unemployed relative? His brother is the commodore, his nephew has command of the Cabo
t. Whipple is … Gadsden, what relation is Captain Whipple to Mr Hopkins?’

  ‘Married to his niece, if I am not mistaken.’

  ‘Whipple is married to his niece. Pray, sir, who in your family is there left to employ?’

  Hopkins smiled despite himself. After forty years in the rugged world of Rhode Island politics, he was most adept at finding positions for his kith and kin. It was like having a fondness for drink, it was difficult to stop.

  ‘The Charlemagne, as it happens, comes complete with her own captain,’ Adams interrupted. ‘A most capable man, and if you do not believe me, I shall relate the story again.’

  ‘And,’ Joseph Hewes said, ‘a Rhode Islander, I believe?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s no relation to Hopkins,’ Adams said. ‘Is he, Hopkins?’

  ‘None that I’m aware of.’

  ‘The thing of it is,’ Adams continued, ‘that while his commission is dated back to August, giving him quite a bit of seniority, that commission was issued by Washington, and I suppose technically it’s not valid. So I think it would be proper if we were to issue him a commission now, a naval commission.’

  ‘If we were to commission him now,’ Silas Deane said, ‘he should be junior to all of the officers already commissioned. I don’t see how we could give him command of a vessel.’

  ‘Oh, Good Lord, Deane, the man brought his own boat!’ Adams said. Deane had already arranged for his brother-in-law, Dudley Saltonstall, to take command of the flagship, Alfred, and Adams suspected that more Deanes were seeking employment. ‘Should we perhaps make a rule that if you bring your own vessel, you get to be captain? No, gentlemen, in all fairness I say we postdate his commission to the date that Washington issued it.’

  ‘But that would make him the most senior captain in the service,’ Gadsden pointed out.

  ‘Very well, then, we’ll postdate his commission to be the same date as the others we issued, so he’ll be on an equal footing with the others. I mean, really, gentleman, Biddlecomb’s one of the only people who has actually done something. The powder he brought in changed everything in Boston. And you should have seen him in the East River. Face like a marble statue, never flinched as that frigate was coming right up our backside. Spun her around and dropped the anchor like it was a yachting holiday, made an absolute fool out of that frigate captain. As you know, I’ve been around shipping all my life, done hundreds of admiralty law cases, and I’ve never heard of the like. Fantastic!’

  ‘I have no doubt that he is a fine captain,’ Hewes began, searching for the political turn of phrase, ‘but there does seem to be a preponderance of captains from New England, and Rhode Island in particular. I know’ – he held up his hand to stop Adams before the lawyer’s protest began – ‘I know that yours are more seafaring colonies than ours, and it’s no surprise the captains should come from there. And I know that the commander in chief is a Southern man. But as you gentlemen may recall, we issued a commission to a Mr Roger Tottenhill from North Carolina, an able mariner, has been going to sea since his youth. He was not available when we were manning the four ships we have now, but he’s just applied to me for some employment in the navy. Perhaps we could see him posted as first officer aboard the Charlemagne?’

  ‘And this Tottenhill is what relationship to you, sir?’ asked John Langdon, a partially suppresed smile on his face.

  ‘Well, Mr Langdon,’ said Hewes, smiling as well, ‘it happens that he is married to my cousin, but that has had no influence on my suggesting him for the post aboard the Charlemagne. Jut as Mr Hopkins and Mr Deane were in no way influenced by their own relationships to the commissioned officers now serving in our naval force.’

  ‘The Charlemagne has a first officer, a man named Rumstone, and he’s—’

  ‘And his commission,’ Hewes interrupted, ‘it was also issued by Washington?’

  ‘Well,’ Adams said, ‘in fact Washington gave Biddlecomb a blank commission, let him fill the thing in, but nonetheless—’

  ‘John,’ Hopkins interrupted, ‘perhaps we should consider Mr Hewes’s suggestion.’ It was clear that this Rumstone’s claim to a commission was of dubious legality, but there was a greater issue to consider. Though the Southern colonies were almost equally represented on the Naval Committee – there were three Southerners and four from New England – they were greatly underrepresented in naval officers. Experience and nepotism had leaned the committee heavily toward the northeast, and there were rumblings in Congress that this was not an American navy at all, but a New England navy. If they were to get the cooperation of the entire Congress, then the entire Congress had to feel they had a stake in these affairs. John Adams, Hopkins knew, understood this.

  ‘If this committee needs further convincing,’ Hewes added, ‘let me mention that Tottenhill has put recruiters to work at his own expense. He expects to have thirty or so seamen coming shortly from North Carolina who can be used to fill out the Charlemagne’s crew.’

  This news sent a murmur through the committee. The delegates were well aware of how the privateers were already depleting the Colonies’ supply of able seamen.

  Hopkins spoke, making a decision for the committee. ‘We can issue Rumstone a commission tonight. He’ll be junior to everyone, but at least he’ll be properly commissioned, and he can continue on as second officer aboard Charlemagne. We’ll appoint Tottenhill as first, and we’ll write out a commission for the Charlemagne to take her into the navy. We’ll have to put a contingent of marines on board, fifteen or twenty, I should think, and some sort of marine lieutenant.’

  He paused as he considered the amount of work that still needed to be done, thanks to John Adams’s poorly timed suggestion. His eyes flickered over at the sideboard and the bottle of Jamaican rum. ‘To hell with it, we’ll do it in the morning, get William Stanton to bear a hand with some of this.’

  He stepped over to the sideboard and pulled the cork from the bottle, splashing the pungent rum into a cup. ‘Rum with you gentlemen?’ he asked. ‘Mr Lee, will you have a glass with me? Of course. Mr Adams, some wine with you?’

  He could feel the men in the room relax, like releasing a breath after holding it. He had that effect on these men, could alter their moods at his will. He knew it and it amused him. ‘Now, gentlemen,’ he said, distributing glasses of liquor to the Naval Committee, ‘we were discussing Hesiod’s Works and Days at close of business last night, if I am not very much mistaken, and how Hesiod’s vision of the perfect society was one in which no man would ever have to go to sea.’

  It was nearly midnight before the jovial and fairly intoxicated Naval Committee left off their discussion of classical Greek literature and adjourned for the night. Joseph Hewes was the last to leave, bidding his fellows good-night and hesitating on the sidewalk outside the tavern as he watched them disappear down the black street. Then he turned and stepped inside again, not to the upstairs room but to the tavern on the street level, where he knew Roger Tottenhill would be waiting.

  The lieutenant, the newly appointed lieutenant, was indeed waiting, sitting at a table in the far corner, a mug clutched in both hands, deep in an animated and one-sided conversation with a bored-looking man sitting beside him. Hewes had feared that the meeting would go on as long as it had, leaving Tottenhill to wait for hours, drinking all the while. Hewes was afraid that he was already quite in his cups.

  He stood by the door for a moment, unseen, considering the young man in the expensive blue coat and silk breeches and stockings. Tottenhill was twenty-nine years old, handsome in a fine-boned way, with dark brown hair tied back in a queue. He came from a good family, a wealthy family, and had the concomitant breeding and manners. Hewes’s cousin, of course, would not have been allowed to marry anyone less.

  The man at Tottenhill’s table nodded his head at some point that Tottenhill had made, then glanced away, clearly not listening. That, unfortunately, was the other side of Tottenhill’s character.

  He was an extraordinary bore.

  To be
sure, that was a minor flaw compared to, say, cowardice or dishonesty or infidelity, but still Totttenhill had raised this annoying trait to something like an art. It was most difficult to be around the man for long, and that was why he was rarely asked to ship out a second time on a vessel aboard which he had served. Hewes had neglected to mention that to the committtee as a whole.

  The congressman made his way across the still-crowded tavern to his cousin’s husband’s table.

  ‘Roger, I apologize for the delay,’ he said, shaking his head at the publican’s inquiring glance.

  ‘Joseph, not at all, not at all!’ Tottenhill smiled his broad, genuine smile. ‘Please, be seated. I know how these politicians can go on.’ Tottenhill stood and pulled the chair out for Hewes, waving to the publican for two fresh drinks. ‘Joseph, this is—’

  ‘Thomas Page,’ said the bored man at the table, who looked entirely relieved to have the flow of Tottenhill’s conversation interrupted.

  ‘I was just telling Thomas here about the privateering in the last war. I recall once in France … no, wait … was it Spain? In any event …’

  At that the grateful Thomas Page stood. ‘Forgive me, sir, but the hour is late and I must be off. Good evening.’

  ‘Good evening. A pleasure,’ Tottenhill said, but Page was already halfway to the door.

  ‘Things went very well, you’ll be pleased to hear,’ Hewes began, not allowing Tottenhill to start up again. The publican set the unwanted drink on the table in front of him. ‘Better than I had hoped. As it happens, Adams just this evening brought us the news that another vessel is available for the service, the brig Charlemagne. You’re to be posted as first officer. Her captain and crew are Yankees, but there’s little you can do to avoid that, they’re all Yankees.

  ‘The best thing is that the Charlemagne is man-of-war built, she’s not a converted merchantman, and that gives her the chance to be the best ship in this fledgling navy. She’s a good vessel for you to serve aboard.’