Patrick Henry and the Frigate’s Keel: And Other Stories of a Young Nation by Howard Fast

that Dr. Franklin was a very important man, very busy; and Conyngham’s money was gone. He was on short rations and his clothes were becoming frayed, his nerves too. He tossed his last franc, on whether to return to America as a seaman or stay in France. France won, and he went into a tavern for a bottle of wine. As the last franc went across the counter, Conyngham heard a voice speaking English, and a moment later he was shaking hands with an American and inviting the other to share his bottle. And then, when they sat down at a table Conyngham was informed that the man opposite him was one of Dr. Franklin’s agents.
    Silently thanking God, Conyngham crossed his fingers, turned on his charm, of which he had plenty, and ordered two more bottles of wine—which he couldn’t pay for. In an hour, Franklin’s agent loved him, and in two hours they were discussing the naval future of the thirteen colonies.
    â€œI want a boat,” Conyngham said. “Any boat, anything that will sail.”
    â€œBoats,” the agent shrugged. “Do you think the French give boats away?”
    â€œA lugger, a cutter, a sloop—anything,” Conyngham pleaded.
    â€œWho are you?” the agent protested. “Who has heard of Conyngham?”
    â€œOnly give me a chance and you will all hear of me,” the boy pleaded. Then he ordered more wine.
    In another hour, the agent began to soften. “We have no navy,” he said with tears in his eyes.
    â€œThat,” Conyngham pointed out, “is why I want a boat.”
    â€œWe will see Dr. Franklin,” the agent capitulated. And they left the tavern, Conyngham grinning like an imp, the agent paying the bill.
    The next day Conyngham went out to see his boat. He had convinced the agent and he had convinced Franklin, and as a result he was now the master of a twelve-gun lugger called the Surprise . He stood on the wharf and looked down at it; the ironwork was rusty and the paint peeled from the boards. The sails were yellow and torn, and probably her bottom was foul. But Conyngham looked at her happily, and whispered:
    â€œMy beauty—my beauty.”
    It took him some time to get a crew, stranded Americans, Frenchmen, Belgians, Dutch, a few Spaniards. He found a carpenter and a sailmaker, and one day he came down to the wharf with his arms full of red petticoats and blue shirts. After careful instructions, the sailmaker put together two flags, and after they had been run up on the masts, Conyngham gave his instructions to his crew:
    â€œWe have twelve guns. We attack anything up to twenty guns.” Conyngham never complicated things. He became a navy, and launched himself on a career that for audacity and sheer recklessness remains almost unmatched in all naval history; and for the first time the Stars and Stripes became known and respected in European waters.
    Young Conyngham and his crew sailed boldly into the Channel, looking for prey with the coasts of France and England in full sight. Since Boulogne was a Channel port, he might have followed the course of most raiders and coasted to the larger safety of the North Sea or the Atlantic, but he wanted ships and decided the Channel was the place to find them.
    Hardly more than hours had gone by before a brig, flying enemy colors, was sighted off the Isle of Guernsey. Without waiting to count the guns she carried, Conyngham bore down on her and boarded while the Island forts blazed away impotently. With that first victory he established his style of fighting—attack and count the guns later.
    They were still counting the spoil of the brig and herding prisoners below, when Conyngham told his first officer, Harding, that they were going to land on the island and see what they could pick up.
    â€œBut the forts,” Harding protested.
    â€œDamn the forts,” Conyngham said, unwittingly establishing another precedent for the navy.
    That night the Surprise , which had lived up to her