Antoine Vanner's Blog, page 14

Unequal Duel, 1758: HMS Monmouth vs. Foudroyant

Unequal Duel, 1758: HMS Monmouth vs. Foudroyant

                 Admiral Byng

The execution by firing squad in 1757 of Admiral John Byng (1704-1757) on the quarterdeck of HMS Monarch in 1757 is perhaps best remembered by Voltaire’s verdict in his novel Candide: “In this country, it is good to kill an admiral from time to time, in order to encourage the others.” Byng had been court-martialled for failure to relieve the besieged British garrison in Minorca in the Western Mediterranean the previous year.

The key element in the charge was that Byng“had not done his utmost against the enemy in battle or pursuit”, as required by the “Articles of War” that governed the Royal Navy. A death sentence was mandatory for conviction on this charge. Byng’s squadron was seriously undermanned and ill-prepared for the latest conflict with France – later to be known as the Seven Years War. One of the French opening moves was to land 15,000 men on Minorca and lay siege to the British base there. Byng’s force, sent to succour the besieged garrison, did indeed engage the enemy in the inconclusive naval Battle of Minorca in May 1756 and, following a council with his senior officers thereafter, he decided that Minorca was beyond saving from the French. Byng brought his ships back to Gibraltar for refitting and the Minorca garrison was obliged to surrender to the French, thereby depriving Britain of a vital strategic resource. Recalled to Britain, Byng’s disgrace, court-martial and execution followed.

Contemporary diagram of the Battle of Minorca, 1756

Though the full responsibility for the disaster had been laid on Byng, a degree of opprobrium also attached itself to his captains. Among these was Captain Arthur Gardiner, who had been Byng’s flag-captain, an honourable man who felt that his own honour had been compromised.  He appears to have been especially hurt by a remark by the First Lord of the Admiralty, the formidable Lord Anson, which he reported to his friends and was to the effect that “he was one of the men who had brought disgrace on the nation.”  For a man like Gardiner, it was essential to demonstrate, at whatever cost to himself, that he was not the man Anson had judged him to be.

Soon after Byng’s death, Gardiner was sent back to the Mediterranean in command of the 64-gun HMS Monmouth, as part of Admiral Henry Osborne’s squadron In early 1758 this force had succeeded in driving a French fleet of fifteen ships into the Spanish port of Cartagena and keeping them blockaded there.  This fleet had been en-route to Louisbourg, the great French fortress on Cape Breton Island, with reinforcements. On February 28th a French relieving force of three ships-of-the-line, carrying the Governor of “New France” (French Canada) and under the naval command of Admiral Gallifoniere. This officer also spotted the British force and, realising that it was larger, decided to retreat. Osborne responded by ordering a general chase, directing Gardiner in HMS Monmouth, and two other ships, the Hampton Court and the Swiftsure, to engage Gallifoniere’s flagship, the Foudroyant. The latter was one of the most powerful vessels afloat, her eighty guns consisting of thirty 42-pounders – enormous weapons for the time – as well as thirty-two 24-pounders and eighteen 12-pounders. With a crew of 470, a French privateer previously captured by HMS Monmouth had said of the Foudroyant that “She would fight today, tomorrow, and the next day, but could never be taken.” By contrast, HMS Monmouth was armed with sixty-four 24-pounders and had a crew of 470 and her two consorts were almost identically armed. Together, these three ships might have been enough to defeat the more powerful French vessel, but any one of them alone would be heavily outgunned.

A French “64” of the period – Monmouth would have looked generally similar
(Attribution: Wikipedia Commons and   www.musee-marine.fr Authority control VIAF: 19144648200974718522 Museofile: M5026 Accession number 3 OA 10)

An accident of fate had provided Gardiner with the opportunity he craved to wipe out the stain on his honour. As HMS Monmouth, faster-sailing than Hampton Court or Swiftsure, closed with Foudroyant it was revealed that she was flying the flag of the Admiral Gallifoniere, the commander who had been present on board her during the action with Byng. Eager now for action, Gardiner pressed on with HMS Monmouth, determined to engage the Foudroyant at any cost and unwilling to wait for the other British ships to catch up. According to one account he pointed to Foudroyant and told an army-officer on board “Whatever becomes of you and me, that ship must go into Gibraltar.”

By the time HMS Monmouth opened fire on Foudroyant, both Hampton Court and Swiftsure were out of sight and Gardiner was committed to a one-to-one duel. He was wounded in the arm almost immediately, but not badly enough to incapacitate him. Monmouth’s opening fire damaged the Foudroyant’s rigging, thereby lessening her manoeuvrability, and Gardiner placed his ship off the enemy’s quarter. From this position, Monmouth pounded Foudroyant for almost two hours while being exposed to less fire herself (As so often when learning of such actions, one Is struck by the duration of such cannonades – one can only assume that sheer exhaustion of the gun crews would have lessened the rate of fire considerably). Gardiner, directing operations from the open deck, now received his second, and ultimately fatal, wound, a blow from a ball or fragment on his forehead. Before he passed out and was carried below to the surgeon he called for his first lieutenant – Robert Carkett (approx. 1720 – 1780) – and asked him not to give up the ship or halt the action. Carkett responded by having the colours nailed to the mast and with a pistol in each hand swore that he would shoot anybody who would attempt to strike them.

The climax of the battle, near midnight – the crippled Foudroyant on the left,
under fire from HMS Monmouth, and Swiftsure and Hampton Court arriving on the right
Painting by Thomas Swaine (1725-1782) – with thanks to Wikipedia

Monmouth’s mizzen mast now collapsed but shortly afterwards the corresponding mast on Foudroyant also came down, followed soon afterwards by her mainmast. Now crippled, the French ship was subjected to no less than four hours of fire from Monmouth, which still had some ability to manoeuvre. This lasted through the evening and into darkness and when Swiftsure arrived on the scene around midnight, to add her fire to Monmouth’s, Foudroyant surrendered. Consistent with the chivalry of the period, the French captain recognised Carketet’s courage by insisting on handing his sword to him, rather than to the more senior officer commanding Swiftsure.

An engraving of Swaine’s picture. These were very popular
and some can still be found in English country pubs

Captain Gardiner died the following day but his aspiration to have Foudroyant brought into Gibraltar was realised. Lieutenant Carkett was appointed to command her “as a reward for his conduct and an encouragement for future emulation” and was further rewarded by promotion to post-captain, the coveted goal of every ambitious officer. It was especially valuable as Carkett had originally entered the navy as a common seaman and had risen by his own exertions. This was, however, his last promotion and he was still a captain in 1780 when he was accused – unfairly – of failure to obey signals during the Battle of Martinique. Tragically, he did not live to clear his name as his ship, the Stirling Castle, was wrecked in a hurricane There was only a handful of survivors and Carkett was not among them.

The “butcher’s bill“ for the Monmouth vs. Foudroyant action was decidedly one-sided, reflecting Monmouth’s ability to retain manoeuvrability while her opponent was immobilised. She suffered 27 killed and 79 wounded (a not-inconsiderable loss rate of 23%) while the more powerful Foudroyant had 190 killed and wounded (40%). Gardiner’s grim determination to ignore the disparity in armament had paid off, though it cost him his own life.

It is probable that he found the price an acceptable one for the redemption of his name and honour.

Do you enjoy naval fiction?You may enjoy Britannia’s Spartan

 

   

  Click on image for details & reviews

It’s 1882 and Captain Nicholas Dawlish RN has just taken command of the Royal Navy’s newest cruiser, HMS Leonidas. Her voyage to the Far East is to be a peaceful venture, a test of this innovative vessel’s engines and boilers.

Dawlish has no forewarning of the nightmare of riot, treachery, massacre and battle he and his crew will encounter.

A new balance of power is emerging in the Far East. Imperial China, weak and corrupt, is challenged by a rapidly modernising Japan, while Russia threatens from the north. They all need to control Korea, a kingdom frozen in time and reluctant to emerge from centuries of isolation.

Dawlish finds himself a critical player in a complex political powder keg. He must take account of a weak Korean king and his shrewd queen, of murderous palace intrigue, of a powerbroker who seems more American than Chinese and a Japanese naval captain whom he will come to despise and admire in equal measure. With each step he must risk repudiation by his own superiors. And he will have no one to turn to for guidance…

Britannia’s Spartan sees Dawlish drawn into fierce battles on sea and land. Daring and initiative have already brought him rapid advancement and he hungers for more. But is he at last out of his depth?

Below are the nine Dawlish Chronicles novels published to date, shown in chronological order. All can be read as “stand-alones”. Click on the banner for more information or on the “BOOKS” tab above. All are available in Paperback or Kindle format and can read at no extra charge by Kindle Unlimited or Kindle Prime Subscribers.

Six free short-stories are available for download to your Kindle. Access them by registering for the  Dawlish Chronicles ma iling list – just click on the banner below. You’ll be kept updated on new books and will receive other free stories at intervals.

The post Unequal Duel, 1758: HMS Monmouth vs. Foudroyant appeared first on dawlish chronicles.

HMS Pulteney vs Xebecs 1743

HMS Pulteney and the Spanish Xebecs, 1743

There have been many blogs on this site dealing with actions in the Age of Fighting Sail that involved only a few vessels, in many cases two only. In most cases, skilful manoeuvring and sail management, taking full advantage of wind and sea conditions, were key factors in positioning vessels to deliver their broadsides from the most advantageous position. There can only have been few cases in which the action took place in a calm and the movements of sailing warships were determined by the ability of their crews to propel them by sweeps or oars. Sweeps were long oars which could be extended out through gun ports and their use seems to have fallen away in the course of the 18th Century. In Britain’s National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, there is only one model of a vessel with sweeps deployed, as shown, with its caption, in the photograph below.

It was during the War of Austrian Succession in January 1743 that HMS Pulteney fought a battle in the Straits of Gibraltar in which her sweeps, and her enemies’, were to determine the course of action. HMS Pulteney, “a large brigantine” carrying 16 carriage guns (I can find no further detail) and commanded by a Captain James Purcell, had been cruising in the Straits to deter Spanish naval movements (as was the case in most in 18th Century wars, Spain was allied with France against Britain). She now, however, found herself becalmed off the British fortifications at Gibraltar and under observation from Spanish forces at Algeciras, directly across the bay from them.

The Xebec configuration was popular in the Mediterranean – here is a Greek-Ottoman example by Antoine Roux (1765 – 1835)

Two Spanish xebecs now left Algeciras to intercept Pulteney. Xebecs were a type of craft common in the Mediterranean and were employed by the Spanish and French navies as well as by North African corsairs. Light and highly manoeuvrable, many were essentially galleys, with provisions as a matter of course for oar propulsion as well as by large lateen sails. (Sentencing to galley service was a dreaded punishment for criminals). This contrasted with the use of sweeps, which were usually employed as a last resort, and operated by members of the crew. The two xebecs that came out to confront Purcell and HMS Pulteney were each crewed by 120 men and each carried 12 guns, apparently 9-pounders. Their rowers’ efforts were supplemented by the current through the Straits running in their favour. HMSPulteney, by contrast, had only 42 men on board, three of whom had been wounded in an earlier action.

Xebecs in action five years before the Pulteney’s encounter: “Antonio Barceló’s Xebec Facing two Algerian Corsair Galiots, 1738”.  B y Ángel Cortellini y Sánchez (1858-1912).

The xebecs opened fire with individual guns as they approached but when within hailing distance called on Captain Purcell by name to strike so as to avoid unnecessary slaughter. He and the Spanish captains appear to have known each other – this being an era of gentlemanly warfare and courteous respect for the enemy. Purcell, as was probably expected, refused to yield and the engagement commenced, HMS Pulteney being at a disadvantage to her more manoeuvrable foes. Gunfire was exchanged for an hour and three quarters and the Spanish xebecs made three separate attempts to board. Given how small Purcell’s crew was it is improbable that all 16 of HMS Pulteney’s guns could have been manned but they at last inflicted sufficient damage to the xebecs that they broke off the action to head for home. Even now, HMS Pulteney attempted to chase them, propelled by her sweeps since there was still no wind.  The lighter xebecs managed however to make their escape.

A xebec at anchor, by Thomas Richard Underwood (1772-1836)

 HMS Pulteney had suffered seriously, her sails and rigging completely destroyed and her hull and masts damaged. The action had occurred in full view of the Gibraltar garrison and boats went out to tow her back to safety.  Her crew had suffered one dead and five seriously wounded but it was reported afterwards that the clothes of every man on board had been rent by shot or fragments. A subscription was raised by Gibraltar’s governor, officers and merchants to present Purcell with a piece of plate while money was distributed to the crew. Purcell’s and HMS Pulteney’s heroic stand was the type of incident that was to inspire so much naval fiction in later years.

Do you read naval fiction?You may enjoy Britannia’s Gamble

  Click on cover image to read reviews

1884 – fanatical rebels, the ISIS of their day, are sweeping all before them in the vast wastes of the Sudan and establishing a rule of persecution and terror. Only the city of Khartoum holds out, its defence masterminded by a British national hero, General Charles Gordon. His position is weakening by the day and a relief force, crawling up the River Nile from Egypt, may not reach him in time to avert disaster.

But there is one other way of reaching Gordon…

A boyhood memory leaves the ambitious Royal Navy officer Nicholas Dawlish no option but to attempt it.  The obstacles are daunting – barren mountains and parched deserts, tribal rivalries and merciless enemies – and this even before reaching the river that is key to the mission. Dawlish knows that every mile will be contested and that the siege at Khartoum is quickly moving towards its bloody climax.

Outnumbered and isolated, with only ingenuity, courage and fierce allies to sustain them, with safety in Egypt far beyond the Nile’s raging cataracts, Dawlish and his mixed force face brutal conflict on land and water as the Sudan descends into ever-worsening savagery.

And for Dawlish himself, one unexpected and tragic event will change his life forever.

Britannia’s Gamble is a desperate one. The stakes are high, the odds heavily loaded against success. Has Dawlish accepted a mission that can only end in failure – and worse?

Below are the nine Dawlish Chronicles novels published to date, shown in chronological order. All can be read as “stand-alones”. Click on the banner for more information or on the “BOOKS” tab above. All are available in Paperback or Kindle format and can read at no extra charge by Kindle Unlimited or Kindle Prime Subscribers.

Six free short-stories are available for download to your Kindle. Access them by registering for the  Dawlish Chronicles ma iling list – just click on the banner below. You’ll be kept updated on new books and will receive other free stories at intervals.

The post HMS Pulteney vs Xebecs 1743 appeared first on dawlish chronicles.

Franco-Siamese War of 1893

Gunboat Diplomacy: Franco-Siamese War of 1893

French gunboat Lutin – unarmoured, weakly armed, but very effective when needed!

   Jules Ferry and his    ludicrous facial hair

France’s crushing defeat in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71, and the added humiliation of the loss of the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine to the newly-proclaimed German Empire, led many French to see acquisition of overseas colonies as a way to restore national pride. The main driver of this policy was the politician Jules Ferry (1832 – 1893) who justified this, as he stated in the Chamber of Deputies in 1885, because “It is a right for the superior races because they have a duty. They have the duty to civilize the inferior races.” The French were, of course, to consider themselves a superior race. This drive was instrumental in consolidation and extension of the French presence in Indo-China, occupations of Tunisia and Madagascar and acquisition of vast territories in West and Central Africa. This policy also led to a major war with China in the mid-1880s and was to remain a source of friction with Britain until the end of the century.

         King Rama V

The French presence in Indo-China, which by the early 1890s extended over modern Vietnam, and holding of Cambodia as a protectorate, inevitably brought about confrontation with the Kingdom of Siam – now Thailand.  In this period, Siam’s King Rama V (1853-1910) initiated a programme of reforms and modernisation which would help withstand pressure for colonisation by European powers – of which France represented the greatest threat. Up to this time, Siam’s eastern and western frontiers had been poorly defined, lying as they often did, in remote and difficult terrain. In due course, the frontier with the British possessions of Burma was settled amicably but the problem proved more intractable on the eastern frontier with French Indo-China.  The concern reached crisis proportions in 1893 over control of Laos – where the French already had commercial interests. The expulsion of French merchants in late 1892 – on accusations of opium smuggling – followed by a refusal to withdraw Siamese forces from east of the Mekong River, triggered indignation by pro-colonial politicians in France. As a clear statement of intent not to back down, a gunboat, the Lutin, was accordingly sent to Bangkok and moored close to the French legation.

The Siamese Army on the march – note field guns carried by the elephants

The situation escalated in April 1893 when French forces advanced into disputed territory in Laos. Many of the Siamese forces withdrew ahead of them, though some resisted. The occupation was generally peaceful until a French police inspector and seventeen Vietnamese militiamen were killed in a Siamese attack on a village on 5th June, an attack allegedly approved of by the Siamese government. This provided the pretext for yet stronger French intervention and a demand for reparations.

French gunboat Comete

What followed was a text-book example of “Gunboat Diplomacy”, a demonstration of how naval power – even in the form of small, unarmoured units – could be decisive in forcing resolution of disputes. Two small French warships – the sloop (aviso) Inconstant and the gunboat Comete requested permission to cross the bar into the Chao Phraya, the river on which Bangkok stands. Neither was powerful. The Inconstant, launched in 1886, was an 890 ton, 201-foot composite vessel (i.e. a wooden hull carried on iron frames) that carried a single 3.9-inch gun and five one-pounder Hotchkiss revolvers, five-barrelled weapons that operated on the same principle as the Gatling. The Comete was of similar vintage, also of composite build, a 490-ton, 151-foot craft with two 5.5-inch guns and three revolvers.

Hotchkiss revolver in use by French naval forces off Tunisia, 1881

The Siamese refused passage but the French commander, a Rear Admiral Edgar Humann, decided to press ahead anyway, in variance with his instructions by the French government not to advance against overwhelming force. The Siamese defences were indeed formidable, the river approach being dominated by the modern Chulachomklao Fort, commanded by a Dutch mercenary, and armed with seven 6-Inch Armstrong guns on disappearing mountings. The navigable channel was constricted by sunken junks. Five Siamese gunboats, commanded by a Dane in Siamese service, were moored upstream of the junks, though only two were modern and of any fighting value, and the defences were strengthened yet further by a sixteen-unit minefield.

Chulachomklao Fort firing on the French ships.

               Comete under fire

The French advance commenced at sunset on 13th July – timed, one suspects, to ensure arrival at Bangkok on the following day, the 14th, France’s national holiday, the Bastille Day. Visibility was limited by heavy rain. Both French warships were under tow by the small mail steamer Jean Baptiste Say. As both Inconstant and Comete were steam-driven one wonders if towing was adopted so that the Say could be sacrificed to blow a path through the minefield. The rain ceased as the vessels neared the fort and the Siamese fired three warning shots. The French forged on regardless. The fort opened fire in earnest and the Siamese gunboats followed suit. Darkness was falling by now and Inconstant returned fired on the fort while the Comete engaged the gunboats. A small Siamese boat filled with explosives was sent out to ram one of the French ships, but it missed its target.  It should have been no contest – the six-inch Armstrongs in the Siamese forts had the capability to tear the French vessels apart while the French armament had no hope of inflicting any injury on the masonry fort and its disappearing gun-mountings.

        No glory, in Britain’s opinion:
   France attacking a weak opponent

French daring paid off, however – one is reminded of Farragut in somewhat similar circumstances at Mobile bay. Determination was rewarded as the French vessels smashed through the Siamese line, ramming and sinking one gunboat in the process and damaging another by gunfire. The Jean Baptiste Say was however hit and was forced to cast off its tow before grounding on a nearby island. The minefield appears to have proved ineffective and both Inconstant and Comete drove on upriver to Bangkok and trained their guns on the Royal Palace as a powerful inducement to reaching an agreement. The French had suffered three dead and two wounded, the Siamese many more.

There was however a violent postscript. The grounded Jean Baptiste Say was captured by the Siamese and her crew was taken prisoner. On July 15th another French gunboat, the Forfait, sent a boarding party to recapture the vessel but it was repulsed. This represented the end of active hostilities. With Bangkok essentially blockaded by French forces, as far as maritime trade was concerned, and as French vessels lay off the heart of Bangkok, there was every reason for the Siamese to negotiate. A treaty, highly favourable to the French, and consigning control of Laos to them, was signed three months later. Jules Ferry would have been pleased, though he did not live to see it – he had died on 17th March that year, following an assassination attempt.

There have been few more effective – and cost-effective – examples of gunboat diplomacy.

Do you enjoy naval fiction?You may enjoy Britannia’s Spartan

 

 

    Click on image for more                details  and reviews

It’s 1882 and Captain Nicholas Dawlish RN has just taken command of the Royal Navy’s newest cruiser, HMS Leonidas. Her voyage to the Far East is to be a peaceful venture, a test of this innovative vessel’s engines and boilers.

Dawlish has no forewarning of the nightmare of riot, treachery, massacre and battle he and his crew will encounter.

A new balance of power is emerging in the Far East. Imperial China, weak and corrupt, is challenged by a rapidly modernising Japan, while Russia threatens from the north. They all need to control Korea, a kingdom frozen in time and reluctant to emerge from centuries of isolation.

Dawlish finds himself a critical player in a complex political powder keg. He must take account of a weak Korean king and his shrewd queen, of murderous palace intrigue, of a powerbroker who seems more American than Chinese and a Japanese naval captain whom he will come to despise and admire in equal measure. With each step he must risk repudiation by his own superiors. And he will have no one to turn to for guidance…

Britannia’s Spartan sees Dawlish drawn into fierce battles on sea and land. Daring and initiative have already brought him rapid advancement and he hungers for more. But is he at last out of his depth?

Below are the nine Dawlish Chronicles novels published to date, shown in chronological order. All can be read as “stand-alones”. Click on the banner for more information or on the “BOOKS” tab above. All are available in Paperback or Kindle format and can read at no extra charge by Kindle Unlimited or Kindle Prime Subscribers.

Six free short-stories are available for download to your Kindle. Access them by registering for the  Dawlish Chronicles ma iling list – just click on the banner below. You’ll be kept updated on new books and will receive other free stories at intervals.

The post Franco-Siamese War of 1893 appeared first on dawlish chronicles.

The Year’s Blogs: 12 of the Best from 2020

The Year’s Blogs: 12 of the best from 2020

2020 saw sustained activities on the Antoine Vanner Writing-Front, Covid-19 notwithstanding. The ninth book of the Dawlish Chronicles, Britannia’s Morass, was published in December (click here for details) and blog articles continued to appear at a rate of two per week. These last related to all aspects of naval and maritime history in the period ranging from the early eighteenth to the twentieth centuries, from the Age of Fighting Sail to the age of the Dreadnought, Submarine, Radio and Flight. I’ve picked about a dozen of my own favourites and links are provided below for reading them. I hope you’ll like them.

And Best Wishes for 2021 to all readers of my novels and my blog-articles, and especially those who have retweeted or shared my blogs. May all of us see the threat of Covid-19 removed in the coming year and a return to something like the normality we knew before.

                                                                                                                                                   Antoine Vanner

The HMS Bellona and Courageux action 1761

Devotees of naval history and fiction will know that the “74”, the so-called Third- Rate ships of the line, were the backbone of the fleets of the major European powers in the period 1756-1815. The original concept, dating from the 1740s, was French, but it was to be adopted whole-heartedly by the Royal Navy. HMS Bellona (1760) was to be the prototype for a class of more than 40 British ships which were to serve for more than five decades. And Bellona herself, as befitted a ship named after the Roman Goddess of War, was to have a very spectacular blooding in 1761…

Click here to read about this spectacular action…

 

A Flawed Concept – Imperial China’s Rendel Cruisers 1881

For a short period in the 1880s the Imperial Chinese Navy possessed two ships, the Yang Wei and the Chao Yung, which carried what was probably the heaviest armament for any ships of their sizes afloat. Their value proved to be overestimated however and they were to come to tragic ends when China clashed with Japan in 1895.

Click here to find out more

 

Hell and High Water: HMS Nautilus, 1807

The crew of the brig-of-war HMS Nautilus did not expect the hell and high water, and epic of endurance, that lay ahead, when she sailed from the Aegean in January 1807 with dispatches for Britain. Lashed for days by storms that all but engulfed the rocky Greek islet on which they were cast, the crew endured appalling privations – and some resorted to cannibalism – before Greek fishermen braved extreme conditions to rescue them.

Click here for Part 1 and here for Part 2 of this epic story

 

Privateer Action in the English Channel, 1793 and 1799

Tensions between Britain and Revolutionary France had escalated through 1792. Following the execution of the French King Louis XVI on 21st January 1793 Britain expelled the French ambassador and on 1 February France responded by declaring war on Great Britain. Within days of the declaration the crew of a British merchant ship, the Glory, was to be one of the first victims of the war at sea, and indeed at its most cruel. But the retribution was to be no less terrible… and what followed in the subsequent years was no less desperate.

Click here to read about these minor but vicious actions, largely forgotten today

 

SS Utopia and HMS Anson 1891

A dark and stormy March night in 1891 saw the harbour at Gibraltar transformed into a scene of horror when a passenger steamer loaded with Italian emigrants wounded herself mortally on the pointed ram of a Royal Navy battleship. This forgotten tragedy claimed 562 lives in sight of shore.

Click here to read more 

 

The Crimean War’s North Pacific Theatre: Petropavlovsk August 1854

The most common image of the Crimean War (1854 – 56) is of Britain’s Light Brigade charging to death and glory against Russian guns at Balaclava. Almost equally well known are the epics of the ”Thin Red Line” and of the Storming of the Redan, both in the Crimea itself. The more nautically- minded may think of the enormous and costly expedition to the Baltic that earned such scanty returns. Few have however heard of the most remote operation of the war, the Anglo-French assault on Petropavlovsk, Russia’s Northern Pacific port on the Kamchatka peninsula.

Click here to read of this forgotten but fascinating campaign

 

The Iéna and Liberté Disasters, 1907 and 1911

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries all major navies, other than the German, lost many large ships not by enemy action but through magazine explosions of unstable ammunition. The French navy was especially unlucky – with two of its largest losses occurring in peacetime at the naval base of Toulon. Scandals – known as “affairs” – were one of the great institutions of the French Third Republic that lasted from 1870 to 1940 and the disasters at Toulon were to trigger a choice specimen, known to as “l’Affaire des Poudres”.

Click here to read more about these disasters

 

The Intercontinental Junk Keyling 1846

In 1846 a large trading junk, the Keyling, set out on a voyage that would make her the first Chinese vessel to round the Cape of Good Hope, sail to the United States and on to Britain. A visit to her in London in 1848 by the novelist Charles Dickens inspired him to write a viciously xenophobic attack on Chinese culture that did him little credit.

Click here to read about her.

 

The bloody Plattsburg mutiny, 1816

A fast-sailing American trading schooner carrying eleven thousand pounds of coffee and forty-two thousand dollars in coins was hijacked by her mutinous crew in 1816. But the voyage that followed brought them to a very unlikely destination and was to end in a mystery that is still unsolved. This article is in two parts

Part 1- Click here

Part 2 – Click here

 

HMS Dolphin and the capture of the slaver Firme, 1841

Anti-slavery service off West Africa in the decades following the Napoleonic Wars and the outlawing of the Slave Trade was never easy for Royal Navy crews. Encounters with slavers could be brutal and bloody. One such example occurred in 1841 when HMS Dolphin, becalmed like her quarry, sent two pulling-boats to board to it before a wind could spring up and let it escape. The acts of individual bravery in the hand-to-hand struggle that followed were of the highest order.

Click here to read about it

 

Earning Napoleon’s admiration: HMS Grappler, 1803

In 1803 a Royal Navy brig, HMS Grappler, was sent from the Channel Islands under flag of truce to return liberated French prisoners of war to their homeland.  A storm was to drive her to take shelter in rocky archipelago close to the coast. Disaster followed, and so too an instance of gallantry by Grappler’s captain which was to arouse the admiration of Napoleon himself. . .

Click here to read HMS Grappler’s story

 

1759 – “The Year of Victories”

The Seven Years War (1756-63) was in effect the First World War, fought in Europe, the Americas, India and the Far East. From it Britain emerged as a Global Superpower and many of its outcomes still live with us even now. One year of the war – 1759 – was however to see a series of British victories by land and by sea that has never been equalled. And it also gave Britain the hit pop-song of the 18th Century and which lives on as a naval march today…

Click here to read about this “Wonderful Year”

 

Below are the nine Dawlish Chronicles novels published to date, shown in chronological order. Click on the banner for more information or on the “BOOKS” tab above. All are available in Paperback or Kindle format and can read at no extra charge by Kindle Unlimited or Kindle Prime Subscribers.

Six free short-stories are available for download to your Kindle. Access them by registering for the  Dawlish Chronicles ma iling list – just click on the banner below. You’ll be kept updated on new books and will receive other free stories at intervals.

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The Cuxhaven Raid: Christmas Day 1914

The 9th Dawlish Chronicle is now available – details at end of articleChristmas Day 1914: The Cuxhaven Raid

On Christmas Day 1914 three Royal Navy seaplane carriers, Engadine, Riviera and Empress launched a total of seven floatplanes to attack the German Zeppelin base at Cuxhaven, some 25 km north of Bremerhaven. The force had been escorted to striking distance by vessels of “Harwich Force” of light cruisers and destroyers which was responsible for active – and indeed aggressive – patrolling of the Southern North Sea throughout WW1. The aircraft were all of the Short  “Folder” Type though with engines of different power in the 100 – 200 hp range. As the name indicated the 67 ft span wings folded for ease of transport in the large hangars built on the after-ends of their carriers.

One of the Short Folders used in the Christmas day raid

The seaplane carriers were converted Cross-Channel passenger ferries, chosen because their top speeds (in the 20 knot range) allowed them to keep up with the Harwich force’s cruisers. The aircraft could not be launched directly from the ships, but rather were lowered by crane into the water once their wings had been extended, taking off thereafter on their floats. Recovery followed the same procedure, but in reverse, and it is obvious that for the ships at least the period of greatest vulnerability was during recovery, when it was essential to be stationary.

HMS Engadine at anchor – note Short Folder at stern, ready for dropping for take-off

The seven aircraft of the strike-force (engine problems held back two more) each carried a pilot and observer/navigator as well as three 20 lb. bombs. Though puny, the latter had the potential to destroy an airship filled with highly flammable hydrogen – indeed Zeppelin LZ37 was to be destroyed by  Sub-Lieutenant Reginald Warneford VC with such a weapon on May 15th 1915. 

2A Short Folder with starboard wings still folded

The Christmas Day attack was however to be bedevilled by low cloud but the Folders nevertheless found the Cuxhaven base, though the sheds in which the Zeppelins were housed were obscured by mist. The aircraft dropped their bombs, though without causing any significant direct damage. The morale effect was however marked – notice being served that German homeland targets could be taken under attack and that resources would have to be diverted from elsewhere to protect them.

Contemporary postcard showing the Royal Navy surface force.  Note the famous light cruiser HMS Arethusa as flagship

  A fanciful artist’s               impression 

Alerted by the attack, German aircraft and Zeppelins set out to find the British surface force involved. Two Friedrichshafen seaplanes, and Zeppelin L7, detected the carrier HMS Empress, which due to boiler problems was lagging astern of the formation, dropping small bombs that failed to hit. German U-Boats stationed in the area were equally unsuccessful. All British vessels returned safely to base.

The British aircraft had been airborne for over three hours and all crews were to survive. Three aircraft managed to return to their carrier and three landed in the sea off the German island of Norderney. The crews of the latter were picked up by the British Submarine E11, commanded by Lieutenant-Commander Martin Nasmith. (In the following year this commander, and submarine, were to have spectacular success operating against the Turks in the Sea of Marmara, actions which earned Nasmith a Victoria Cross). The seventh aircraft was posted as “missing” but the pilot had indeed been picked up by a Dutch trawler and he managed to return to Britain a month later.

   Erskine Childers

An interesting aspect of the Cuxhaven raid was that a key figure in the planning and navigation required, and who was observer on the lead aircraft, was a 44-year old Volunteer-Reserve Lieutenant, Robert Erskine Childers, better known as the author of the classic thriller “The Riddle of the Sands”. Published in 1903, this novel centres on German efforts to stage an invasion of Britain and it drew heavily on Childers’ experience as a yachtsman off the German North-Sea Coast – the scent of the Cuxhaven Raid. An Irish nationalist, Childers had run guns into Howth, North of Dublin, earlier in 1914, for arming volunteer forces supportive of Home Rule for Ireland, using his yacht Asgard for the purpose.

When war broke out in 1914, Childers did, however, see it as ethically essential to support Britain in its death-struggle with Germany. He continued to serve in the British forces until the end of the war but thereafter devoted himself to the Republican cause in the 1919-21 Irish War of Independence. During the 1922-23 Civil War that followed the signature of the 1922 Anglo-Irish Treaty, Childers supported the Republican faction against the newly-established Free-State government. Captured, and tried on which at was essentially a trumped-up charge, he was to be executed by an Irish Free-State firing squad in November 1922. He characteristically insisted on shaking the hand of each member of the firing party. He also instructed his son, who would later be President of Ireland 1973-74, to seek out and shake hands in reconciliation with each man who had signed his death warrant. Another Irish President, Eamon de Valera, said of him, “He died the Prince he was. Of all the men I ever met, I would say he was the noblest.”

The latest – 9th – volume of the Dawlish Chronicles is now availableBritannia’s MorassSeptember – December 1884

I’m pleased to announce that Britannia’s Morass was published in both Paperback and Kindle formats on 12th December 2020.

Click on https://amzn.to/39oTAWx  for the US and on https://amzn.to/3ob14ki for the UK for details of how to order on Amazon.

The story involves mystery, blackmail, espionage and danger at a time when the international power balance is shifting. The secrets of cutting-edge weapons technology are highly prized – and some will stop at nothing to get them . . .

It’s 1884 and Captain Nicholas Dawlish departs for service in the Sudan, as told in Britannia’s Gamble. He leaves his formidable wife Florence behind to face months of worry about him. She’ll cope by immersing herself, as she’s done before, in welfare work for Royal Navy seamen and their families at Portsmouth.

Life in Britain promises to be humdrum, if worthy, at the start until . . .

A single well-meaning but wrong decision plunges Florence into an ever-deepening morass, where loyalty to her country and to seamen who served with her husband raises terrifying dilemmas. Old friends support her but old allies who offer help may have different agendas. In a time of shifting international alliances, in which not all the enemies she faces are British, she can be little more than a pawn. And pawns are often sacrificed . . .

Britannia’s Morass plays out against a backdrop of poverty and opulence, of courtroom drama and French luxury, of subterfuge, deceit, espionage and danger.

This volume also includes the bonus short story Britannia’s Collector, which tells of Nicholas Dawlish’s service as a young naval officer in a gunvessel operating off the coast of South America in 1866.

Below are the nine Dawlish Chronicles novels published to date, shown in chronological order. Click on the banner for more information or on the “BOOKS” tab above. All are available in Paperback or Kindle format and can read at no extra charge by Kindle Unlimited or Kindle Prime Subscribers.

Six free short-stories are available for download to your Kindle. Access them by registering for the  Dawlish Chronicles ma iling list – just click on the banner below. You’ll be kept updated on new books and will receive other free stories at intervals.

 

The post The Cuxhaven Raid: Christmas Day 1914 appeared first on dawlish chronicles.

HMS Doterel Explosion 1881

The loss of HMS Doterel: Disaster off Punta Arenas 1881

Chile’s Punta Arenas, on the Brunswick Peninsula, to the northern side of the Strait of Magellan, is probably the most southerly city in the world. It was originally established as a penal colony by the Chilean government in 1848 to assert sovereignty over the Strait – at the expense of Argentina, which had similar ambitions. The Chilean claim was finally accepted in a treaty between the two countries in 1881. The Through the nineteen the century, and up to the opening of the Panama canal in 1914 this waterway was of the highest importance allowing passage from the South Atlantic to the Pacific while bypassing Cape Horn. Developments on the Pacific coasts of both North America and South America led to very high levels of traffic through the strait and as such the area assumed greater geopolitical importance than it possesses today.

Punta Arenas today (courtesy of Wikipedia)

It was in Punta Arenas that one of the Royal Navy’s most significant peace-time disasters occurred in 1881 when the steam sloop, HMS Dotterel, was destroyed there by internal explosion. The significance of this event was that it was possibly the first in a long series of internal explosions that were to destroy warships in many navies in the next forty years.  Many of the ships involved were very large units. France was to lose two battleships – Iena and Liberté – in the years before World War 1 and during it Britain was to lose several major units – including a modern battleship, HMS Vanguard. Japan was also to lose two capital ships to explosions during the war, as did Italy, which lost the modern battleship Leonardo di Vinci. One explosion – that which destroyed the USS Maine in Havana harbour in 1898 – was to have a major influence on world history. Wrongly blamed on a mine laid by the Spanish authorities, this accident was a trigger for the Spanish-American War, which was decisive in setting the United States on the path to global superpower status.

[image error] HMS Doterel, as completed

Though the exact causes of the explosions remained uncertain in many cases – not least because the massive loss of life usually involved meant there were few surviving witnesses – the majority were due a low perception of the risks involved in handling and storing modern ammunition. The victims were almost invariably moored in harbour when the accident occurred and in many cases ammunition loading and stowage was in progress. Unstable explosives were not the only cause –a dust explosion during coal loading was a possibility in at least one case. Careless handling of flammable substances also led to accidents. Many of these explosions were regarded as mysteries for many years – in the case of the Maine for decades. In its immediate aftermath the loss of HMS Doterel was also seen as unexplained.

HMS Doterel was one of fourteen sloops of the Osprey/Doterel-class sloops launched by the Royal Navy from 1876 to 1880. They were of “composite construction”, which meant wooden planking over an iron frame. Cheap, slow and reasonably well-armed for their size, they were not intended for fleet employment but rather for support and power projection, often on a single ship basis, on distant colonial stations. Of 1130 tons and 170 ft length they carried a barque rig to supplement their 1100 hp single-screw engines. Under power they struggled to make much over 11 knots but the provision of sails reduced their dependency on coal supplies – a major concern on remote stations – as well as increasing their operational range. They were heavily armed for their size – two 7 in guns on pivoting mounts and four 64-pounders, all muzzle loaders. Though obsolescent, these weapons were simple to operate and more than adequate for the type of shore bombardment needed for dealing with local emergencies or petty uprisings.

[image error] HMS Miranda, a sister of HMS Doterel

HMS Doterel was a new ship, launched the previous year, when she was sent in early 1881 to join the Pacific Station, which included the western coasts of North and South America as well as China and Japan. Under her captain, Commander Richard Evans, she arrived at Punta Arenas at 09:00 on 26 April 1881. Less than an hour later an explosion occurred in her forward magazine. Eyewitnesses described wreckage being thrown into the air and a huge column of smoke. Broken into two sections, the ship sank instantly. Boats from several vessels in the immediate vicinity, and from shore, rushed to find survivors but out of a crew of 155 only twelve were found, one of them Commander Evans. The force of the explosion had stripped all his clothing away and was indeed so violent that only three complete bodies were subsequently recovered, as well as some body parts. The horror of the situation is underlines by the fact that these remains were loaded into boxes and buried at sea in the same afternoon. An Anglican missionary working in the area, a Reverend Thomas Bridges, subsequently presided over the mass memorial service.

Funeral service held above the site of HMS Doterel’s wreck

In the immediate aftermath several theories were advanced as causes. A boiler explosion, triggering a magazine detonation,  was perhaps the most obvious possibility. Another involved sabotage by Fenians – Irish Republicans – an idea not as bizarre as it might sound since a successful mission had been mounted five years previously to rescue six Fenian prisoners from a penal colony in Western Australia. The key role in this was played by a chartered American whaler, the Catalpa. Another theory considered that the explosion had been caused by a Whitehead torpedo lost by HMS Shah when she has been in the area three years before.

Salvage operations – note the diver being lowered from the boat on the right

Two Royal Navy cruisers, HMS Garnet and HMS Turquoise were sent to Punta Arenas to conduct salvage and investigation operations. Extensive use was made of divers and this received much coverage in illustrated papers since the “Standard Diving Dress” then represented cutting edge technology. The possibility of a boiler explosion was definitively proven to be false when the boilers were found in perfect condition. The investigations showed that Doterel’s hull had been blown apart, leaving two separate sections, fore and aft. The ship’s guns, screw and other valuable fittings were salvaged. Insights gained provided evidence for formal enquiry at Portsmouth by a scientific committee. This decided in September 1881 that the disaster had been caused by detonation of coal gas in Doterel’s bunkers, and that no crew members were at fault.

Shortly afterwards, in November 1881, another explosion occurred on a Royal Navy warship, once again in Chilean waters. This was on board HMS Triumph, a broadside ironclad en route to the Pacific Station, as had been HMS Doterel. Though three men were killed and seven were wounded the ship herself survived. It was determined that the explosion had been caused by a volatile substance called xerotine siccative which was employed for mixing in paint to accelerate drying.

It was not until 1883 that the cause of the HMS Doterel explosion was settled. A surviving crew member, upon later smelling xerotine siccative while on another ship, stated that he had smelled it before the 1881 explosion. He explained that a jar of the liquid had cracked while being moved below deck. Two men were ordered to throw the jar overboard. While cleaning the leaking explosive liquid from beneath the forward magazine, the men may have broken the rule of not having an open flame below decks. The xerotine siccative exploded first, letting off the huge explosion in the forward magazine.

A lesson had been learned the hard way. The Admiralty ordered the compound withdrawn from use and better ventilation below decks. One source of disaster had been eliminated, but more remained and numerous other ship losses lay in the future. But that’s another story…

Though HMS Doterel’s career was a short one, a sister of hers. HMS Gannet, is still in existence. She has been restored beautifully and is now on view at Chatham Historic Dockyard in England. She is well worth a visit and provides as splendid insight to life in the Victorian Royal Navy.

The 9th Dawlish Chronicle will be published on 12th December 2020Britannia’s MorassSeptember – December 1884

I’m pleased to announce that Britannia’s Morass will be available in both Paperback and Kindle formats from 12th December. The Kindle version is available at a reduced pre-order price of $ 2.99 in the United States and £1.99 in the UK, and for currency-adjusted prices in other countries.

Click on https://amzn.to/39oTAWx  for the US and on https://amzn.to/3ob14ki for the UK for details of how to pre-order.

The story involves mystery, blackmail, espionage and danger at a time when the international power balance is shifting. The secrets of cutting-edge weapons technology are highly prized – and some will stop at nothing to get them . . .

It’s 1884 and Captain Nicholas Dawlish departs for service in the Sudan, as told in Britannia’s Gamble. He leaves his formidable wife Florence to face months of worry about him. She’ll cope by immersing herself, as she’s done before, in welfare work for Royal Navy seamen and their families at Portsmouth.

And life in Britain promises to be humdrum, if worthy, at the start . . .

News of the suicide of a middle-aged widow evokes memories of her kindness when Florence was a servant. Left wealthy by her husband, this lady died a pauper, beggared within a few months, how and by whom, Florence does not know. The widow’s legal executor isn’t interested and the police have other concerns. Lacking close family, she’ll be soon forgotten.

But not by Florence. Someone was responsible and there must be retribution. And getting justice will demand impersonation, guile and courage.

Florence doesn’t hesitate to investigate blackmail and fraud in fashionable London, not suspecting that something far larger is involved. A single wrong decision plunges her into an ever-deepening morass, where loyalty to her country and to seamen who served with her husband raises terrifying dilemmas. Old friends support her but old allies who offer help may have different agendas. In a time of shifting international alliances, in which not all the enemies she faces are British, she can be little more than a pawn. And pawns are often sacrificed . . .

Britannia’s Morass plays out against a backdrop of poverty and opulence, of courtroom drama and French luxury, of subterfuge, deceit, espionage and danger.

This volume also includes the bonus short story Britannia’s Collector, which tells of Nicholas Dawlish’s service as a young naval officer in a gunvessel operating off the coast of South America in 1866.

The Dawlish Chronicles – the first eight volumes. Click  on the banner below for more details

Six free short-stories are available for download to your Kindle. Access them by registering for the  Dawlish Chronicles ma iling list – just click on the banner below. You’ll be kept updated on new books and  will receive other free stories at intervals.

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Princess Alice Disaster 1878

The Princess Alice Disaster, 1878

Though it is now largely forgotten, one of  Britain’s worst maritime catastrophes occurred  on the River Thames in 1878 , just downriver from London when the excursion steamer Princess Alice was sunk in a collision.

It is strange that some disasters, such as the loss of the Titanic in 1912, live on in the popular memory while others of comparable magnitude in terms of loss of life, such as the sinking of the liner Empress of Ireland after a collision in the St. Lawrence in May 1914, have been largely forgotten. The Empress of Ireland sinking did however claim 1012 lives as compared with 1514 in the Titanic disaster, almost exactly the same percentage, 68%, of those on board in both cases.

Princess Alice in service before the disaster

This line of thinking occurred to me, Antoine Vanner, when I visited the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich and was struck by a contemporary model, as shown below, of the collision of the paddle steamer Princess Alice with the collier Bywell Castle in the Galleons Reach section of the Thames Estuary on September 3rd 1878. Though the accident occurred close to shore the death toll was in excess of 650. I find it strange that such a huge disaster, which occurred practically in London, and which claimed the lives of so many of its citizens, should be totally absent from popular memory and that it has not figured, as far as I know, in any novel, movie or television production (especially taking into account the British fixation on costume dramas).

Contemporary model of the Princess Alice disaster in the National Maritime Museum

The Princess Alice was a 219-foot, 171-ton, paddle steamer built as the Bute in Greenock in 1865 for ferry service on the Scottish west coast.  She came south two years later, where she was renamed for service as an excursion steamer on the Thames estuary, under a succession of owners. At this time excursions downriver from London were popular outings for a growing urban population that was enjoying increased if modest prosperity.

On September 3, 1878, a Tuesday, the Princess Alice made a routine trip from the Swan Pier, near London Bridge, to Gravesend and Sheerness. For most passengers heading for Gravesend the attraction was the Rosherville Pleasure Gardens there– officially the “Kent Zoological and Botanical Gardens Institution” and in essence an early version of a theme park – which were a favourite destination for thousands of Londoners. The gardens had their own pier to allow docking of visiting steamers.

The moment of collision: Princess Alice run down by the Bywell Castle

By 1940 hrs the Princess Alice was on her return journey, laden with over 700 passengers – an amazing number for such a small craft, on which there could have been little more than standing room.  She was within sight of the North Woolwich Pier – where many passengers were to disembark – when she sighted the collier Bywell Castle coming downriver. At 904 tons this was a substantially larger ship than the paddle steamer and was unladen.  Ignoring by the Princess Alice’s captain of the “Port to Port” rule for passing ships in the Thames estuary brought the paddler directly in the path of the collier and though the later did reverse engines, this was not done rapidly enough, making collision inevitable.

Contemporary artists left little to the imagination

The Princess Alice was struck amidships by the Bywell Castle and she split in two, sinking in under four minutes and before either of its two boats could be launched – inadequate though these would have been for the number of persons carried. Many passengers were trapped below, as would be attested later when the wreckage was recovered. An added horror was the fact that the collision occurred at the point where large volumes of sewage was discharged – according to a contemporary account “At high water, twice in 24 hours, the flood gates of the outfalls are opened when there is projected into the river two continuous columns of decomposed fermenting sewage, hissing like soda water with baneful gases, so black that the water is stained for miles and discharging a corrupt charnel house odour”. It was thought that many who found themselves engulfed in this ghastly sludge died by asphyxiation.

[image error] Recovery of bodies from Princess Alice

The exact death toll that resulted is not known with exactitude since there were no detailed passenger list and many bodies may have been washed downriver or buried in the Thames mud. The Thames River Police estimated the death toll as 640 and only 69 persons were saved, mainly through the efforts of the Bywell Castle’s crew, this vessel being scarcely damaged. As the collier was not laden she was however high out of the water, making it difficult to take survivors from the water. The two sections of the Princess Alice were lifted and beached in the following week and unidentified bodies were buried in a mass grave in Woolwich Old Cemetery, where a granite cross still commemorates them. A distasteful aspect of the aftermath was that crowds of ghoulish sightseers came on trains from London to clamber over the wreckage. It appeared that “anything that could be chipped or wrenched off was carried off as curiosities by visitors”. The Princess Alice’s engines were salvaged. The Bywell Castle had its own appointment in Samarra and she was lost with all hands in the Bay of Biscay five years later.

The beached stern-section of the Princess Alice

The inevitable enquiry followed the disaster and the findings not unsurprisingly commented on the overloading, poor seamanship and lack of live-saving equipment on the Princess Alice. No doubt there were many statements at the time that “lessons must be learned”, as is always said in our own time after some dreadful incident, but just as in our own day little practical action seems to have accompanied the hand-wringing. The Titanic disaster was still 36 years in the future and application by then of general insights from the Princess Alice disaster could have lessened the death toll significantly.

I find that the loss of the Princess Alice has an almost unbearable poignancy about it. The victims were of all sexes and ages, and were probably in the main of modest wealth and income – I imagine Mr. Pooter and his wife Carrie of the Grossmiths’ “Diary of a Nobody” as being typical. They were returning from a day of innocent pleasure and had they survived they might well have remembered it as one of the happiest of their lives, spent with those they loved. From this humble pleasure they were plunged – literally – into a squalid maelstrom of filth in which their lives and happiness were torn from them and from the family members they left behind.

And so the final question remains – why has the Princess Alice disaster, on London’s doorstep and with its massive loss of life, faded from popular memory?

Start the Dawlish Chronicles series of  naval adventures with the earliest chronologically:Britannia’s Innocent Click here, or on the image below to read the opening chapters

For more details regarding purchase in paperback or Kindle format, click below Note that Kindle Unlimited and Kindle Prime subscribers can read at no extra chargeFor amazon.com     For amazon.co.uk      For amazon.com.auThe Dawlish Chronicles – now up to eight volumes, and counting …

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Life at sea in the Royal Navy, late 1860s

Life at sea in the Royal Navy, late 1860s

              Scott, 1903

I’ve recently been dipping again into the memoirs of Admiral Sir Percy Scott (1853 -1924), one of the key figures in the modernisation of the Royal Navy in the late 19th and early 20th Century. Scott transformed the discipline of Gunnery, including improvements in accuracy and development of fire control. Though retired before World War I, he was called back to service by Admiral Lord Fisher and Winston Churchill. A talented engineer (who became wealthy through royalties for his inventions), Scott’s interests, besides naval gunnery, also included development of anti-aircraft guns, anti-submarine warfare and the employment of aircraft. He was one of the first to recognise that air-power had made battleships all but obsolete. A difficult and combative personality, who challenged established and conservative thinking, he managed to rise in the navy nonetheless on the basis of sheer excellence and pragmatism of his ideas. Given that he would build his career on mastery of new technology, it’s fascinating how his early days were spent in a mainly sailing navy that still carried much over from the Age of Fighting Sail. His memoirs provide fascinating insights to this.

Scott recounts that “on 25th August, 1868, I went to my first real seagoing ship, the Forte, a 50-gun frigate of 2,364 tons. She had engines, but of such small horsepower that they were only serviceable in a flat calm.”

HMS Topaze, of the same size, armament and vintage as HMS Forte

For all practical purposes, HMS Forte was little different to frigates that had gone into action a half-century earlier in the Napoleonic Wars. The realities of handling a ship under sail, the daily routines, the food – and the enforcement of discipline – were little different either. This is borne out by Scott’s recollection of life on board, beginning with the first days of Forte’s deployment, while she was still in the English Channel. Scott took this in his stride: “We started from Sheerness, and en route to Portsmouth we youngsters were fortunately introduced under sail to a gale of wind. Four hours on deck, close-reefing the topsails and clearing away broken spars, probably cured every one of sea-sickness for the remainder of their lives at any rate, it cured me. An excitement of this sort is, I believe, the only cure for sea-sickness.”

Arrival at the anchorage of Spithead, off Portsmouth, brought its own excitement since “we midshipmen were delighted at being turned out in the middle of the night for a collision. Colliding with or being rammed by another ship, or ramming another ship, is a necessary part of an officer’s education. In this case the barque Blanche Maria had got across our bows, at the change of the tide. There was a lot of crunching, but eventually we got clear without much damage. The Blanche Maria said that we had given her a foul berth; we declared she had dragged her anchor. However that may be, we midshipmen were all delighted at having seen a collision.”

Naval uniforms were in transition in the late 1860s, HMS Forte’s officers were unlikely to as  shown in this late-Victorian illustration

Soon after, HMS Forte left to make a three-month sailing passage to Bombay, via the Cape of Good Hope. Scott remembered that “In those old sailing days in fine weather it was very delightful; a man-of-war was a gigantic yacht, scrupulously clean, for we were seldom under steam and as a consequence did not often coal”.  This did however bring a major disadvantage: “Shortage of water for the purpose of washing was our great inconvenience; our Commander (i.e. First Lieutenant adb Executive Officer), either for economy or to save the dirt of coaling, made a great fuss about the coal used for condensing. Consequently, we were very often short of water for washing; water for drinking was not limited. On the main deck there was a tank with a tin cup chained to it, so that anyone could get a drink. But there was a little waste, as the men did not always drain the cup dry. In order to check this, the Commander introduced what was called a ” suck-tap”; the tap and the cup were done away with and a pipe placed in lieu of these, and anyone wanting a drink had to take the nasty lead pipe into his mouth and suck the water up; it was a beastly idea, which our new Commander immediately did away with.”

By the late 1860s the ironclad had arrived, with heavier reliance than hitherto on steam, but still carrying sailing rigs. Here’s HMS Monarch of 1868. Painting by Frederick Charles Mitchell (1845 – 1914)

Scott recalled with affection that “In the evening the men always sang, and it was very fine to hear a chorus of about 800 men and boys, many of the latter with unbroken voices. We had one young man who used to sing “A che’ la morte” and other tenor songs from Verdi’s operas, as well as many singers that I have heard on the stage”. He did note however that “the songs, however, were not always of this high class” and that “the men’s songs, and their parlance, was sometimes strong. Many of their comparisons and similes were often witty and quite original.” What was meant by “strong” is probably best left to the imagination.

Writing as he was in 1919, Scott had little sympathy about civilians’ complaints about food rationing during World War I, noting that “some people seemed to think that milk, butter, cheese and vegetables were necessities of life.”  He contrasted this with his service on his first ship, “where there were about 750 men and boys in the perfection of health and strength. Their rations at sea consisted of salt beef, salt pork, pea soup, tea, cocoa and biscuit, the last named generally full of insects called weevils.”  Except for the addition of tea and cocoa, this was little different to the diet of seamen in Nelson’s day.

Into the 1890s, sail remained important for smaller vessels operating on distant stations where coal was not widely available. Here’s Mitchell’s view of gunboat HMS Thrush (1889)

During HMS Forte’s voyage to India, her captain, John Hobhouse Alexander, earned Scott’s respect as “a magnificent seaman”.  The ship’s commander (first lieutenant) was a different matter and “We midshipmen had a terrible time with him. I contradicted him once, and as I happened to be right, he never forgave me.” The penalty was the same as many young gentlemen were subjected to in Nelson’s day: “I saw more of the masthead than I did of the gun-room mess. Sending a boy to sit up at the masthead on the cross-trees was a funny kind of punishment. In fine weather with a book it was rather pleasant; in bad weather you took up a waterproof.”  There were more brutal penalties for men on the lower deck “Masthead for the midshipmen, and the cat for the men, was the Commander’s motto. I saw one man receive four dozen strokes of the cat on Monday and three dozen on Saturday, and he took them without a murmur.” Scott wrote in admiration: “That is the spirit which made this a great country; we love men who take punishment without flinching. This particular Commander revelled in flogging, and the sight of it seemed to be the only thing that gave him any pleasure. It was a form of self-indulgence which finally led to his ruin.”

HMS Bramble (1886), another gunboat operating into the 1890s, as painted by Mitchell

This un-named commander’s“ruin” was brought about after Captain Alexander went home after arrival at Bombay. “We became the Senior Officer’s ship on the East Indies Station, and flew the broad pennant of Commodore Sir Leopold Heath, K.C.B. He was a clever, kind and able seaman. He made me his A.D.C., an honour which I appreciated but which got me into further trouble with the Commander, as he did not approve of it.  I had more leave stopped than ever and was continually under punishment.” Deliverance came when the Commodore was “up country” (possibly on a social visit or hunitng trip) in Ceylon, now Sri Lanka. The commander was now in temporary control of the ship. “An able seaman refused one morning to obey an order. The case was investigated by the commander, and at one o’clock two hours later the offender received four dozen lashes. On the Commodore’s return the man laid his case before him, and complained that the King’s Regulations, which order commanding officers not to inflict corporal punishment until twenty-four hours after the offence, had not been observed.”  The consequences for the commander were serious: he “was tried by court-martial and dismissed the ship.” Given that flogging was finally abolished in the Navy in 1879, and that its use was already uncommon, this may have been one of the last occasions it was employed.

Soon after this incident, Scott’s vessel was to be involved in Slave Trade suppression off the coasts of East Africa and Arabia. We’ll return to this in a later blog.

Another young officer at sea in the 1860s:Britannia’s Innocent Click here, or on the image below to read the opening chapters

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Guest Blog: The Ambush of SS Persia, 1915

Guest Blog by Alan WrenThe Ambush of SS Persia, 1915Introduction by Antione Vanner:

I wrote a blog article some time ago (click here) about two tragedies that happened on the same day, December 30th 1915. One was the loss by accidental magazine explosion of the Royal Navy armoured cruiser HMS Natal at Scapa Flow. The other was the sinking, by torpedo of the liner SS Persia in eh Mediterranean. The loss of life was heavy in both cases. Now a book has been published by Alan Wren (his details are at the bottom of this article) in which the loss of the SS Persia has been portrayed in detail. It’s the result of meticulous research. Alan has written a guest blog for me that describes the context of his work. I can do no better than send the reader directly to this excellent article.

Over to Alan!

The Ambush of SS Persia, 1915

It is a great privilege to be invited to write a guest blog for Antoine Vanner, doyen of British naval historic fiction through his ‘Dawlish Chronicles’. Despite his fame and success and my novice status, he has always been gracious and positive about my first venture into maritime history and I am truly grateful. It is uncanny that the most recent guest blog I read (Click to read) was about Jacky Fisher, written by Penelope, Fisher’s great great granddaughter who I mention in my first paragraph.

The Royal Navy was simply unable to defend its own ships and British merchantmen against U-boats on the outbreak of war in 1914 – no strategy, no tactics, no specific weapons – no training. Back in 1906, Admiral Lord Fisher had obsoleted many of the world’s battleships when HMS Dreadnought was launched – expensive but faster, higher firepower, longer range, more accurate, still capable of ruling the waves. Less than a decade later, he was one of the few who accepted that things had changed when he warned First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill about U-boats, small, cheap, potentially very dangerous.

‘There is nothing else the submarine can do except sink her capture, and it must therefore be admitted that this submarine menace is a truly terrible one for British commerce and Great Britain alike, for no means can be suggested at present for meeting it except for reprisals.’

His wake-up call went unheeded, perhaps even ridiculed.  What were the consequences?

The lethality of the U-Boat came as unpleasant surprise to the Allies in WW1. Here renowned artist Willy Stöwer (1864 – 1931) shows a troop-ship sinking in the Meditrerranean

The Royal Navy would lose 6 ships to U-boat attacks in 56 autumn days of 1914, with 2,272 deaths. The mighty Dreadnoughts would spend much of the war hiding in Scapa Flow – too expensive and vulnerable to ignore the U-boat threat and far from ruling any waves. However, the navy had great success through the effective blockade of German ports, with a hotch-potch collection of old ships, crude but very effective. However, in 1915, Kaiserliche Marine U-boats slipped almost inadvertently into merchant raiding in waters around Britain, with frightening skill and success, sinking 750 ships including the RMS Lusitania with a death toll of 1,198, of which 128 were Americans. Another smaller but significant loss was the British SS Arabic, with the deaths of 21 crew and 18 passengers, 3 of whom were United States citizens, which irked President Woodrow Wilson already upset by the Lusitania tragedy.

The SS Arabic – her sinking brought Germany one step closer to war with the Untied States

This latest attack triggered the ‘Arabic Pledge’ by the German government to secure the safety of non-combatants (particularly Americans) on board passenger liners, also backed by international law. Germany then ordered some U-boats to the Mediterranean, angering their commanders who saw their campaign as on the verge of critical disruption to British food supplies that could change the course of the war. Meanwhile, Britain had to keep its trade routes to the east open, enabling free passage of food, supplies and mail through the Suez Canal, while those who lived and worked in Egypt, India and beyond still needed travel and supplies both ways.

Germany’s Arabic Pledge – the reality that followed was not in line with it

On 18th December 1915, P&O’s SS Persia slipped out of London’s Tilbury Dock, glided down the Thames and into the English Channel. Her crews had taken her through this departure many times since her launch fifteen years earlier and as the majority lived in India and Goa, heading out was a moment of celebration, of turning for home. However, this departure felt different for the London-based crew and their passengers, with Christmas Day one week away and U-boat anxiety shrouding their departure. However, stoicism held sway – work mattered, duty called and so she sailed on schedule. If threatened by a visible U-boat, she had a defensive gun, never fired in anger, but there, just in case.

She called briefly in Gibraltar, then turned north-east to Marseilles. Here, some better-off passengers could join after a channel crossing and train ride across France and cut four days off the journey, joining Persia on Christmas Day. Others took this short cut to avoid the risk of U-boats in the Channel and Western Approaches. However, by then, some of the most powerful U-boats were already active in the Mediterranean. Only six weeks earlier a U-boat had sunk the Italian liner Ancona after she had left Messines for New York, killing 282 of those aboard. The international laws of the sea, known as the Cruiser Rules, forbade the sinking of passenger liners without first giving them warning and allowing them time to safely disembark before being sunk, but those rules and the recent Arabic Pledge had already failed to protect the Ancona. Back in Marseilles, one prospective passenger with a large entourage arrived in Marseilles to board the SS Persia on Christmas Day, then changed his mind. He was the Maharaja Sir Jagatjit Singh Bahadur, GCSI, ruler of Kapurthala, who, on his travels, may have spent a million pounds on gemstones, jewellery, watches and gold bullion to take back to India. He claimed to have received information from ‘a secret source’ that the Germans were planning to attack the SS Persia. He and his retinue left the ship, but seemingly left his fortune on board under the supervision of a trusted advisor.

SS Persia leaving Marseilles – by the great marine painter W. Wyllie

The SS Persia then departed for Valletta, her final stop before the Suez Canal. She departed at a time judged to ensure she did not pass through the narrow stretches of the Mediterranean during daylight when she would be more vulnerable to U-boats. This did not work. As passengers sat for lunch on Thursday 30th December, Persia was struck by a torpedo fired by the submerged U-38. She capsized almost instantly onto her port side while still ploughing through the waves at speed, sea flooding in through every orifice until she sank in around five minutes. Most of her lifeboats were smashed or jammed beyond use. Four boats were deployed and a fifth was severely damaged and barely afloat. The U-boat commander checked his successful attack through a periscope and turned away, still submerged, in search of further prey. A one-sided battle was quickly over and other battles for survival in Persia’s blackened flotsam were just starting. What had been the motivation for this attack on a passenger liner supposedly protected by international law and the pledge made by Germany after the Arabic? Francis Bacon is reputed to have observed that opportunity makes a thief and that is a component, but the root lay in vengeance.

How did I, Alan Wren, come to write a book  called The Ambush of SS Persia?

I live at Barton-on Sea, Hampshire. I left school to join the merchant navy as a deck officer cadet and learn the skills of navigation and ship handling, but found the education and training fell far short of that needed and eventually returned to dry land. Voyages through the Mediterranean and Suez Canal, across the Indian Ocean to Ceylon (Sri Lanka), eastern India and West Pakistan (Bangladesh) left indelible impressions that have influenced this story. I eventually went into computing, then in its commercial infancy, and I joined a major engineering company as a trainee computer operator and left as manager of their eventual major computer installation, central to the company’s operations. I then went on to a consultancy organisation in which my career evolved into international consulting and training in project management and systems design. Here, the foundations of success depended on thorough research to define problems and opportunities and then to design solutions and write the plans and words to bring them to reality. I became a scholar of Rudyard Kipling, always striving to specify the “what, why, when, how, where and who” of any change or innovation proposal. Writing was key. I eventually started my own consultancy business to run major projects in energy, pharmaceuticals, utilities and government departments.  But what has this to do with a book on the sinking of the SS Persia?

On a post-retirement day-out in 2015 I visited the Maritime Museum at Buckler’s Hard, Hampshire. Captivated by the museum’s display on the sinking of the SS Persia, I was left wondering why the sinking had happened. This ‘why’ question intrigued me and I asked at the museum shop if they had a book on the ship’s fate. The assistant wished they had – it seems that they were frequently asked the same question, but confirmed that no such book had been written.

What a challenge!

I had become a published author in 2003, after Gower Publishing had invited meto write what became the ‘Project Management A to Z’. Although not a historian, I’m an incurable history-lover, but would this be enough? Deciding that it would have to be, I embarked on a new journey with SS Persia, little realising that, in her prime she could have sailed perhaps 30 to 40 return voyages between Tilbury and Bombay in the time that my research and writing would take. As I had found in my work life, research was enjoyable and fascinating but time-consuming, with numerous dead-ends and the burden of what to include and what to omit. It was also frustrating at times – authoritarian secrecy during World War I discarded much information and kept more deliberately concealed behind the Defence of the Realm Act. Throughout, I was hugely bolstered by help from The Honourable Mary Montagu Scott DL and Susan Tomkins at Bucklers Hard and by the enthusiasm of descendant relatives of those aboard the SS Persia who happily shared letters, documents and survivors’ accounts. It became a great way of making new friends. Eventually, discussions with a major publisher foundered because my text became too long – 96,000 words – uncommercial.

Rewrites and restructures later, I committed to a self-publishing route. Eventually, on the 30th December 2019, an anniversary of the sinking, I decided that the writing had to stop and the editing and proofing to begin. These efforts later collided with Covid, slowing the design and completion phases, but feedback from readers was encouraging. Mary Montagu Scott kindly offered to host a book launch and book-signing event at the Museum, a great opportunity to meet people again. However, Covid continues and such an event has had to be postponed sine die, though online approaches may be explored.

‘The Ambush of SS Persia’ appeared on 29th September 2020 and eBook versions will become available soon. Click on the cover image below for purchase details.

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HMS Black Joke engages a slaver, 1831

HMS Black Joke engages a slaver, 1831

Following Britain’s abolition of the Slave Trade in 1807 and end of the Napoleonic Wars in 1815, the Royal Navy was to be involved in suppression of the trade in the North and South Atlantic until about 1860. Earlier blogs (Click here and here) have illustrated the hazards involved in such service. Effort thereafter was shifted to suppression in the Indian Ocean, where the Arab slave traders, who struck into the heart of Central Africa, shipped their victims to markets in the Arabian Gulf.

A Baltimore Clipper, seen here in US Service. As slavers such fast vessels were floating hells.

One consequence of the outlawing of the trade was that slavers vessels now had to be able to outrun naval patrols. Prior to that time slaves were carried in slow, lumbering ships, but now smaller human cargoes were packed into some of the fastest ships afloat of their time. One such preferred type was the “Baltimore Clipper” and, though constructed in the United States, their operators tended to be Spanish, Portuguese or Brazilian. The main sources of slaves for the Atlantic trade were the West African coast – mainly that between modern Ghana and Cameroon – and the Portuguese possession of Angola, further south.

One slave-running Baltimore Clipper was to have a spectacular career in the Royal Navy. Named the Henriquetta, she was captured by the ageing frigate HMS Sybille (herself a prize taken from the French in in 1794) in 1827. She was reported as a brig of 257 tons, 90 feet long, mounting three guns and with a crew of 38 men. Small as she was, she carried 569 slaves in what must have been horrendous conditions and she had landed 3,360 more in Brazil in the previous two years. She was taken into Royal Navy service as HMS Black Joke, the name referring to a lewd song of the time.  Serving as part of the West Africa “Preventative” Squadron., her fast sailing speed now made her the ideal craft for running down vessels like herself and in the next five years, under different commanders, she was to liberate a total of some 4300 slaves in twelve separate actions. These were in some cases quite bloody affairs, as the slavers were usually not only armed, but ready to fight. The maximum number of slaves found on a single ship, the Vengador, was 645.

HMS Black Joke in action against the slaver El Almirante on 1st February 1829 The latter was carrying 466 slaves when captured and lost 15 dead (including the captain) and 13 wounded. 

One of HMS Black Joke’s most spectacular captures occurred on 26nd April 1831, in the waters between the mouth of the Old Calabar River, in what is today South-East Nigeria, and the island of Fernando Po, now known as Bioko, part of Equatorial Guinea, some 50 miles to the south. She had a crew of about 44 officers and men and her main weapon was a pivot-mounted 18-pounder, supplemented by a carronade. The commander was a Lieutenant William Ramsay.

HMS Black Joke was at anchor at Fernando Po, when Ramsay, learned from the master of a colonial vessel that he had just left in the Old Calabar River. There he had seen a large armed Spanish brig, which he described as the most powerful slaver that had been on the coast for some years. He indicated that she carried one large pivot and four broadside guns, and had a complement of more than 70 picked men. Lieutenant Ramsay headed immediately to Old Calabar and commenced a strict blockade, anchoring Black Joke every night at the entrance of the river, and weighing before daylight, and running out with the land breeze far enough not to be seen from the shore. This this continued for several days until, on the morning of the 25th April a large brig was seen from the mast-head under all sail standing out of the river. HMS Black Joke’s topsails were immediately lowered, so that the stranger came within sight from her deck before he himself could identify her.

The slaver altered course so as to cross HMS Black Joke’s bow and pass between Fernando Po and the mainland. Ramsay ordered all sail set for a chase and cleared for action. The slaver sailed so well that it was 9 o’clock in the evening before Black Joke could get within range of’ her, close enough to put a shot across her bows and a demand to heave to. This was answered by three of the broadside guns. The wind had died however and both captains resorted to using their sweeps – long oars.  His slow-motion chase lasted until about 1.30 am. next day, the 26th. The slaver now decided to tur and fight, driving back with her sweeps and maintaining an accurate fire on the spars, rigging, and sails of HMS Black Joke.

Knowing that he was outgunned, and that shot smashing into the slaver’s hull would be fatal for the slaves crammed in beneath her decks, Ramsay resolved to board.  A slight breeze had arisen, enough to allow manoeuvre. He ordered the greater part of his mem to lie down and shelter behind the bulwarks from the enemy’s fire as the range closed. Two trusted men were appointed to lash the vessels together, the two guns were loaded with grape, and their captains ordered to fire directly the word “Board” was given.

HMS Black Joke now ran alongside the Spaniard, the guns opened fire and Lieutenant Ramsay, with the mate and ten men leaped across The vessels crashed together with such force that they bounced apart, leaving Ramsay stranded and the remainder of his boarding party still on HMS Black Joke.  He was faced by some 70 armed men on the slavers. Only a single officer remained on Black Joke, a fifteen-year old midshipman called Mr. Hinde. He had the presence of mind to order all hands to the sweeps, pulled alongside and got the vessels lashed together. He then led everybody still on Black Joke, with the exception of a few wounded, across to the slaver. With this reinforcement, Ramsay’s men prevailed, cutting down all who continues to resist. The remainder of the slavers ran below and begged for quarter.

HMS Black Joke’s boarders

The prize proved to be the Marinerito, a  Spanish brig of 300 tons, mounting five 18-pounders, with a complement of 77 officers and men, of whom fifteen were killed or drowned, four desperately wounded, and several others severely and slightly. HMS Black Joke lost only one man killed. Lieutenant Ramsay, the mate, and five men were wounded. 496 slaves were found on board the slaver, of whom 26 had suffocated, and 107 of the remainder were in such a bad condition 60 of them died after they were landed at Fernando Po. The survivors were taken to liberation in Sierra Leone.

Lieutenant Ramsay was promoted to Commander the next year on the basis of this action. By then HMS Black Joke was reaching the end of her short but useful life. Her timbers were rotting and the decision was taken to burn her. It was a sad end for a ship that had done so much to redeem herself for the crimes committed in her earlier career.

Britannia’s MissionThis volume of the Dawlish Chronicles deals with Indian Ocean slave-trade suppression

    Click image above for details

1883: The slave trade flourishes in the Indian Ocean, a profitable trail of death and misery leading from ravaged African villages to the insatiable markets of Arabia. Britain is committed to its suppression but now there is pressure for more vigorous action . . .

Two Arab sultanates on the East African coast control access to the interior. Britain is reluctant to occupy them but cannot afford to let any other European power do so either. But now the recently-established German Empire is showing interest in colonial expansion . . .

With instructions that can be disowned in case of failure, Captain Nicholas Dawlish must plunge into this imbroglio to defend British interests. He’ll be supported by the crews of his cruiser HMS Leonidas, and a smaller warship. But it’s not going to be so straightforward . . .

Getting his fighting force up a shallow, fever-ridden river to the mission is only the beginning for Dawlish. Atrocities lie ahead, battles on land and in swamp also, and strange alliances must be made.

And the ultimate arbiters may be the guns of HMS Leonidas and those of her counterpart from the Imperial German Navy.

In Britannia’s Mission Nicholas Dawlish faces cunning, greed and limitless cruelty. Success will be elusive . . .  and perhaps impossible.

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