p115  IX.

A Bride Won and a Bribe Spurned

John Barry returned to Philadelphia to find the frigate Randolph manned and ready for sea, and the Delaware nearing the same state. But the Washington and Effingham were no farther advanced in their outfitting than they had been more than a month before, when he and Thomas Read had marched off to the army. Aside from the Continental seamen in port, the city was practically denuded of able-bodied men. Most of her citizenry was with Washington at Morristown, or with Putnam enroute there. Even Congress, he learned, had departed — but for greater safety — to Baltimore.

Naval matters had been left in the capable hands of Robert Morris, one of a congressional committee of three, who had elected to remain until the peril became more mena­cing than it had been when the Continental Fathers took refuge in flight. To Morris, John Barry reported and quickly was apprised of the marine situation. Several of the smaller naval vessels had slipped past the blockaders into the Delaware, but his old command, the Lexington, had been taken off the capes, subsequently retaken by her crew, and was now safely in Baltimore. The Randolph would be dispatched on a cruise as soon as the British fleet vacated the mouth of the bay, and the little sloop Hornet would go with her. Morris had hopes of getting the Delaware out later. He had recalled her captain and crew from camp to expedite her departure, but she was still wanting in many things.

"And the Effingham, Mr. Morris?" Barry protested. "She's no farther along than when I left."

"Nor likely to advance far, for some months to come," Morris explained. "What with every trained shipwright off in the  p116 army, and neither guns nor iron available or in prospect, the Effingham and Washington bid fair to lie idle for many a day."

Which statement, as the winter passed and spring came, was completely verified. Nicholas Biddle and John Nicholson sailed in the Randolph and Hornet in February. The sloops Independence and Sachem cleared in March, and then the British re‑established the blockade, which winter storms had, for a time, disrupted. Bottled up in the port were the frigate Delaware, brig Andrew Doria, and a half-dozen smaller craft commissioned in recent months. As for the Effingham and Washington, some snail-like progress was made when the victorious militia came home and artisans resumed their trades. Congress reconvened in Philadelphia, on March 12, and the Navy Board again took up its duties with John Nixon's return to civil life.

The best intentions of Congress, Marine Committee, Navy Board and shipworkers were no substitutes for lack of materials. The senior naval captain in port, for so Barry had become with the departure of Nicholas Biddle, was in the anomalous position of commanding a ship so far from completion that he could not consider enlisting a crew. There was little he and his fellow officers could do save participate in the routine of courts of inquiry and courts martial — proceedings inherent in naval life during periods of inactivity. Two only of these were of sufficient importance to warrant news­paper interest, and Barry presided over both.

One occurred in the cabin of the Andrew Doria, on April 20, when John Baldwin faced a charge of misconduct in the loss of the schooner Wasp. This little vessel, operating outside the blockade to warn merchantmen away from the bay, had been dashed to pieces on the eastern shore of Maryland in a storm. Baldwin's defence was able, and the verdict unanimous. Barry made it public.

"The loss of the said schooner was not owing to any neglect or mismanagement of Captain Baldwin," he explained, "but was altogether occasioned by stress of weather and unavoidable necessity, and Captain Baldwin is accordingly acquitted."

Not so well fared William Whitpain, sailing master of the sloop Independence who had deserted her in Sinepuxent bay, in Maryland, and eloped with a long-boat and a half-dozen hands. Whitpain was apprehended in Philadelphia, and was  p117 placed on trial, on June 10, the scene being the cabin of the unfinished Washington. The court listened to the evidence, and again Barry delivered the verdict.

"The court are unanimously of opinion," he stated, "that the said William Whitpain be cashiered and rendered incapable of bearing a commission or warrant in the Continental navy in future."

The court martial concluded at a time when Philadelphia had again become apprehensive of British attack. Washington, at Morristown, and Howe, at New Brunswick, had been sparring through the entire spring with little advantage to either. In early June, however, the enemy began displaying some symptoms of an advance, and Washington had sent General Mifflin to arouse Philadelphia from its apathy. Mifflin succeeded to the point where the populace began to display considerable patriotic fervor. Congress, too took fire and passed a number of resolutions tending to strengthen the defences of the Delaware. One of these empowered the Navy Board to direct all Continental naval officers to cooperate with the naval force of Pennsylvania in opposing the expected attack.

This measure prompted two inquiries from the Navy Board, each directly pertaining to John Barry. On June 13, it asked the Marine Committee to ascertain from Congress, in case a joint defence was undertaken, "whether the Commodore of the State, or the eldest Captain in the Continental Navy is to take the Command." A few minutes later, it dashed off a second letter, to know what Congress desired to do with the frigates in case of extreme emergency; "whether they would choose to have them burnt, or sunk or fall into the Enemy's Hands; & whom they would trust with the Execution of their Resolves to this Purpose." Congress's reply, on June 14, was a resolution to put the entire problem into the hands of the Marine Committee to give directions "as they think proper."

John Barry might have been keenly interested in the Navy Board inquiries had they come to his attention, for he was senior captain, and the Effingham was one of the frigates involved. But the correspondence and congressional resolves thereon were handled in secrecy. Perhaps it was just as well the subjects could not vex him just then. The captain's vital  p118 interests at that time were concerned more in matters marital than in matters martial.

* * *

Miss Sarah Austin, youngest child of the late Samuel and Sarah Keen Austin, was in her twenty-third year when she met the tall, brown-eyed Irish-born captain, whose reputation was so high in Continental naval circles. Where they met, how they met, are matters neither she nor the Captain bothered to set down for posterity. Tradition has it that she was active with the patriotic young ladies of Gloria Dei Church, who are reputed to have made the first American flag for a naval vessel in the pattern set by the flag designer, Betsy Ross. Tradition further has it that this flag was sent to John Paul Jones to fly over the Ranger equipping at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Maybe so, but it must be remembered that Congress authorized the Stars and Stripes, that "new constellation," as it was termed, on June 14, 1777, and, at that time, Sarah was being ardently wooed by John Barry. It is not too much to presume that she and the other damsels of Gloria Dei may have plied diligent needles in sewing the banner that would shortly rise to the main peak of the Effingham.

It is our intention to touch here only upon that particular branch of the family whose history became interwoven with the life of John Barry. This was the branch sired by Jonas Keen, great-grandson of the original Joran Kyn, and grandfather of Sarah Austin. Nor will we wrestle with all of Joran Keen's children. Our interest lies at present in the descendants of one, although others will appear later. The one in question was Jonas's eldest daughter, Sarah Keen, born in 1722, and twice married; first, to John Stille, and, after his death in  p119 1746, to Samuel Austin, of Philadelphia. Samuel departed this life in 1767; his wife, on March 21, 1777. Surviving were four children: Christiana, daughter of the first marriage and the wife of Reynold Keen, a descendant of old Joran by another branch of the family; William, born in 1751, and Isaac, born in 1752, both unmarried in 1777, and, finally, Sarah Austin, the youngest, born in 1754.

Sally was the nickname affectionately bestowed upon her by a pair of doting brothers, and Sally she was to all her friends. This included the thirty‑two-year‑old, dashing naval captain, who had captivated her heart. It is not to be supposed that Barry was without competition in his suit. Not only was Sarah popular, she was, in a sense, well-to‑do. Samuel Austin, who had prospered as owner of a ferry plying between Philadelphia and New Jersey, had left a worthwhile estate. With the death of his widow in the preceding March, this estate was now about to be distributed among the heirs. The principal property lay along the river. It included the ferry, ferry house and wharf, the mansion house at the northeast corner of Arch and Water streets, where the three Austin children lived, and a number of smaller buildings, among them the shop where Isaac Austin practised the art of watchmaker. The elder brother, William, supervised the operation of the ferry.

The gallant captain of the Effingham was the favored suitor from the start, and his wooing was success­ful. It culminated on July 7, 1777, in old Christ Church, but a few blocks from the Austin homestead. There, in the presence of the immediate family and a few close friends, the Rev. William White united in the bonds of holy wedlock Sarah Austin and John Barry.

* * *

During the period of John Barry's courtship and marriage, the movements of General Howe served but to perplex Washington and Congress. His feint toward Philadelphia, in June, had been followed by a sudden withdrawal from New Brunswick into New York. In early July, he was loading his army into transports in the Hudson. His logical course would be to proceed up that river to effect a junction with Burgoyne coming down from Canada via Lake Champlain. But Washington had informed Congress, on July 10, that Philadelphia might  p120 possibly be his objective by sea. Hence, there had been no hiatus in the efforts to put the city in the best defensive posture.

In these measures, the Continental navy had little part. Only the frigate Delaware and the brig Andrew Doria, of the larger vessels, were in serviceable condition. The Effingham and Washington continued gunless, crewless and but partly rigged, and Barry was growing more and more irritated daily by the failure of the Navy Board to make what he considered adequate efforts to supply the deficiencies. Between him and Francis Hopkinson, now serving as chairman of the board, had developed a veiled hostility. Hopkinson thought Barry "a grumbler," and the latter considered the chairman an incompetent meddler. There was no open hostility, but the possibilities for trouble smouldered. Outwardly, the routine of naval life ran smoothly with only minor problems to solve, and an occasional court martial sitting to give the officers a chance to assemble in their blue and red, full dress uniforms.

Unexpected trouble developed for Barry from a new source, when, on July 20, as senior captain, he issued a call to all commissioned officers to attend one of these courts martial. Twelve lieutenants — every lieutenant, in fact, on the vessels in the port of Philadelphia — addressed a terse reply and signed their names. It was delivered to him the next day. His anger rose as he read it.

Here was something akin to mutiny, and, as he ran his eyes down the list of signers, he noted with regret the name of Luke Matthewman, his former first officer of the Lexington. Off to the Marine Committee he marched, ignoring the Navy Board entirely. To John Brown, secretary of the committee and one of his closest friends, he presented the offending paper. No need to explain what lay behind this united insubordination. Brown knew the reasons and knew also that the Marine Committee was, in part, to blame. In mid‑May, two petitions for increased pay and subsistence had been presented to it; one  p121 from the lieutenants, and another from the surgeons on the various vessels. On July 16, upon the committee's recommendation, Congress had approved an increase in pay for the surgeons, but the committee had retained the lieutenants' petition under advisement. The dozen had called on Robert Morris, who put them off with fair words. For four days thereafter, they had fulminated among themselves against this supposed injustice, and then had resorted to drastic action.

When, on July 23, the Marine Committee presented the facts of the insubordination to Congress, there was unanimous agreement to "make examples of such offenders." The twelve were summarily dismissed from the Continental navy and declared incapable of holding any commission or warrant under the authority of the United States. Congressional action was courageous, as matters looked dark for the said United States at that time. News had been received that Ticonderoga had been abandoned in the face of the enemy, and Howe's transports were reported fully loaded and apparently intending for sea. To deprive the little Continental fleet in Philadelphia of the twelve lieutenants meant weakening the navy when it should be at its strongest.

Fortunately, the insubordinates became penitent. One of them, whose name had been signed to the document without his knowledge, so informed Congress, on July 24, and the other eleven followed, a few hours later, with a second petition, regretting their previous action and requesting reinstatement. Congress referred the matter to the Marine Committee. No doubt, Barry and his fellow captains had much to do with showing the recalcitrant officers the error of the ways. All the lieutenants appeared before the committee, acknowledged how reprehensible was their offence, and expressed themselves as "exceeding sorry for the rashness which betrayed them into such behaviour." They were restored to their former rank and command by Congress, on July 28. It was well the matter was concluded so quickly and satisfactorily.

Two days later, the Brothers Howe — more than 200 war vessels and transports strong — who had sailed from New York on July 23, appeared off the mouth of the Delaware. While we know now that General Howe and his brother, the Admiral, never intended to force the Delaware, no such prescience was  p122 given to anyone in Philadelphia when the news came that the British armada was standing in for the capes.

The courier of ill‑tidings arrived at dawn of July 31, bearing Henry Fisher's letter of warning. A great consternation seized the city; greater than in the previous winter. Tories raised their heads and voices in exultation, but were stifled promptly by an aroused Congress which ordered every disaffected person arrested and removed to jails in the back country. Word had gone on to Washington of the enemy's appearance, and an immediate call issued for militia to help repel the invasion. Then Congress turned its attention to naval matters, particularly the frigates Effingham and Washington. The Navy Board was directed to take immediate measures "for securing the continental vessels that cannot be employed in the defence of the river."

That resolution spelled the end of any hopes John Barry may have had, as senior captain, to command the naval defences of the Delaware. It gave the Navy Board authority, and that authority was exercised at once in a brief letter addressed jointly to Barry and Read. They should bend enough sail on their respective frigates to carry them up the river to a place of safety. They could take the rigging wherever they found it, and give the owners receipts for it, and they were expected to "conduct this Business with all Decency & Discretion." This last injunction was an affront to both officers, but they swallowed it without a word in reply, and went about the job with dispatch. The frigates, with an ill‑assortment of make-shift sails, were ready for the flight up the Delaware, when, on August 2, came the news that the Howes had vanished from the mouth of the bay.

Followed days, even weeks, of suspense, with Washington hovering midway between Philadelphia and New York, uncertain which way to march. It was August 22 before the perplexity ended. On that day, Congress learned the British had entered the Virginia capes and were ascending the Chesapeake. Ere another week elapsed, it was evident the Howes' objective was still Philadelphia.

There is neither room nor necessity to devote more than a paragraph to the rapid series of events which brought the enemy resistlessly from the Head of Elk to the environs of  p123 Philadelphia. Brandywine was fought and lost on September 11. A deluge that ruined the ammunition of both armies stopped an impending battle twenty miles west of Philadelphia on September 16. Congress decamped for Lancaster on the night of September 18. Wayne's division was surprised and routed at Paoli on September 21. And, by September 23, the British forces were astride the Schuylkill northwest of the city.

The general exodus of all ardent patriots from the rebel capital began with the departure of Congress. Among them went Sarah Barry, her brother Isaac, and her step-sister and husband, Mr. and Mrs. Reynold Keen, with their brood of small children. Brother William Austin promised to join them later at Reading. The Captain saw his bride off in the little wagon convoy, and returned to the frigate Effingham.

Along the waterfront was pandemonium. Carts dumped their contents on the wharf and rattled madly off for more. Men swore, pushed, tugged in a frenzy of excitement. Military stores and private property were being hurled promiscuously into shallops, barges, scows, anything that would float. Wild rumors raced back and forth to frighten the more timid with false accounts of British advance guards being already within the city.

Better order was maintained on the Effingham and Washington and on the packet Mercury, the three vessels considered unfit to participate in defending the river. Each frigate had a handful of men, a few seasoned mariners among them. The rest were convalescent soldiers, able to do a bit of manual labor. Into these three vessels, the Navy Board had ordered all its naval stores, provisions and slops, together with books and papers, and the records of the pay office and the commissioners of naval stores.

Hopkinson and John Wharton went passengers on the Mercury, while Barry had several clerks and servants of the board with him on the Effingham. Unfortunately, John Nixon, the most levelheaded of the board members, was again off in service with his militia battalion.

To John Barry and Thomas Read, it was a bitter experience. Their every inclination and desire was to be down the river, where, between Red Bank and Liberty Island, their comrades of the other Continental vessels were assembling with  p124 the Pennsylvania navy to guard the passes through the chevaux-de‑frise against the British navy below and the British army above. Duty forced them, instead, to turn their bows up stream as a part of that heterogeneous fleet, which put off on the morning of September 25.

A light wind and a favorable tide helped them along the first day. No mishaps occurred. What little canvas they had to spread on the Effingham — she probably was rigged by then as far as her topmasts — taxed the abilities of her skeleton crew. Similar conditions prevailed on the Washington. Hopkinson and Wharton considered the flight as accomplished only with "much Toil." Barry regarded the voyage as commonplace, save for one extraordinary incident.

When a few miles above the city, a voyager came on board the Effingham from the Pennsylvania shore. The Captain knew him. In fact, from Barry's extreme reticence on the subject, we would surmise the voyager was actually a close friend. His actions were mysterious, and he insisted upon a private conversation. Barry led him aft into the sacred precincts of the cabin, and waited to learn what tidings required such secrecy. The voyager spoke in low and confidential tones:

"I am authorized to offer you 15,000 guineas if you will turn back to Philadelphia with your ship."

Barry gazed at the speaker, momentarily stunned. The latter, apparently feeling his offer was not of sufficient magnitude, continued quickly:

"And if you choose, I have it upon authority of Lord Howe to offer you the command of her in his Majesty's service."

Only a life-long friend could have come unscathed and at liberty from the Effingham after proposing such treason to John Barry. The tall figure, in Continental blue and red, towered over the voyager.

"So you propose I should be a traitor to my country," the Captain said, his voice tense. "I scorn any offer you or your Admiral Howe can make me. Now, get out!"

The unwelcome voyager departed.

That night, they hove to in the river below Burlington. In the morning, a half-hundred militiamen came on board. They were poor specimens, some sickly, others skulkers left behind when their companies marched to join the army. At least, they  p125 could assist in getting the frigates farther up the river, and the stores finally disembarked. At a snail's pace, hampered by calm weather, so little progress was made that September 27 found the fleet but little north of Bristol. During that day guns could be heard thundering below. Later they learned it was the ill‑starred effort to cannonade the newly-erected British batteries in Philadelphia, resulting in the capture of the frigate Delaware, and giving the enemy a vessel of force north of the chevaux-de‑frise.

Barry and Read moored off White Hill, on the Jersey shore two miles below Bordentown, on the night of September 27, while the Mercury, with the Navy Board members, continued on up to the little town. During the next few days, the cargoes were discharged and dispersed — books and papers to Easton by wagon train, stores and provisions in places of safety at some distance from the river, secreted in farm houses or in shallops far up Crosswicks creek.

Some light cannon were secured to put both vessels in a fair posture of defence. The Washington had thirteen guns — 12‑, 6‑, and 4‑pounders. Barry had managed to collect ten cannon, most of them from merchant vessels at Bordentown, and none heavier than 9‑pounders. One of the Effingham's boats and the Washington's barge were manned and armed with a 3‑pounder each, as lookouts to warn of any enemy advance up the river. Each frigate had eighty men, having enrolled a number of hands from the same merchantmen from which Barry had secured his cannon. All that could be done to prevent a surprise had been accomplished. From then on, they could be but idle auditors of the fighting raging thirty miles to the southward.

We can picture John Barry's impotent fury at being barred from participation in the struggle; his natural envy of John Hazlewood, the Pennsylvania navy commodore in supreme command of the combined naval forces. Ironically enough, as the Captain futilely paced the Effingham's quarter-deck at White Hill, a member of Congress, at York, was writing, on October 10, to Benjamin Franklin, at Paris, the astounding intelligence that "Captain Barry has recaptured the frigate Delaware recently taken by the English." Such news, as Barry would have admitted with a grin, was "highly exaggerated."

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