Learning of an ancestor’s conscription by the British Navy brings to mind…opera.
One of my favorite things about genealogy research is how, in the course of trying to better understand the context of the records I find, it then becomes necessary to do even more research, often about American or European history.
Learning or refreshing my memory about the synopsis of an opera during my career as a professional musician often prompted me to do similar background reading. Some works in the repertoire are based upon true events or are set during a specific time in history.
It has become a trend today for opera directors to “reinterpret” works, often completely ignoring the composer’s original stage directions and setting. For example, I’ve played or seen the opera Rigoletto—the setting of which was specified by the composer Giuseppe Verdi as 16th century Mantua—changed to the Vegas Strip of the 1960s and to Germany during the Weimar Republic. Occasionally then, in order to understand the director’s concept, my background “homework” may require further historical research.
In researching one particular ancestor, I discovered numerous records and biographical sketches for him. I gave the information a cursory glance at the time, attaching them to the ancestor’s profile on my tree with the intent of reading them later. When I had more time some months later, I read these sketches more carefully. With time to truly absorb some of the details of this ancestor’s life, I realized that I was already very familiar with the historical events in which he personally had been involved. My background research had taken place already—just by having played opera as a career.
Born in Mount Murragh, Westmeath, Ireland, James Leander Cathcart, Sr. (1765-1843) came to this country as a child. He was a midshipman in the U.S. Navy, having enlisted and fought in the Revolutionary War at the age of twelve. In 1779, he was captured by the British and held prisoner until his escape in March of 1782.
The British generally offered Patriot prisoners their freedom if they agreed to take up arms for the Crown. But exceedingly few Americans chose to abandon the Patriot cause. Apparently, Cathcart refused as he was a prisoner on two different notoriously brutal prison ships or “hulks”: the Good Hope and Old Jersey. For the purpose of holding their hostages, the British used as many as 16 old warships, docked in Wallabout Bay in the East River, off the coast of Brooklyn. First-person accounts in the form of diaries, including Cathcart’s own, describe appalling conditions: overcrowding, undernourishment, and brutal treatment by guards.
“In the case of the maritime prisoners of the Revolution, there was also calculation rather than malice behind the rough treatment. The most valued commodity to the British Navy was manpower for its great fleet of ships. Navy service was not very appealing. Voyages lasted months on end, and shipboard life was demanding, cramped, and sustained with little more than a bare survival diet. Death and disappearance were commonplace, and the records of every maritime family abounded with the sad notation, ‘Lost at sea.”’Efforts to recruit a ship’s crew ranged from boisterous parties, staged primarily to get prospects sufficiently drunk so that when they woke up they were well out to sea, to actual impressment, a euphemism for outright kidnapping at the point of a pistol or the edge of a cutlass.”—from the article “‘Rebels Turn Out Your Dead!—‘“ by Arthur B. Tourtellot. American Heritage magazine: June 1970, Vol. 21, Issue 5.
Death was commonplace on these floating prisons. Often the dead were unceremoniously dumped off the ships into the river. This post for the blog Ephemeral New York—“When Skulls and Bones Washed Ashore in Brooklyn”—describes the gruesome sights those living near Wallabout Bay saw almost daily.
The Prison Ship Martyrs’ Monument, finished in 1909, was designed by Stanford White of McKim, Mead and White, with sculptures by Adolph Alexander Weinman. It was commissioned to commemorate the 11,500 American prisoners who died aboard 11 British prison ships anchored in Wallabout Bay from 1776-83, during the American Revolutionary War. The brazier, sculpted by Weinman, is 148 feet above the ground and once had an eternal flame. The monument is located at the center of Fort Greene Park within the Fort Greene Historic District.
When I was first learning the opera Billy Budd by Benjamin Britten, I went to the original source material: the Herman Melville novella, Billy Budd, Foretopman. I also read about the novel itself, and that is where I first learned about the infamous practice employed by the British Military, particularly the Navy, of impressing men into service.
In the opera, as in the novella, the naive Billy Budd, captured by a press gang moments before, is brought above deck on the HMS Indomitable. He excitedly receives his assignment—foretopman—and quickly embraces the role. His enthusiasm and positive energy are contagious, lifting the spirits of the other impressed seamen and crew and engendering an esprit de corps that controverts the men’s involuntary servitude.
There is one notable exception. The misanthrope John Claggart, Master-at-Arms, takes an immediate dislike to Billy, seemingly threatened by Billy’s popularity among the men. He proceeds to undermine Billy.
Above are photos from the Metropolitan Opera’s brilliant production of Billy Budd by director John Dexter. I played runs of the opera in 1997 and 2012. I hope to see this production return: as much as I loved playing this opera, I never had the opportunity to see the production from out in the house.
In these stills from the run in 2012, Billy (Nathan Gunn, center) joins his brethren in the rousing chorus “This is our moment,” as they breathlessly await their first opportunity to attack an enemy ship. That astounding chorus can be heard in the audio for the trailer (below) for the 2010 Glyndebourne Festival production, directed by Michael Grandage, featuring the London Philharmonic and The Glyndebourne Chorus. (A revival of this production is currently in performance at the Festival.)
Set up and wrongly accused of a crime by Claggart, Billy stammers to defend himself. Frustrated by his momentary inability to verbally defend himself, he physically lashes out at Claggart. The blow proves fatal. A quickly assembled tribunal reluctantly pronounces the punishment for Billy’s crime: “hanging by the yardarm.”
Billy bravely accepts his fate. On the day of his execution as he awaits his summons, he contemplates his fate in a poignant soliloquy. Britten used a poem by Melville entitled “Billy in the Darbies”–written before the novella itself—as the text. (“Darbies” is an old-fashioned, informal British slang term for handcuffs or manacles.)
While Cathcart was one of the lucky Americans, having escaped his cruel British captors, he would again be captured and held hostage. While serving on a merchant vessel in 1795, his ship was captured by an Algerine ship. While a prisoner in Algiers, he ingratiated himself to his captors, eventually becoming a clerk in the Algerine marine service. Cathcart’s diplomatic skills would later serve him well as the American Embassador to Tripoli (1798), Tunis (1803), Madeira (1807-1815), and Cádiz (1815-1817.) He also successfully negotiated for the release of his fellow captives. A very detailed and fascinating piece on Cathcart–specifically, his years as a slave in Algiers–was written in 1975 by Liva Baker for the magazine American Heritage: “Cathcart’s Travels.”
It’s never a bad idea for a genealogist to revisit records. Something might have originally been overlooked or, in my case, time prohibited a proper read-through when I first discovered these records. Another benefit of returning to records after time has elapsed is the real possibility that the person looking at the records has changed or had additional life experiences both of which might infuse records with more nuanced meaning.
The next time I hear my favorite Britten opera, it will be impossible to think of Billy and his fellow captives without also thinking of James Leander Cathcart.
ADDENDUM: After posting this, I discovered that a Cathcart cousin of mine has written extensively about James Leander Cathcart. You can read his well-researched post here.
Written for the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge: Week 27: “A Record I Read Differently Now” PROMPT: Genealogy isn’t just reading a record once and being done with it. (At least, it shouldn’t be!) What is a record that you found some time ago that has a different meaning for you now? It could be because you understand that record better or maybe you’ve since learned something about your ancestor that makes that record appear in a new light.
Featured Image: “A Surprise”: Original illustration for Frederick Marryat’s 1840 novel Poor Jack, depicting a victim of a British “press gang.”
