by Roy Adkins
In 1797 large-scale mutinies took place in the fleets anchored at Spithead and the Nore. Smaller mutinies also occurred from time to time, usually confined to individual ships, and were generally nipped in the bud by astute captains before they officially became mutinies. Otherwise they tended to be vigorously suppressed. One mutiny occurred in late 1801 on board the Temeraire. Everyone was expecting peace with France, and the warship was withdrawn from the blockade of Brest and ordered to Ireland’s Bantry Bay. Instead of being decommissioned as the sailors were hoping, the Temeraire was ordered to the West Indies, but the crew were not told. The seaman Daniel Goodall remembered the event:
Rumour whispered that we were destined for the West Indies – a most unhealthy and consequently unpopular station. This was a fatal blow to all the fond hopes so many of us had been but recently nourishing in fancied security, and as it was quite evident from the preparations that were going forward, that our ship and three others were destined for a foreign station, a spirit of discontent became rapidly prevalent on board the Temeraire, and it was soon only too evident that something very like mutiny was in contemplation by no inconsiderable portion of the ship’s company.74
The protesters were confronted by the admiral, who calmed the men, but the Temeraire remained at anchor, leading to more frustration, as Goodall related:
How they thought to carry out their mad resolutions without avoiding collision with the authorities is among the mysteries of infatuation. The most ignorant amongst them could not but be aware that, were a collision once to take place, they must inevitably be crushed, either by superior power in the course of their resistance or by the strong hand of the law after they were overpowered. It is strange, but not more strange than melancholy, how often men are blinded to the consequences of a rash course upon which some of them so heedlessly enter, but it is the same sad story, as old as the world itself, of passion obscuring every gleam of reason.75
When some of the men did rise up, Goodall witnessed, they were overpowered by the marines, and then the entire crew was called on deck:
When all were mustered, the Captain and other officers went deliberately amongst the mutineers and picked out fourteen of the number known to be ringleaders in the unfortunate affair, and placed them as prisoners under charge of a party of marines … the ringleaders were ironed [put in irons] and sent on board of Admiral Mitchell’s ship, the Windsor Castle … In the course of a few days, six more of the crew were picked out and sent on board the Windsor Castle, making the whole number of prisoners twenty. All these men were able seamen, with the exception of two, one of them the ship’s butcher, the other belonging to the carpenter’s crew. Some of the delinquents were petty officers, and all of them, previous to this painful affair, were considered well-behaved men.76
For the most serious crimes like mutiny, murder, desertion or homosexual acts, a man might be flogged through the fleet or hanged, but both these sentences required a court martial to judge the case. The accused was held in irons until he could be tried. Officers were suspended from duty and confined to their cabin until the court martial if their crime was serious. Between five and thirteen post-captains or admirals were required for a court martial, and the procedure was started by a captain applying to the commander-in-chief of the station in which they were operating. Because he convened the court martial, this commander-in-chief could not take part and usually his second-in-command presided over the court. In the absence of a commander-in-chief, other arrangements were made, and ultimately the senior officers from any five ships could make up a court martial, but even so a prisoner might be held in irons for weeks or months before the required number of captains could be assembled in one spot. A court martial automatically took place of any captain who lost his ship, for whatever reason, such as by shipwreck or capture. Officers were of course tried by their peers, but for accused seamen there was always the gulf of rank and class between themselves and the judges. The accused was allowed a defence counsel, however, and in most cases there seems to have been at least an attempt at fairness.
John Wardocks, a twenty-three-year-old ordinary seaman from HMS Warspite, evidently believed in the court, as he chose not to be flogged but opted for a court martial at Plymouth after being accused of striking forty-three-year-old Philip Buckhawson, a ship’s corporal, in January 1814, causing him bruising and bleeding. Wardocks was one of several seamen ordered to do cleaning in the dark cockpit, and Buckhawson was in charge of lanterns, but refused to give Wardocks a new candle, accusing him instead of thieving. In his evidence the corporal testified that Wardocks ‘said in a loud voice to the people, here this old fellow of a liar says I cut the candle, upon which I took my hand and struck him upon his mouth saying you d—d “rascal” hold your tongue, at the same time I received a blow upon my face from the prisoner’.77 Wardock’s evidence, corroborated by another seaman, was that he struck him in self-defence: ‘The Ship’s Corporal … accused me with stealing … He then took me by the handkerchief [round his neck] and dragged me along the wing and in a state of nearly suffocation I struck him to disengage myself. I hope your Lordships will consider the embarrassment I labour under, struggling with a man endeavouring to strangle me, and pardon the offence I committed in striking him to extricate myself.’78
If a court martial gave a sentence of flogging round the fleet, this involved the prisoner being rowed in a boat from one warship to another where he was flogged each time, watched by all. A surgeon accompanied the procession and would call a halt if the man was unable to endure any more – though the punishment would be continued on another day. Seamen were flogged round the fleet for crimes that on land might lose them their life, but having witnessed the landsman Peter Richieu flogged in such a way in 1812, the chaplain Edward Mangin was not sure which was the lesser evil:
This day, a man of the Valiant’s crew went round the Fleet; a very serious and ceremonious mode of inflicting punishment. The delinquent, who was a foreigner, had quarrelled with another seaman, and drawing a long knife, endeavoured to stab him in the breast, but the object of his vengeance falling backwards over a cask, received the weapon through his kneepan. For this act, which in England is capital, and would have sent the perpetrator to the gallows, the criminal was sentenced by court-martial to get one hundred and fifty lashes … When he arrived at the Gloucester, he was very faint and bloody, and before he returned to the Valiant, must have endured what, to me, appeared worse than death.79
The seaman Henry Walsh was outraged by this form of punishment:
Any crimes such as robberies, desertion or any such depredations committed in a manawar, contrary to what is specified in the articles of war, they punish them through the fleet in the manner following. They rig a triangle in a large boat and then, having seven or eight marines well armed and a drummer in the boat, so they beat the rogue’s march through the whole fleet giving him a certain number of lashes on the bare back long side of each ship in the fleet. This is done to keep good order among the men.80
Many men never fully recovered from such punishment, which could be up to one thousand lashes, and according to Daniel Goodall it was not much of a deterrent. To him it was
a heart-sickening exhibition of barbarity, the sight of which I would gladly have been spared … I have often heard the question of corporeal punishment discussed by both officers and men, and many of the very best and bravest in command have I repeatedly heard declare against it. Speaking as a seaman who knows something of the sort of reasoning prevalent amongst his class, I have no hesitation in saying that it is the least effective check that could be devised for degraded minds, and that men of sensitive feeling are but too certain to be sunk to the degraded class by its infliction, thus inflicting an irreparable evil on the service.81
The ultimate punishment, reserved for the worst crimes, was hanging. A yellow flag was flown from the ship where an execution was to be carried out – usually the condemned man’s own ship. All the ships’ companies near by were order
ed to witness the ceremony, which began with the crime and punishment being read out to the condemned man. A gun was fired and the prisoner was hanged from the fore yardarm, where he remained suspended for an hour or more as a deterrent to others. Hanging evolved into a rather theatrical ceremony, which George Watson described:
Directly below the platform, which is projected from the ship’s side, right under the fore yard arm, a gun is loaded, and when the signal is given for the execution, it is fired and the unhappy culprit is run up amidst the smoke, by a number of men, who man the yard rope, and when the cloud from the cannon clears away, you see the sufferer suspended at the yard arm, lifeless, whom a moment before, you saw standing alive upon the stage, but never saw ascend.82
John Wardocks was adamant that he should not be flogged for a crime that he had committed in self-defence, but his decision to rely on a court martial had tragic consequences, as no mercy was shown:
The Court having very maturely and deliberately weighed and considered the evidence in support of the charge as well as what the prisoner had offered in his behalf was of opinion that the charge had been proved against the prisoner John Wardocks and the Court did in consequence adjudge him to be hanged by the neck until he was dead at the yard arm of such one of His Majesty’s Ships or Vessels and at such time, as the Commissioners for executing the Office of Lord High Admiral of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland should direct.83
All too often, instead of being a deterrent, a hanging evoked sympathy among the seamen. In February 1809 Marine Sergeant John Chapman of HMS Carnation was court-martialled at Martinique on board HMS Pompée for cowardice. During a battle a few months earlier with a smaller French ship, the Palinure, Chapman fled below, followed by many others, just when he should have led a boarding party to capture the French ship. As a result, the French rallied, and boarded and captured the Carnation. The court martial took place after an exchange of prisoners, and James Scott recorded that ‘the unhappy sergeant was condemned to be hung, and thirty-two of his cowardly followers to run him up to the yard-arm, and to be afterwards transported for fourteen years to Botany Bay’.84 Scott described the scene of the execution:
The signal gun was fired from the Admiral’s ship for the boats of the fleet to attend punishment, and repeated by the Pompée. The unhappy man was engaged with the chaplain in deep prayer … From the period of his condemnation his conduct was edifying and devout: he expected no mercy – he sued for none. To have judged him by his behaviour after sentence, it would have been difficult to believe that he could have ever failed in courage or fortitude. The boats assembled around, marines were stationed in the bows and stern-sheets, the hands were turned up, the rigging of the different ships of the squadron filled with their respective crews dressed in their best and uncovered. All was ready, and the sergeant walked from the cabin on to the quarter-deck, attended by the clergyman. An awful stillness pervaded the ship; the sentence of the court, and the order for the execution, were read. His demeanour was so correct, so firm, and yet so submissively resigned, that the feelings of the bystanders were strongly, painfully excited in his favour: the fault for which he was about to suffer was forgotten in the admiration of the Christian fortitude with which he encountered his fate.85
As was often the case, the condemned man made a final speech to the ship’s company, which Scott reported:
He spoke to them in an impressive and collected manner; he acknowledged the justice of his sentence; called upon all those who were about to witness his ignominious death to remember they owed their lives to the service of their country – that by having yielded to unmanly fears he had led others astray, and that he felt he had fairly forfeited his life to the offended laws of his country, adding, that he hoped his fate would be considered a sufficient atonement for his offence. The address was delivered in a tone of deep humility, and he concluded by returning thanks for the kindness he had received.86
Everyone watching was affected by Chapman’s bravery:
The silent tears might be seen coursing each other down the furrowed and bronzed cheek of many a hardy veteran. The scene became over-poweringly distressing as the signal was given to move forward to the scaffold. As he passed the main rigging, a suppressed groan, and ‘God bless you!’ might be plainly heard to issue from the overcharged hearts of the crew … Arrived on the forecastle, he again thanked the clergyman, and with a resolute step mounted the scaffold. He continued absorbed in prayer until the cap was drawn over his eyes. In a few seconds he dropped the handkerchief; the gun exploded under his feet, and in the smoke of the discharge his luckless and condemned shipmates ran him up to the yard-arm. Death must have been instantaneous, for the body never moved. It was an awful, heart-rending ceremony, such as might shake a man with iron nerves.87
A similar fate awaited the mutineers of the Temeraire, as Goodall recorded: ‘A court-martial soon assembled on board the Gladiator, harbour flagship [at Portsmouth], for the trial of the unfortunate men, and after what was considered by all who read the minutes of evidence a fair and impartial inquiry, the whole twenty were found guilty. Eighteen of them were condemned to death, and two were sentenced to one hundred and twenty lashes each round the fleet.’88 It is not clear if all these sentences were carried out. At least six men were hanged, but according to Goodall twelve men were hanged, and the rest had their sentences commuted to transportation. Some of the men were executed on board the Temeraire, after which Goodall wrote:
This lamentable affair having terminated, we now proceeded with all possible dispatch to get ready for sea, and … we sailed for the West Indies. Most of the men considered it likely that we should have to submit to a stricter discipline and a greater degree of rigour in consequence of the late revolt and the anticipations on board prior to our sailing were therefore not of the liveliest description imaginable. In these anticipations we were, however, mistaken, for the Admiral, the Captain, and indeed every officer on board, seemed desirous of doing their utmost to efface the painful impressions of our late melancholy experience, and were sedulous to show the men that they were as much trusted as if nothing had occurred. Every effort was made to raise the spirits of the crew, and every encouragement given to amusement on board, but it was no easy matter to shake off our gloom.89
Map of the Iberian Peninsula
SEVEN
CONVOY AND CAPTURE
Having captured a Spanish ship after a long chase of many shot, on removing the prisoners to your ship you are informed [of ] … much treasure which, as you are joyously sending your boats for, she sinks from the perforations you have made.
One of Captain Rotheram’s ‘Growls of a Naval Life’ on losing a prize ship1
The war at sea was one of attrition, with the navy of each side preying on merchant shipping to starve the enemy of supplies, reduce prosperity and thereby limit the capacity to wage war. From the seaman’s point of view the attraction of this strategy was prize-money from captured ships and the chance of loot. Inevitably, the constant search for prizes was carried on by enemy warships as well, so that one responsibility of Royal Navy warships was to ensure the safety of convoys of British merchant ships, including those involved in the slave trade until this became illegal in 1807. Looking after a convoy of ships was monotonous work, with only rare chances to capture prizes and make money. Lieutenant John Malcolm of the Royal Highland 42nd regiment explained one reason for the tedium: ‘In a voyage under convoy, it is no avail that you happen to be in a fast sailing vessel: nay, it is rather a circumstance of annoyance; for no sooner has she shot a-head of the rest a few miles, than she must lie-to during the finest breeze, in order to wait the slow approach of the heaviest lugger in the fleet.’2
Warships also escorted transport ships that were carrying troops and supplies to arenas of war, and accompanied convoys of convict ships – to the American colonies when Nelson first joined the navy, and later to New South Wales after the American War of Independence. John Malcolm was on board a transport shi
p in a convoy that left Spithead in June 1813 on a voyage to Portugal and the Peninsular War. He wrote down his impression of what it was like to be afloat and leaving England for the first time:
Signal being made for sailing, our convoy, consisting of three ships of war, led the way … The coast of England began to fade at the night-fall; but the wind had almost died away, and the low and indistinct hum of the shore came floating over the waters. I remained upon deck the greater part of the night, listening to the distant and dying sounds, which seemed like farewell voices from the land, until they gradually sank into silence, and nothing was heard but the low ripple of the waves around the prow of our ship, as she glided almost imperceptibly onwards. Next morning, we had lost sight of land – and the world of waters was around us.3
This month-long voyage was, Malcolm believed,
a sufficient time to give one some idea of the sameness of a sea life. During the greater part of that period, its varieties consisted of contrary winds, light airs, dead calms, and two or three smart gales from the wrong quarters … The first part of our voyage, however, was the most unpleasant, as we were for about three weeks without sight of land in the Bay of Biscay. During the calm summer evenings, I used to sit upon deck for hours together, watching the long array of ships spreading their white wings over the ocean.4
