By: Stephen
C. Neff, Reader in Law – Public International Law, University of Edinburgh Law
School
The “golden rock” in question was the Dutch-ruled West
Indian island of St Eustatius, during the years of the American struggle for
independence from Great Britain. A free port, with no customs duties, the
island acquired its renown by functioning as a center for the sale of war
supplies to the insurgent colonials – at a healthy a profit to the locals. Not
surprisingly, the British government was determined to staunch this supply
line. And once war was declared against the Netherlands in 1780, the legal way
was open for taking forcible action.
The forcible actor for the job was Admiral George Brydges
Rodney. Those of a military bent will recall him as the hero of the Battle of
the Saintes. Our present concern, however, is with a rather less known – not
to say less edifying – aspect of that gallant officer’s career: the legal and
financial woes which arose out of his capture of the golden rock. This took
place in February 1781, when Rodney arrived with fifteen heavily armed ships of
the line. In the face of this overwhelming force, the Dutch authorities
swiftly surrendered. (For the record, this was the only territorial gain made
by Britain during the American War of Independence.)
The golden rock was indeed a glittering prize. A more
financially and legally prudent man than Rodney might well have been tempted by
the rich pickings available. As it happens, Rodney was especially susceptible
to temptation at this point. For he was a man beset by that particularly
dangerous combination of traits – expensive tastes and an addiction to the
gaming tables. As a result, his indebtedness rose to such alarming heights
that he had found it prudent to flee to France to escape his creditors. The
desire for a political career did not help matters. In 1768, he had spent
massively (some £30,000), in one of the most expensive electoral battles of the
Century, for a House of Commons seat for Northampton. The contest was said to
have ruined three noble families.
It is hardly surprising, then, that Rodney would be
mightily pleased by the fortune (all too literally) that war had thrown his
way. The wealth available in his conquered land was described by him as “so
bewitching as not to be withstood by flesh and blood.” Rodney certainly did no
withstanding. He and his forces lost little time in systematically emptying
out the bulging warehouses on the island. Property was also confiscated from
private parties, with especially harsh treatment meted out to Jews. In the
interest of augmenting the captures, Rodney carefully left the Dutch flag
flying over the fort and town, to lure more traders into the port. (Readers
interested in the laws of war may wish to ponder whether this conduct would
qualify, under present-day law, as a war crime.)
Under prevailing rules of prize law, Rodney’s entitlement,
as the naval commander, was to one-sixth of the haul. Auctions of captured
goods began soon after the takeover. An initial one, held in the first month
of the occupation, brought in over £100,000 – and even that was estimated to be
far less than the actual value of the goods. The total value of all the
captured material has been estimated at over three million pounds sterling.
Ecumenism was a noteworthy feature of these auctions, since French and American
(i.e., enemy) nationals were permitted to bid. They were happy to do so, at
the knock-down prices available. Rodney even helpfully provided French buyers
removing their goods with protection from lurking British privateers.
Business, verily, was business.
It did not all go smoothly, however, for our entrepreneurial
hero. A convoy was dispatched to carry a substantial portion of the booty back
to Britain. But twenty-two of the thirty-four ships were intercepted in the
English Channel by a French squadron. It is estimated that Rodney lost some
£300,000 from this mishap.
News of Rodney’s achievement naturally aroused much
interest in Britain. Rather too much, in fact, for Rodney’s comfort.
Questions began to be asked in Parliament. The ever eloquent Edmund Burke,
most notably, denounced Rodney’s confiscations as “a most unjustifiable, outrageous,
and unprincipled violation of the law of nations.” In the slightly more
measured words of Horace Walpole, Rodney was said to have “a little overgilt
his own statue.”