Not on our WATCH
How the people of Arbroath protected the port from privateers during the American Revolutionary War
On the bar of the Old Brewhouse restaurant in Scotland’s scenic east coast town of Arbroath, there is an iron cannon ball mounted on a wooden plinth. Few customers can be aware that this is a relic of a minor incident of the American Revolutionary War.
Minor, that is, for everyone except those living in Arbroath at the time.
On 23 May 1781, an unfamiliar vessel appeared in the bay of Arbroath. It hoisted the white eur-de-lis ag of France and proceeded to capture a merchant ship of Aberdeen in plain view of the inhabitants. The French ship then anchored off the harbour and two men were spotted rowing ashore.
A crowd of townsfolk gathered at the harbour to watch but scattered when a cannon shot was red over their heads.
The ball landed in a street called Lady Loan, narrowly missing a prominent merchant of the town, Mr William Fitchett. A partner in a leading rm of ax weavers and a member of the town council, Mr Fitchett was knocked to his knees by the wind of its passing.
The boat’s crew were prisoners from the Aberdeen vessel, and they had a letter from the captain of the French ship to the “Mair and chiefs of the town,” demanding that, unless they made some agreement with him in less than a quarter of an hour, he would set re to Arbroath. The ship was the Sans Peur, registered in the French port of Dunkirk, but better known by its English name of Fearnought. A cutter, armed with 18 four-pounder guns and a crew of 100, she was captained by a notorious English smuggler and pirate named
William Fall. Why was such a man commanding a French ship and engaging in acts of war against British subjects?
With the 1778 intervention of France and Spain on the side of Britain’s rebellious American colonists, the Royal Navy was hard put to support a major land war in North America and to defend its own shores. Besides the threat from the powerful French and Spanish battle fleets, as well as the newly formed Continental Navy, fast commerce-raiding cruisers infested the North Atlantic and the seas around Britain, seizing merchant ships and imprisoning their crews. Most of these hostile raiders were privateers rather than official warships of the belligerent nations.
Ever since the Middle Ages, privateering was a widely recognised means of waging war at sea. European governments regularly issued documents known as Letters of Marque and Reprisal to the owners of privately outfitted warships, authorising them to attack enemy vessels. The captains and crews of these fast and lightly armed ships were usually in it for the money, rather than reasons of patriotism.
They were bound by a strict contract to attack only enemy vessels and to abstain from preying on neutrals, on pain of forfeiting a very large deposit. A system of Prize Courts ruled on the legality of each capture, then ship and cargo were auctioned, and the proceeds shared proportionately between the sponsoring state and the privateer’s owners, captain, and crew. However, many privateers were little better than pirates and behaved accordingly.
During the 16th and 17th centuries, England was the major source of letters of marque, though all significant maritime powers made use of them. Some noted privateers
The letter from the captain of the French ship demanded that, unless they made some agreement with him, he would set fire to Arbroath
were Britain’s Sir Francis Drake, Henry Morgan and William Kidd; France’s Jean Bart and Robert Surcouf; and the United States’ David Hawley, Jonathan Haraden and Noah Stoddard.
On 23 March 1776, the Continental Congress passed an act to regulate the commissioning of privateers and establishing rules of conduct. With the drafting of the US Constitution in 1789, Article I, Section VIII, paragraph 11 permitted Congress “To declare War, grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water.”
Privateering was a form of warfare that many found repugnant. The famous Boston minister Cotton Mather, who often preached at the trials and executions of pirates, expressed his reservations about privateering in a sermon published in 1704: “Yea, Since the Privateering Stroke, so easily degenerates into the Piratical; and the Privateering Trade, is usually carried on with so Unchristian a Temper, and proves an inlet unto so much Debauchery, and Iniquity, and Confusion, I believe, I shall have Good men Concur with me, in wishing, That Privateering may no more be practised, except there may appear more hopeful Circumstances to Encourage it.”
Shortly before his death at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805 British naval hero Admiral Lord Nelson, similarly wrote: “The conduct of all privateering is, as far as I have seen, so near piracy, that I only wonder why any civilised nation can allow them.”
During the American Revolutionary War, the Continental Congress issued about 1,700 Letters of Marque, on a per-voyage basis, to privateering captains. Nearly 800 vessels were commissioned as privateers, capturing, or destroying around 600 British ships. One such captain was William Fall, also known as John, or Daniel, or George Fall, who at various times had letters of marque from the American, French, and Dutch governments. Captain Fall is recorded as having captured numerous coasters, colliers and packet boats in the North Sea and Irish Sea, as well as mounting attacks on the ports of Lowestoft, Cromer, and Dunbar. He was seen, on occasion, to have hoisted a flag of 13 red and white stripes.
In September 1778, a ship of Arbroath had been captured by a privateer while on a voyage home from Riga, and the crew suffered great hardships as prisoners in Verdun. The town council of Arbroath, already anxious about the threat to shipping, became concerned about the defenceless state of the town and petitioned the British government for six or eight large guns and 200 muskets, together with the requisite ammunition and equipment. However, no defensive battery had been constructed, nor had the guns arrived, when nearly three years later William Fall appeared off Arbroath, fired his warning shot that so alarmed Councillor William Fitchett, and made his ransom demands.
On receipt of Fall’s letter, the provost of Arbroath, David Greig, hurriedly convened the town council. They found themselves in a perilous situation. A company of 60 militia had been billeted at Arbroath for some months, but half of them were away escorting some Spanish prisoners of war to the town of Perth, about 40 miles away.
The magistrates played for time. They detained the two messengers until 7pm, then sent them back with a letter to the effect that Captain Fall had mentioned no terms. They would be glad to know his terms and would lay them before the inhabitants; once the opinions of the townspeople had been canvassed, they would give him an answer. Meanwhile, they would be obliged if he would refrain from damaging the town.
Incensed by their prevarication, Fall sent a second message saying that as the magistrates had not come aboard to negotiate, he demanded a ransom of £30,000 and six of the chief men of the town to come aboard as hostages. He also warned that if his messengers were harmed, he would hang all the merchant seamen whom he already had as prisoners on board. Provost Greig wanted to try negotiating for a lesser amount, but the council’s resolve was stiffened by the Reverend Alexander Mackie and two local landowners, Mr Lindsay Carnegie of Kinblethmont and Mr Fraser of Hospitalfield, who urged resistance. A reply was conveyed to Captain Fall that, “he might fire on the town as much as he pleased,” and as to his setting fire to it, the inhabitants
Governments regularly issued letters of marque to the owners of privately outfitted warships, authorising them to attack enemy vessels
“would endeavour to prevent that as much as was in their power.”
While these negotiations were going on, one of the councillors, Alexander Ritchie, was riding posthaste to the town of Montrose, 13 miles up the coast, seeking help from the garrison there. Pending the troops’ arrival, the men of Arbroath were summoned to arms by the town crier with his drum, accompanied by the public cowherd with his horn. A few old muskets had been found, together with such rudimentary weapons as the inhabitants could lay their hands on. An old cart had its box removed and a wooden pump lashed over the axles to resemble a cannon.
Two of Arbroath’s townsfolk, a disreputable citizen known as ‘Satan Barclay’, and another called ‘the simple tailor’ took cover behind a rock and began taking pot shots with muskets at the French ship. A cannon ball, fired close to them, persuaded them to desist and the Fearnought began a bombardment of the town that lasted for several hours.
Several houses by the harbour, including the then 80-year-old brewhouse, had cannon shot fired through their roofs and windows, and various chimney pots were shot away. An enterprising local tried to secure one of these iron balls as a souvenir but burned his hands on it, becoming the only known casualty of the bombardment. Some of the other cannon balls fired that day can now be seen in Arbroath’s Signal Tower Museum. Built a generation later, in 1815, this gleaming white landmark was the shore facility for the Bell Rock Lighthouse, constructed between 1807-10 by the engineer Robert Stevenson (grandfather of writer Robert Louis Stevenson).
That this cannonade did not do more serious damage to the town is surprising. One explanation credits a ruse by one of the prisoners on board the privateer. The skipper of an Arbroath sloop that had been captured earlier slyly remarked within hearing distance of one of the crew that the gunners were aiming too low. The man repeated this to his captain, who ordered the guns to be elevated. Most of the shots duly passed over the town, many embedding themselves in Cairnie Hill beyond.
The Fearnought remained at anchor overnight and patrols of locals kept watch along the shoreline to prevent any surprise landing. At dawn, the bombardment of the town was resumed, some of the balls being heated red hot to cause fires. About nine o’clock in the morning, Fall sent a third letter to the council that was met with defiance because the soldiers from Montrose had arrived. The captain weighed anchor, sailed out to capture some unsuspecting vessels that had come in sight, then headed north.
His ship next anchored off Montrose, where he aimed a shot at the steeple of Montrose Old Church. A local grocer, Mr George Watson, was leaning out of the upper half of his shop door at 166 High Street. The ball missed its target and lodged in the gable end of the old man’s property, bringing down a shower of lath and plaster around his ears. The terrified man retreated to the inner recesses of the building and the Fearnought left the scene before any ships of the Royal Navy could arrive. This cannon ball is now in Montrose Museum. After further depredations in the North Sea, Captain Fall headed for the Irish Sea and no more was heard from him on the east coast.
Privateering mostly ended with the Paris Declaration Respecting Maritime Law in 1856, by which 55 nations renounced its use. The United States did not sign it but abided by the ban. However, the Confederacy briefly resorted to privateering during the Civil War.
Privateering belongs in the past. Today, those cannon balls at the Old Brewhouse and the Signal Tower Museum are a reminder of a time when Arbroath’s picturesque harbour was a dangerous place for sightseeing.
While these negotiations were going on, one of the councillors was riding post-haste to Montrose, seeking help from the garrison there