Stockwin's Maritime Miscellany (16 page)

THERE WAS SOMETHING
very special about a sailing ship under full canvas, with nothing but the ocean winds and the skill of the mariner to carry her to the four corners of the world. At the height of the age of sail the man-of-war was the moon rocket of its day, a complex, self-contained community of 800 or more men. Day and night it could move faster than a man could run on land and was far taller than most buildings ashore. Its construction required the timber from 5,000 oak trees and it had nearly 2 hectares of sail and 40 km of rope and rigging. It could remain at sea for six months or more, carrying huge quantities of supplies including 110 metric tons of shot, 27 metric tons of meat and 40 metric tons of ship’s biscuit.

It was a tough life for the common sailor. Not for nothing do we talk about iron men in wooden ships. But life at sea was often better than life ashore. A sailor got to see the world, he had guaranteed food and drink every day – and if he was very lucky there was prize money that could set him up for life. There was, too, a unique chance to make your way up in the world. In the rigidly stratified society of eighteenth-century Britain the Royal Navy offered virtually the only path for someone of low birth, but with talent and a bit of luck, to become a gentleman. After Admiral Nelson and Captain Hardy the two most important people in HMS
Victory
at the Battle of Trafalgar were both originally common seamen: John Quilliam and John Pascoe.

During the last days of the era the clipper ships, the greyhounds of the sea, could even give a steamship a run for its money.
Cutty Sark
, the famous tea clipper preserved in Greenwich, demonstrated this in an incident with the crack P&O steamship
Britannia
on 25 July 1889.
Britannia
, doing around 15 knots, was overhauled by
Cutty Sark
making a good 17 knots. Robert Olivey, second officer on
Britannia
, watched the lights of the sailing ship overhauling his vessel with amazement and then wrote in
Britannia
’s log: ‘Sailing ship overhauled and passed us!’

Many sailing ships carried a variety of pet animals to sea, and officers and crew alike found respite from a hard life in their companionship and affection. All kinds of creatures found their way aboard: birds, dogs, cats, guinea pigs – even tame monkeys.

Cats often slept in miniature hammocks, lovingly crafted by sailors from old pieces of canvas. One of the most famous ship’s cats was Trim, the affectionate and intelligent companion to Matthew Flinders during his epic voyages of discovery from 1799 to 1804. Flinders called him ‘the best and most illustrious of his race’ and wrote a moving biographical tribute to the feline, which remained hidden in the archives of the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich for many years. In 1966 a bronze statue of Trim was installed in the Mitchell Library in Sydney, Australia.

Dogs were popular pets, too. When HMS
Salisbury
, flagship of Vice-Admiral John Campbell on the Newfoundland station from 1783 to 1785,
received
orders to return to England, the admiral gave permission for any person who pleased to take home a dog – 75 were embarked.

Cuthbert Collingwood, perhaps second only to Nelson as one of the great sea heroes of the age, was respected for his seamanship and courage, but a somewhat cool and aloof leader. His warmth and humour were reserved for his family at home in England, and for Bounce, his canine companion at sea for many years. When Collingwood became admiral, Bounce seemed aware of his master’s new status. Collingwood wrote home to his wife: ‘The consequential airs he gives himself since he became a right honourable dog are insufferable. He considers it beneath his dignity to play with commoners’ dogs, and truly thinks that he does them grace when he condescends to lift up his leg against them. This, I think, is carrying the insolence of rank too far.’

When he died Collingwood was deeply saddened, writing in a letter to his family, ‘Bounce is dead. I am afraid he fell overboard in the night. He is a great loss to me. I have few comforts but he was one, for he loved me. Everybody sorrows for him. He was wiser than a good many who hold their heads higher.’

Bounce hid below-decks when the guns were fired, but some dogs relished a good sea fight. In January 1799 Captain Lewis Mortlock of HMS
Wolverine
found himself outnumbered two to one; in a desperate hand-to-hand fight he and his crew repulsed a ferocious attack with the aid of his fearless Newfoundland dog.

A parrot aboard HMS
Hinde
in 1793 had learnt to imitate the calls of the boatswain’s whistle. Sometimes the bird would pipe an order so accurately that the ship was thrown into temporary confusion. One day, when a party of ladies was being hoisted on deck from a boat, the parrot piped ‘Let go’ – with the inevitable disastrous results.

On occasion seamen made a special pet of one of the animals destined for the table. In the brig
Onyx
in the late 1820s the crew grew attached to a piglet that travelled with them from Portsmouth to the West Indies. When they learnt that the pig, by now grown, was about to be butchered, a group of seamen took the brave step of sending a deputation to the captain to plead for its life. ‘You see, sir,’ they told him, ‘he is just like one of us; he knows us all and takes his grog daily like any Christian.’ The porker was spared the cooking pot
.

When it was clear that the mighty
Santissima Trinidad
would not survive the storm that followed the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805, every effort was made to save those on board. They were lowered with ropes from the stern and quarter gallery windows as boats from nearby English warships came to rescue them. The lieutenant of HMS
Ajax
, whose boat was the last to leave the scene, reported, ‘Everything alive was taken out, down to the ship’s cat.’ He had put off from the starboard quarter when a cat ran out on the muzzle of one of the lower-deck guns and gave a plaintive miaow. The boat returned and took her in.

At sea this versatile fluid was kept in a barrel, holding 32 gallons. The chines were white to distinguish it from other contents such as lime juice, indicated by green chines.

Fresh water was always in very limited supply on board sailing ships. It was made available from the ‘scuttled butt’, a barrel which had a square piece sawn out of the widest part of its curved side so that no more than half a butt was available each day. In times of action, when the men worked up a sweat and got very thirsty, it was necessary to have some means of further restricting how much they could drink, and this was done by adding vinegar.

Burns were common injuries on the gun deck, and compresses of vinegar were often applied as treatment. It was favoured as a local disinfectant on wounds. The surgeon kept a gang-cask open at the ready when the ship went into action.

The acidic liquid was put to good use to swab down areas of the ship –
deck
-head beams were given particular attention if fever was detected. An effective method of fumigating against cockroaches was panning vinegar, flashing a dish of it with gunpowder. In action, the guns were sponged out with a mixture of vinegar and seawater.

And in the galley the addition of vinegar to foods provided a welcome change from the fairly bland food that was a seaman’s lot. Cabbage, for example, was pickled in salt and water, boiled and then seasoned with vinegar.

BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES – prepare for a dangerous situation.
DERIVATION
: in bad weather at sea it was important to secure the ship’s deck openings, the hatches, against any sudden ingress of water. This was done by fastening protective canvas over the hatch cover with flat pieces of wood called battens.

Unlike today, there were no nationality or citizenship requirements for life in the Royal Navy in Nelson’s day. Foreigners made up a surprising proportion of the navy then. The Napoleonic Wars generated an overwhelming need for seamen, up from 45,000 in peacetime to 145,000 at the height of the conflict. They had to be found from somewhere as there just weren’t enough British nationals to go around.

Some foreigners did volunteer, but a significant number found themselves serving in His Majesty’s ships against their will. Although it was illegal to press foreigners, this was often done from merchant vessels at sea, when there was little chance of redress for the unfortunate victims.

In the ethnic mix around the mess tables black seamen were not uncommon, finding in the lower deck of a man-of-war a world in which their skills as a sailor counted more than their colour.

Americans made up the biggest number of foreigners. In 1813 one report stated that 6,600 Americans had obtained discharges from the navy in 1811–12. Alleged high levels of impressment of Americans was one factor in the War of 1812, in which America, resentful of what it saw as Britain’s high-handed actions at sea, declared war on Britain.