Foster's Letter Of Marque

Fourteen days out from Sydney the Policy took her first whale, greatly to the delight of old Stevenson and the crew, who looked upon such early luck as a certain indication of a good cruise. After “trying-out” Foster kept on to the northward to the sperm-whaling grounds in the Moluccas. Three days later they spoke the Endicott, of Nantucket, whose captain gave Foster a kindly warning not to go cruising further north, for there were several Batavian privateers looking out for the English whalers that were then due on the cruising ground. Then the American wished him luck and goodbye.

Old Stevenson’s face fell; then he swore. “I suppose we have to turn tail, sir, and try what we can do to the southward and I believe we’d be a full ship in three months or less up in the Moluccas.”

“So do I, and I’m going there.”

“But it’s dangerous waters, sir; we don’t want to lose the ship and rot in prison in Batavia.”

“Mr. Stevenson, I am an Englishman, and Hurry Brothers did not get a letter of marque for this ship for nothing. You ought to know that to turn back means an empty ship. It is our duty to go to our proper cruising ground and cruise till we are a full ship; and all the infernal Dutchmen in the world mustn’t frighten us.”

“Very good, sir,” said the old mate cheerfully, “but, all the same, I don’t want us to get served like that fellow Portveldt served the old Mary Ann.”

Another five weeks passed. So far, “greasy” luck had attended the Policy for she had taken sixteen more sperm whales, the last of which was killed in about 8° S. and 120° E., in the Flores Sea. But misfortune had come upon the ship in other respects, and Foster was in no small anxiety about his crew, nearly all of whom were ill from lead-poisoning. This had been brought about by drinking water from leaden tanks in which oil had once been stored.

A bright look-out was kept, for the ship was now right in the spot where it was likely she might meet with the Dutch privateers.

It was Stevenson’s watch, and as he walked the poop he stopped suddenly, for the look-out reported a sail to the W.S.W. Foster came on deck at once and went aloft In a quarter of an hour it was evident that the stranger bore towards them. The wind was south-east, and very little of it.

“What are you going to do?” asked the mate. “I fancy this is one of the Dutchmen who are on the look-out for us.”

“So do I,” answered Foster, “I’ll tell you what I am going to do: brace sharp up on the larboard tack and run down to her. I am not going to run away from one infernal Dutchman, and I can only see one of ‘em.”

“You’re captain of the ship, and you can do as you please; but I am hanged if I think you’ll pull it off this time. Half the crew are sick, and this fellow looks as if he meant fighting.”

“All hands on deck; starboard forebrace!” was all the answer Foster made. Then he went to the signal locker, and getting out the American ensign, with his own hands ran it up to the peak, hoping by this means to get close enough to the other ship to prevent her from running away from a fight, if the captain should turn out not one of the fighting sort.

As soon as the sails were trimmed the skipper walked to the break of the poop, and, with the air of a captain of a seventy-four, gave the order, “Clear ship for action!”

Then the mate ventured to remark that half of the guns were down below on the ‘tween decks, where they had been put out of the way for the generally peaceful occupation of whaling.

“Well, get ‘m up. What the devil do you think I mean by clearing for action?”

Accordingly, the six-pounders were hoisted upon deck and quickly mounted, what little powder and shot the Policy carried was brought into a handy place, and the mate, with something of a smile, reported, “Ship cleared for action, sir.”

“Very good, Mr. Stevenson. Now, my lads, I reckon this ship is one of the Dutch fleet sent to clear us whalers out of these seas. Well, as he seems to be alone, I think we have a fair chance of turning the tables upon him. Anyhow, I am going to try. I know some of you are pretty sick, but I am sure that a crew of English sailors, even when they are sick, can lick twice their number of muddle-headed Dutchmen any day.”

In those days, British ships were manned by British seaman, and Captain Foster could talk like this without saying anything offensive to the British merchant service. Nowadays such an observation about “Dutchmen” would be a personal insult to four-fifths of the crew of a British merchant ship.

The men, including the mate, received the speech with a cheer, and one of them sang out “Haul down the Stars and Stripes. We don’t want to fight under that.”

To which Captain Foster, who knew what he was about, merely replied, “I am not a fool!”

Towards the close of the afternoon the ships were within gunshot of each other, and the Dutchman ran up his colours. As they drew closer, the foreign skipper’s glass showed him the nationality of the Policy and he at once opened fire upon her with one of his six eighteen-pounders.

As the shot hummed overhead between the Policy’s fore and main masts, down came the American colours and up went the British ensign, and at the same moment Foster fired such of his guns as bore upon the enemy.

As soon as the report of the guns had died away, Foster sprang into one of his quarter-boats and hailed the other ship.

“Ship ahoy!” he roared “why do you fire at me?”

“Ha, ha! I know you,” came back in mocking tones. “Now vill I sendt you to der tuyvel, you greasy valer mans. I am Captain Portveldt, und dis is der Swift. Vill you surrunder, or vill I smash you to beices?”

For answer, Foster, who had now come very close to his enemy, fired his tiny broadside, his men, sick as they were running cheerfully from the guns to the braces to manoeuvre the Polity clear of the privateer’s fire, and then back again to the guns.

The sun had now set, but far into the darkness of the tropical night the running fight continued, Foster always out-manouvring the Dutchman, and the crews of both vessels, when they closed near enough to be heard, cursing and mocking at each other. Owing to the darkness and the extremely bad gunnery on both sides, little blood was spilt, and the damage done was mostly confined to the sails and rigging. Now and then a eighteen-pound shot hulled the Policy, and one went clean through her amidships. Suddenly, for some cause or other, about midnight, a light was shown in the privateer’s stern, and Foster’s second mate at once sent a lucky shot at it, with the result that the six-pound ball so damaged the Swift’s rudder that she became unmanageable. And then, a few minutes later, another shot dismounted one of her guns by striking it on the muzzle, and ere the Dutchman’s crew knew what was happening, a final broadside from the whaler brought down her two topsails and did other damage aloft. That practically ended the battle.

So thought Captain Portveldt, who now hailed the Policy in not quite so boastful a voice as when the vessels met earlier in the day.

“Captain Voster, I haf hauled down mein flag. Mein grew will vight no more, and I must surrender.”

A cheer broke from the whaler’s crew.

“Very well, Captain Portveldt,” called out Foster; “lower a boat, and come on board with half your crew. But don’t try on any boarding tricks, or you will be the worse for it.”

The meeting between the two skippers, notwithstanding the cause, was good-humoured enough, for Portveldt, apart from his boastfulness, was not a bad fellow.

“Veil, Captain Voster,” he said as he stepped on board the Policy’s deck, followed by his big boatswain (who was wounded in the face by a splinter) and half his crew, “you haf broved der besd mans; und now I suppose you vill lead me like a liddle dog mit a sdring, und dake me to Sydney und make vun mit der young lady about me.”

“No, no,” answered Foster, “I am not so bad as all that Come below and have a glass of grog.”

At daylight one morning some weeks later two ships appeared in sight off Sydney Heads. Those who were on the look-out were alarmed, for it was seen that both vessels were armed, and it was conjectured that the ships must be part of an enemy’s squadron which had determined to make an attack upon the settlement of Port Jackson.

In a very short time an excited crowd gathered together along the line of cliffs of the outer South Head, each one asking his fellow what was to be done. Horsemen carried the news into Sydney, and every moment fresh numbers arrived to swell the crowd of spectators on the cliffs. A strange sight they must have presented, comprising, as they did, all sorts and conditions of men—settlers, naval and military officers, soldiers of the New South Wales Regiment, and a number of the better class of convicts.

Of course the Deputy Acting Assistant Commissary-General was among the officers anxiously watching the ships from the heights that overlooked the harbour, and with him were Dolly and her mother.

Presently Dolly, catching sight of her father’s anxious face, began to cry, and turned to her mother. “Ah!” she said “it has all come true, and he has come to destroy the settlement!”

“What has come true, and who is going to destroy the settlement?” said her father sharply. And then Dolly, feeling very frightened and miserable, told him of Portveldt’s letter, the receipt of which she had concealed from every one but Foster. The D.A.A.C.G. laughed at first, but then added, “but all the same, though ‘twas but empty bluster, I had better tell his Excellency about it; it is just possible that the Dutch have planned an expedition against us.”

At half-past ten, in response to a signal made from the look-out at South Head by the officer in charge there, his Excellency Governor King sent Lieutenant Houston, of his Majesty’s ship Investigator, then anchored in Sydney Cove, to the naval officer in command at South Head.

The Investigator was Flinders’ ship, the gallant old tub of 334 tons which surveyed a great part of the northern coast, and was at the time of which we write lying rotting in Sydney, condemned after completing her second voyage of discovery in June, 1803.

Then the Governor was told of Dolly’s letter, but he was not the man to take fright at the approach of the enemy, although he had no defence force as it is now understood in New South Wales, nor had he a gold-laced staff of officers with elaborate “defence schemes” against possible raids of Japanese or Russians by way of Exmouth Gulf or Port Darwin.

In that year Governer King’s force did not take long to be marshalled. The drums beat to arms, and the New South Wales Corps and the Loyal Association immediately formed into line on the shores of the Cove.

At eleven o’clock a trooper arrived at Government House with intelligence that one of the vessels appeared under British colours, and the other was flying a Union Jack triumphant over a Dutch Jack. Following this message there soon came another, bringing the certain intelligence that one of the ships was an English whaler bringing into port her Batavian prize. So on receipt of this news, and just as the word to march was about to be given, the officer in command ordered his force to return to barracks.

At two in the afternoon, with the whole of the settlement agog with excitement, the two vessels sailed slowly up the harbour before a light northeast breeze, and came to anchor in Sydney Cove, close to the Investigator, on board of which ship the Governor and a number of naval officers awaited their arrival. For once discipline was relaxed, and Captain King had good-naturedly permitted the townspeople to throng on board to learn all the news about the Policy’s prize. As Captain Foster made his way to the quarter-deck, he saw that behind the Governor and his staff were Dolly and her parents and several ladies.

In a very few minutes he made his report, and the Governor again shook his hand warmly; but the look in Dolly’s eyes and the pressure of her hand were the young seaman’s sweetest reward, for it told him that she had surrendered.

Then, returning to his own ship, he was warmly greeted by Sergeant Burt, and for a few moments the two remained talking in the whaler’s cabin. Then, just as Foster was ready to go ashore, Mr. Scarsbrook, who had been inspecting the captured privateer, came on board, bringing Dolly with him.

Whilst they were all chatting merrily together Captain Portveldt made his appearance, and with the most perfect sang-froid saluted Dolly and her father.

“Veil, Mees Dorotee, you see I have gome back, at der bressing invidadion of mein goot friendt, Captain Voster here, und I do vish him mit you blendy of habbiness.”

And Dolly, who at first meant to meet him with a sarcastic little speech, felt her eyes fill with tears at the manly way in which he bore his misfortune, and could only falter out some few words of consolation. Then there was a Prize Court, and—

“Mr. Charles Sparrow Foster, commander of the whaler and letter of marque called the Policy, presented to the Court a memorial stating his capture of the Swift on the 12th day of September, off the island of Flores, she being under Dutch colours… and the property of subjects of a Power at war with his Britannic Majesty, and praying also that the Court would be pleased to grant an award of condemnation in his favour in order that the said prize should be for the advantage of himself, his owners, and his ship’s company.”

and the Court having heard confirmatory evidence from Richard Portveldt, a subject of the Batavian Republic, to the effect—

“That he commanded the Swift; that everything on board of her was Dutch property, and she belonged to Messrs. Winy and Talman, of Batavia, and himself, all of whom were residents of Batavia, who purchased her for the sum of 18,000 dols.: that she was taken up by the Dutch East India Company at Batavia; and was on her way thither when she was captured by the Policy, &c.”—

accordingly condemned the prize, which was advertised in the Sydney Gazette for sale by auction, Mr. Lord, the auctioneer, setting forth that he would sell—

“At his warehouse, Sydney, at noon precisely, the 3rd of November, the good ship Swift, prize to Policy, Charles Foster, commander. French built in the year 1800. Was condemned a prize to his Majesty’s ship La Minerva, and sold in 1801 to the Americans, as appears by the bill of sale, and by them sold to the Dutch at Batavia, where she was examined, copper-bolted, and new coppered in August, 1802. It is unnecessary to say anything respecting the properties of the Swift further than that she was the companion of La Brave and La Mouche, which so very much harassed the British in Europe, and set all our cruisers at defiance until her capture, prior to which she was justly celebrated as the fastest sailing-vessel the French Republic had.”

The prize was knocked down for £3,000, and Captain Foster’s share was spent in a handsome wedding present for Dolly, which, at her particular request, took the form of a passage to Batavia and a hundred guineas delivered to Captain Portveldt immediately after the marriage ceremony.