The "Golden Hermione"
During the Seven Years’ War Sir Edward Hawke commanded the Royal Navy’s blockade of the Spanish coast. On May 21, 1762, two of Hawke’s ships, the frigate Active and the sloop Favourite, patrolling off Cadiz, captured the Spanish ship Hermione out of Peru
Hermione was carrying an immense treasure. After appropriate admiralty charges were deducted, the prize value of the ship was declared to be £519,705 10s, perhaps £400 million, in money of 2008 using the “average earnings” scale.
Naturally, this haul was divided up according to the prevailing prize rules. As a result, Hawke, who wasn’t even present but was the commanding officer, came away with £64,964, the same sum awarded each of the captains of the two British ships, while lieutenants received £13,000 each, and so on down through the ranks to common seamen and marine privates, who each received £485, and “boys,” who got half that; so even the boys came away with what would today be about £180,000, a tidy sum indeed. The yield was probably the most impressive in the history of the age of sail, and for generations afterwards seagoing men spoke of the chance of encountering another “Golden Hermione,” a term that is preserved today for a breed of British rose.
Dutch Naval Organization in the Mid-Seventeenth Century
For much of the Seventeenth Century the Dutch Republic – more properly “The Republic of the Seven United Netherlands,” essentially a very a loose federation – was the premier maritime power in the world, with the largest merchant fleet, a distinguished record of naval victories over the Spanish, the French, and the English, and a global reach that included colonies in the Americas, Africa, and Asia. Yet there was actually no Dutch national navy.
In 1597 the Netherlands had organized its fleet into five “admiralties,” a system that prevailed well into the following century. But this was only the tip of the proverbial ice berg. By one tally, in 1652 the Dutch “Navy” actually comprised 26 separate corporate entities.
To begin with, there were the five provincial admiralties, each with its own funding policy and revenue stream, its own fleet, and its own personnel. For convenience, these are listed in order of the wealth of each admiralty, and thus of the size of each fleet, which was also an indication its political influence, with its administrative center also shown
- The Maze, headquartreed in Rotterdam
- Zeeland, headquartered in Middleberg
- The North Quarter of Holland, headquartered in Hoorn and Enkhuizen, “to avoid jealousy” between the two cities, with administrative personnel swtiching from the one to the other every three months.
- Friesland, headquartered in Dokkum, but later moved to Harlingen
In addition, there were the two major “company” fleets,
- Netherlands East India Company
- Netherlands West India Company
The companies were chartered to conduct business in various parts of the world. Since it was a dangerous world, the companies maintained warships, or at least armed merchantmen, to protect their trade from pirates, local rulers, and rival merchants, not to mention indulging in a little piracy of their own when opportunity presented itself.
Then there were a number of municipal “fleets” – really more like coast guards, intended to escort vessels in local waters.
And finally there were quite a number of privateering companies, chartered by various provinces or municipalities to carry on war against the Republic’s enemies.
Despite this hodge-podge organization, Dutch fleets, under such notable sea dogs as Maarten Tromp (1598-1653) and Michiel de Ruyter (1607-1676) repeatedly swept the seas for most of the century, only gradually losing their maritime dominance as the French and particularly the English developed larger and better navies.
Fact Finding Mission Gone AWOL
As part of the preparations for fleet maneuvers to be held in Panamanian waters in February and March of 1923, the Navy arranged for Secretary Edwin C. Denby and eleven other officials of the Navy Department, plus eight senators, 34 representatives, and 28 members of the press to observe the maneuvers, providing passage to Panama in the transport Henderson (AP-1).
Naturally a good time was had by all, in a tropic clime considerably more comfortable than winter back home, observing the fleet at work, attending elaborate receptions by the President of Panama and other local prominenti, not to mention the absence of Prohibition.
Two members took their official duties quite seriously. Representatives Albert B. Rossdale and Andrew N. Petersen, Republicans from New York, decided they wanted to get a first hand look at what it was like to be a sailor in one of Uncle Sam’s battlewagons. Appropriately assigned to observe the maneuvers from the battleship New York (BB-34), they drew uniforms, spent some time in the crew’s quarters, had chow with the men, even scrubbed their own mess gear. On March 19th, they applied for and received liberty tickets, boarded the liberty boat, and headed for the dock in Balboa, a city well supplied with bars, cabarets, lonely women, and short stay hotels, all catering to American servicemen. Rossdale and Petersen seem to have had a good time ashore. In fact, they had such a good time that they missed the last liberty boat back to the ship. About 11:00 p.m., they were arrested in a cabaret by the Shore Patrol for being ashore after hours.
Naturally, Rossdale and Petersen tried to explain who they were. The Shore Patrolmen, may have “heard it all before,” but this was certainly a new one. Not that they believed it. So they hauled the two men off to their headquarters. There Rossdale and Peterson tried again. Apparently something they said set off an alarm. An exchange of radio messages with the New York quickly led to some apologies and a swift return of the pair to the ship.
On March 21st, The New York Times ran a piece titled, “Congressmen Seized, Dressed as Sailors” about the incident, but politely refrained from noting the degree of inebriation of the legislators.