p27  III.

Brother Patrick

Among the great mercantile houses in Philadelphia in the late colonial period, the firm of Meredith and Clymer ranked high in importance. In repute, its members yielded precedence to none. Samuel and Reese Meredith were men of integrity and influence as was their partner, George Clymer, later to become renowned as one of Pennsylvania's signers of the Declaration of Independence. To command a ship in their service was a guarantee of steady and continuous employment, and, withal, carried considerable prestige. Their mercantile fleet was not large, but it had been growing steadily, with the addition of about one new vessel a year.

Of Meredith and Clymer, John Barry had been thinking during his negotiations in Halifax, and to them he turned upon his arrival in Philadelphia in June, 1772. There was nothing haphazard in this procedure. Several times in recent months Mr. Reese Meredith had evinced a marked interest in the young master of the Industry. Whereas, after the storm-tossed voyages to New York and Nevis, Dugan and Barden had looked only upon the heavy cost of refitting, Meredith had viewed the matter in a different light. To him both experiences, which had been right thoroughly discussed in shipping circles, afforded culminating proof of the able seaman­ship of the skipper. Apparently the merchant had been keeping a watchful eye on Barry for a long time — back, perhaps, to the early voyages in the Barbadoes. Certainly he had given a number of indications that when the Meredith and Clymer fleet was next augmented, there would be a berth as master open to this capable Irish-born sea captain. It is not unlikely that a tentative agreement between them had been reached prior to the Halifax voyage. It would explain why Barry took pains to bring back with him an option on the sloop whose lines had taken his fancy.

 p28  The option, with a recommendation that it be exercised, was presented to Reese Meredith. That he should accept Barry's appraisal of the sloop and authorize the purchase speaks volumes for the reputation borne by the young shipmaster. Yet, that is just what happened. We know nothing of the terms, nor of the further negotiations with Dugan and Barden leading up to the dissolution of the partner­ship in the Industry. The results, however, were manifested immediately.

About July 1, Barry sailed from Philadelphia in the little schooner upon her final voyage under the joint owner­ship. He was to dispose of her at Halifax. Undoubtedly he had found a prospective purchaser during his previous visit there. With him went a bill upon Meredith and Clymer in an amount sufficient to buy the sloop. And, if Reese Meredith followed the news­papers, he read in the Pennsylvania Chronicle, on August 15, that the Industry and her skipper had reached their destination in safety.

News traveled slowly in those days. At the time Philadelphia editors noted Barry's arrival in Halifax, he was actually on his way home in the newly acquired sloop. Her name was the Frugality, bestowed upon her in March, 1768, at Bermuda, when she had been launched the previous year. She was small; much smaller than the Industry. While her burden was but twenty-five tons, she was as staunch a little craft as ever plied the seas. Smart of lines, square-sterned, well-masted, she delighted her master with her performance as she ran southward before favorable breezes. Lack of size had its compensation in her superior sailing qualities. Nor had he any occasion to change his original appraisal of her from the time he cleared Halifax until he brought her up the Delaware. With deep pride, he anchored off Philadelphia, about August 28, and reported to Reese Meredith that the newest vessel of the Meredith and Clymer fleet had come safe to port.

* * *

Mary Barry greeted her returning husband with a warm embrace and an air of excitement.

"And who do you think was here while you were away?" she asked.

 p29  John made several futile guesses and then gave up.

"Your brother Patrick!" she told him.

"Patrick?" John's voice was glad. "Here? Here in Philadelphia?"

She nodded. "Yes, right here in this very room, and a fine young sea captain he is. But he's gone now. You've missed him."

When she noted his disappointment, she reassured him:

"He'll be back in October; he promised me that."

Then she explained more fully. Patrick, master of the schooner Amelia, from St. Kitt's, had called upon her late in July. He had remained in port only a week, but in that brief time she had seen a great deal of him and of his bride-to‑be, a young Irish girl named Mary Farrell. Miss Farrell's presence undoubtedly had been Patrick's chief incentive in securing a berth on a vessel to Philadelphia. We can be sure Mary Barry had all the facts of Patrick's romance with the other Mary — what woman wouldn't — but, unfortunately, the story is lost to us today. Suffice it, that the nuptials would be celebrated upon Patrick's next visit, which, given propitious weather, should be early in October, and that the younger Barry had urged his sister-in‑law to prevail upon her husband to remain in port for the important event.

John Barry was dubious. It would not do for a new master in the employ of Meredith and Clymer deliberately to delay his first sailing for a wedding, not even if it were the wedding of a brother he had not seen for many years. Of course, his sloop did require a certain amount of overhauling, which might take a number of weeks. In the meanwhile, they would hope Patrick's return might be even earlier than predicted. No promises could be made, nor plans laid until he had talked to Reese Meredith. There the matter rested.

Another step which John and Mary seem to have contemplated for some time was taken in September. Their lodgings in the South Ward — proper enough for a young bride and groom in 1767 — were not of a quality suitable for a success­ful shipmaster and his wife. The Barry menage now included a servant, and more commodious and fashionable quarters were essential. Such a residence had been found in the Walnut Ward, lying just below the city's thriving business center and conveniently  p30 close to the water-front. So they moved in and, in due time, the ward assessor, with a total disregard of spelling, entered in his tax book the name of "John Barrey."

Refitting the sloop took longer than anticipated. It was not necessary to propose a postponement in sailing to Reese Meredith. As September moved along it became apparent that she would not be ready that month. Her destination had been fixed. The first voyage would be to the Dutch Island of St. Eustatia, in the West Indies. Evidently the name Frugality was not pleasing to the new owners. When she was re‑registered, which would be just before sailing, that could be taken care of. She would then be called the Peggy. A search of family genealogies, no doubt, would disclose a Peggy as the wife of one of the three partners. Certainly the name did not arise through any suggestion from Barry.

Captain and Mrs. Barry now, if you please, were safely ensconced in their new home, and the sloop was loading at the Meredith and Clymer wharf, when, about October 5, Patrick Barry returned. There was a grand reunion between the two long-separated brothers. Of Patrick we know little. Fate removed him from the pages of history too early for him to have established much of a reputation, and John has left us but a few fragmentary references to him. At any rate, their respective immediate activities are on record. John re‑registered the sloop at the Custom House on October 9, and officially called her the Peggy. On October 10, Patrick and Mary Farrell were united in the bonds of holy wedlock. Where and by whom the marriage was performed, we cannot say. Having witnessed the launching of the new matrimonial bark, John Barry kissed the bride (we presume), bade his own wife another of his numerous farewells, and sailed off the same day in the Peggy.

* * *

With St. Eustatia as his destination, Meredith and Clymer's new skipper was not exploring strange seas. The little Dutch island lies but twelve miles northwest of St. Kitt's, in the very heart of the clustered Leeward group. The course to it was no different than the route he had sailed less than a year before when bound to Nevis in the Industry. There was this difference: the Peggy sailed far faster than his old schooner. By the end of  p31 October he had weathered St. Bartholomew and had come to anchor in the roadstead of "that small speck in the ocean," as Henry Laurens, of South Carolina, once termed the tiny Dutch possession.

"Small speck" it may have been and still is, with its eight square miles of area, its volcanic hills and sand-covered valleys, but its importance then transcended its size. In the open harbor lay vessels of many nations. On shore flowed the traffic from every quarter of the globe. For St. Eustatia in those days was a free port. Open to the commerce of every country, it was a flourishing center of trade — legitimate and illegitimate. From one end of the town to the other — the whole distance of the mile-long street — was shop after shop in which could be bought anything from the silks of the East Indies to the finest learns and millinery of old England — and all at prices far below those current in the British islands.⁠a

In this atmosphere of mercantile activity, Barry spent less than a month. Meredith and Clymer's correspondent in St. Eustatia was not of the indolent type. No slothful souls, in fact, could exist in this teeming hive, where gain was the only goal. The Peggy's cargo was unloaded without delay, and into her hold, in turn, went many articles which, we suspect, were not listed in her cockets. Ostensibly her cargo for Philadelphia consisted of sugar, molasses and rum. Maybe so, but it is not unlikely there was contraband as well. No one — merchant or skipper — had compunctions about out‑witting the import laws foisted upon the American colonies by an unfriendly British Parliament. Without the opportunity to bring in forbidden goods, Meredith and Clymer and the other merchants would have found little advantage in trading with St. Eustatia. The island produced nothing. Her sugar and rum came from the other West India islands. They could have been purchased as cheaply in any of the British possessions. The incentive lay in the unlawful, and lawbreakers were encouraged by the Dutch — with subsequent disaster to the "honest" burghers.

Not that we would condemn Meredith and Clymer nor John Barry as lawbreakers — not even if half the Peggy's return cargo was contraband. In the opinion of the day, no man of character would submit supinely to subversive legislation in whose enactment he could have no hand. In that respect, the  p32 public attitude had undergone a marked change in the half-dozen years since Barry had first sailed as master. What was regarded as smuggling in 1766 had become justifiable commerce to American merchants by 1772.

Whether or not she carried forbidden goods — and that can only be deduced and not proven — the Peggy sailed out of St. Eustatia toward the end of November with a full hold. The passage northward was un­event­ful save for one wintry gale off Hatteras. In that she lost a jib stay, smashed two glasses, and shook loose some odds and ends of gear. Early in December she approached the capes, took on a pilot off Henlopen, and ascended the river. Two months to the day from her departure, Barry dropped anchor in the Delaware off Philadelphia. It was December 10, 1772.

After the wedding in October, Patrick Barry had found comfortable quarters for himself and his bride in the Walnut Ward. Their rooms were not far from his brother's abode, a location selected for the companion­ship of the young wives while their husbands should be at sea. For Patrick still commanded the schooner Amelia. He sailed on a voyage to Barbadoes a few days after his marriage, and the two Marys were each temporarily husbandless. As our interest lies in John rather than Patrick, we shall not attempt to detail the latter's voyages to Barbadoes, St. Kitts, St. Eustatia, Montserrat and the Mississippi during the balance of 1772 and the year 1773. At any rate, he had departed long before John brought the Peggy back from her first voyage to St. Eustatia, and they were not again in port together for more than a year.

Meredith and Clymer were well pleased with the way John Barry had handled the firm's interests. They paid his small refitting bill, amounting to £7, 18, 4¾, saw that a second cargo was ready, and sent him off again for St. Eustatia. John cleared Philadelphia a few days before Christmas, and, on February 17, 1773, Mary read in the Pennsylvania Gazette that he had arrived at the Dutch island. By the beginning of March he was back, stopping enroute at Charlestown, South Carolina, the Peggy demonstrating that, blow fair or foul, she was built for speed.

For her third voyage, Reese Meredith had selected a new destination — Montserrat, another of the Leeward group, lying  p33 some twenty miles southeast of St. Eustatia. Before March ended, Barry had sailed. The voyage was un­event­ful. He made the little island in late April; was delayed well nigh a month awaiting his return cargo, and came up the Delaware about June 25. Two weeks in port and he was off once more, this time again for St. Eustatia. Another expeditious voyage ensued, consuming less than two months, for late August witnessed the Peggy alongside the Meredith and Clymer wharf unloading her cargo.

* * *

By the fall of 1773, the American colonies had concluded that Britain's claim to the right to tax them would never be enforced. The tea tax of 1770 had been met with a refusal to buy tea and Parliament, for three years, had done nothing about it. Tea smuggling had paved the way for clandestine importation of other contraband. The intervening years, barring some turbulence in Boston, had been peaceful ones. For Pennsylvania, the government had proved actually benevolent, and the great trading houses had grown more and more power­ful, with the merchant aristocracy ruling the city. Into the placid marts of trade that fall, a bombshell dropped.

To save the East India Company, whose English warehouses bulged with the tea the colonists would have none of, Parliament had remitted the import duty into the British Isles from the East Indies and fixed a three pence per pound tax for the consumers in America. This juggling assured cheaper tea for the colonies, but it also asserted the principle of colonial taxation. It was news of this "taxation without representation," plus intelligence that deep-laden tea ships were sailing for all American ports consigned to special commissioners, that exploded the Philadelphia calm in late September.

John Barry was loading the Peggy for a voyage to Montserrat when the tidings arrived. The rising flood of indignation was as meat and drink to his British-hating soul. With what delight he pursued the news­papers and read every line of the addresses to the tea commissioners and to the public — addresses that reasoned and denounced, or merely denounced. Perhaps he chuckled over the handbills distributed by a self-styled and anonymous Committee for Tarring and Feathering, which  p34 promised the skipper of the expected tea ship "a halter around your neck, ten gallons of liquid tar scattered on your pate, with the feathers of a dozen wild geese laid over them to enliven your appearance." Much as he desired to attend the mass meeting of citizens called for the State House yard on October 16, duty forbade. Several days before this momentous gathering he cleared for Montserrat.

Aside from the public meeting, Barry missed none of the dramatics of the tea episode. When he brought the Peggy back to Philadelphia early in December nothing of moment had transpired. The tea ship had not yet arrived, although she had sailed from England on September 27. So he proceeded to discharge and take in cargo, another voyage to St. Eustatia in contemplation. He was almost ready to sail when, on Christmas eve, an express brought to Philadelphia a detailed account of the famous Boston Tea Party, followed, on Christmas Day, with word that the tea ship Polly, Captain Ayres, was in Chester.

Of Barry's part in Philadelphia's tea party, we have no record. All we know is that he was present in the great throng which stood through the wintry morning of December 27 in the State House yard, when Captain Ayres, escorted to the city by a special committee, learned the temper and resolution of the populace. And, being there, Barry's voice joined in approval of the seven resolutions by which the badly frightened British master learned that, to save his skin, he must depart from the Delaware, his cargo intact, within twenty-four hours.

Finally, it remained for the Peggy's skipper to witness the last act, for, on December 28, as he sailed down the Delaware outward-bound, the Polly was a short distance ahead him in the channel. Both vessels cleared the capes a day later, Captain Ayres for England with bad news for Parliament and the East India Company, and John Barry for St. Eustatia, with the stirring account of what both Boston and Philadelphia had done to King George's tea ships.

* * *

The one great tragedy of John Barry's long and useful life befell him in February of 1774. On the ninth of that month, with her husband absent on his voyage to St. Eustatia, Mary  p35 Barry passed away. Of her death, its cause, or the illness preceding it, we know nothing. Apparently in the best of health at the time of his departure during the holidays of 1773, her sickness could not have been of long duration. At her death‑bed were Patrick and his wife. Patrick had given up the command of the schooner Amelia after bringing her into Philadelphia about January 4, 1774. To the younger brother fell the sad task of arranging for the funeral. They buried Mary Barry in St. Mary's Churchyard, with Father Farmer officiating at the interment.

Not until two weeks after her death did John Barry reach home and learn of his bereavement. In the Pennsylvania Gazette of February 23 appeared the announcement that, "The Captains Mullet, from St. Christopher's; Barry, from St. Eustatia; Crawford, from St. Croix; and Hunter, from the bay of Honduras, are arrived at our Capes, and may be hourly expected up." This notice forewarned Patrick Barry so that, when the Peggy appeared off the city, he was ready to be rowed out to her and break the news of Mary's death. John Barry has left us no account of his gift. That he was stunned by the magnitude of his loss goes without saying. Over her grave he had erected a simple stone upon which was chiselled her name, the date of her death, and her age — twenty-nine years and ten months. Thus came to a close his first romance after a little more than six years of happy married life, and Mary Barry passes from our narrative as shadowy and faint a figure as when she entered it.

To the sorrowing widower, in early March, came a messenger from Robert Morris, the wealthy Robert Morris, merchant prince of Philadelphia and guiding genius of the great house of Willing, Morris & Co. Would Mr. Barry attend Mr. Morris at his earliest convenience? Mr. Barry would, indeed! What shipmaster would not? To command a Willing and Morris ship was the goal of every sea captain in the port, and such a request could only mean that the coveted honor was to be extended to him.

John Barry waited upon Robert Morris the same day. Would we had an eye‑witness account of this meeting, for to both men it was epochal. Barry was twenty-nine years old; Morris, forty; the former, Irish and a staunch Roman Catholic; the latter,  p36 English and just as staunchly an Established Churchman. Yet, despite racial and religious differences, they understood each other from the start. That meeting, in March, 1774, was but the beginning of a lifetime of mutual friendship and trust.

From the scanty evidence, we must agree with several of Barry's contemporaries, that "his nautical skill, the steadiness of his habits, and the integrity of his character," had recommended him to Morris's attention. Certainly, for more than seven years the merchant had every opportunity to study this tall, dark-haired young skipper, who had sailed schooner, brigantine and sloop in and out of the port. It would appear that Morris offered Barry his choice of two proposals: first, to take charge immediately of a brigantine just added to the Willing and Morris fleet; or, second, to remain in the Peggy until late fall when a 200 ton ship, then building, would be entrusted to him. Wisely enough, John chose the second alternative. He would rather wait for the ship, thus enabling him to carry out Meredith and Clymer's plans for several summer voyages. Then, it seems, he made a recommendation to Morris, namely, that his brother Patrick be offered the berth of skipper of the new brigantine. The merchant considered the idea and accepted it. Barry's sponsor­ship, even that early in his career, carried considerable weight.

Matters thus settled, John broke the news to Reese Meredith, promised that the firm of Meredith and Clymer would have his services until late fall, and sailed in the Peggy for Montserrat about March 20. On March 23, Patrick Barry's new command was officially registered at the Custom House — the forty ton brigantine Venus, built at Wilmington, Delaware, during the preceding winter and owned by Thomas Willing, Robert Morris and Thomas Morris, the latter a scape-grace half-brother of the eminent Robert. The Venus, laden with wheat and lumber, cleared Philadelphia about mid‑April for Jamaica and, eventually, the Mississippi.

* * *

The sloop Peggy, back from Montserrat, was tied up to Meredith and Clymer's wharf on June 9, 1774, and John Barry stepped ashore to find a city transformed. Eager informants vied in giving him the news. The port of Boston had been officially  p37 closed by act of Parliament. Troops were enroute there to back General Gage, just returned from England, in his effort to seek out and punish those responsible for the affront to his Majesty's tea ship. Philadelphia's turn probably would come next, even though there had been no such violence here when the Polly had been sent back to England. The Boston Port Bill had become effective on June 1, and that day had been observed as one of mourning in all the principal cities in all the provinces.

Philadelphia had acquitted herself well. Stores and shops had been closed. Vessels in the river had carried their flags at half-mast. Many ministers had thundered denunciations from the pulpits. Christ Church had not seen fit to meet in congregation, but someone had stolen into its belfry and most thoroughly tolled the Church bell. Now a meeting had been called for the State House on June 15, when drastic action would be taken in support of their unfortunate fellow citizens in Boston.

Such was the story as it came to him, embellished in many details, dependent upon whether the narrator was radical or conservative. Nevertheless, he could sense on every hand a grim determination to resist ministerial and parliamentary oppression — although no man then sensed the extent to which resistance might carry them. Nor do we believe Barry had any presentiment about the future. He was a man of his time, holding the same belief in colonial rights as many others, but with one distinction. Back of him lay that childhood which added hatred to determination. If and when the time came for something more than meetings and resolutions, here was one man who would back words with actions.

Just then, however, his commitments with Meredith and Clymer were more urgent than street corner and tavern discussions of American liberties. The northern passage had been a bit stormy and the Peggy needed a few repairs. His purchases for June included such items as "1 Mopp & Ratline," "a hand Trumpet 1 Lanthorn horn 500 pum[p] Nails," and "½w Lampblack 1 Ships Sheet." None the less, he found time to attend the State House meeting and vote "aye," along with everybody else, to the resolutions approving a general colonial congress at Philadelphia, and appointing committees of correspondence with all the other provinces.

After that, in line with his agreement with Meredith and  p38 Clymer for one more voyage, he sailed for Montserrat about June 25. August was nearing an end before he bade farewell to the British island, and, as the steep, forested heights of Mont Soufrière sank into the sea astern, John Barry saw the last of the West Indies for many a day. Between the fall of 1766 and the summer of 1774, he had voyaged to various of her islands — Barbadoes, St. Croix, Nevis, St. Eustatia and Montserrat — twenty times. No skipper out of Philadelphia was better acquainted with the waters of the Lesser Antilles than Barry, and, far ahead in the future, this knowledge would stand him in good stead. With no thought of that future, the master of the Peggy drove her northward under full canvas, and entered the Delaware almost abreast of Patrick Barry, coming in from the Mississippi in the Venus. The brothers sailed up the bay and river in company, and reported in at the Custom House on September 21.

The Continental Congress had been in session in Carpenter's Hall since September 5, with distinguished delegates in attendance from all parts of the American continent. What was transpiring in the secret sessions no one knew, but every one freely predicted a non‑importation agreement as one outcome. For other news, Gage had fortified himself in Boston, and the public had begun to suspect that events were leading towards war. All this Barry learned as he prepared his accounts for final inspection. Ere the month ended he had relinquished the command of the Peggy, and parted with Meredith and Clymer. His connection with them for a full two years had resulted in "a friendship, reciprocal, sincere, and lasting. "

Congratulations were showered upon Barry on the evening of October 3, at the London Coffee House, where the members of the Society for the Relief of Poor and Distressed Masters of Ships, &c. were gathered for a stated meeting. News of his selection to command the new Willing, Morris & Co. ship had just become public property. No more popular choice could have been made then this tall, smiling young master, perhaps the best liked skipper in the port. So, naturally, to conclude the evening, they toasted his success in a few bumpers of ale.

For the balance of the month and into early November, John was busy with personal matters. Family affairs held his principal interest. From scant records, it appears that the fall of  p39 1774 saw the arrival of two more Barrys in Philadelphia — Thomas, the clerically inclined lad, who came over from Ireland, and Jane, the eldest sister. The latter arrived as the wife of James Byrne, who forthwith settled in the city and who was her second husband. Jane's first consort, a man named Willcox, had died a few years before in the Carolinas. Meagre references to Thomas and Jane exist — too meagre for any satisfactory account of them.

From Thomas Barry, however, came news of the family in Ireland. Their parents were aging — were not many more years for this world — and were entirely dependent upon the money John was sending them periodically. Both Margaret and Eleanor had been married for a number of years. The latter, now Mrs. Thomas Hayes, had two strapping boys, Michael and Patrick, and a daughter named after the mother. Margaret Howlin, too, had several offspring, the eldest a daughter.

October witnessed the departure of Patrick Barry in the Venus for a voyage to Tobago. He and John parted, knowing it would likely be a long separation. Neither suspected, however, that it was farewell forever. Both would soon be engulfed in the maelstrom of war, the elder to emerge finally with honors and distinction, the younger to perish, his death almost unnoticed in the march of momentous events.

Meantime, in line with predictions, the Continental Congress promulgated the one decisive action of its first session — the famous Continental Association. By its provisions, December 1, 1774, was fixed as the date after which no goods should be imported, directly or indirectly, from Great Britain or Ireland — the non‑importation agreement. Likewise, there issued from that body the expected non‑exportation clause, setting September 10, 1775, for the cessation of all outward trade with the British Isles and the West Indies.

The American prelude to the Revolution had been written.

---

Thayer's Note:

a The island of St. Eustatia (also: St. Eustatius) would become particularly important during the American Revolution, as a source of ammunition: "St. Eustatius in the American Revolution", AHR VIII.4, pp683‑708.

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