The Transport Board was responsible for providing troopships for the West Indies passage, although the control of transports was contested by the army and navy throughout the wars. Some navy ships were adapted for the carriage of soldiers, but most of the vessels used in the Caribbean expeditions were privately owned merchant ships. The British merchant fleet was substantial, over 14,500 registered ships in 1793, but only a small proportion of these vessels were both suitable for military use and available to the Board at any given time. For Abercromby’s first expedition, the Board resorted to hiring ships from Germany and from the East India convoys. The relentless demand for transports – over 135,000 soldiers were carried overseas during the French Revolutionary Wars – meant that they were worked very hard. Their quality was variable. At best, they were specialist vessels, ideal for a voyage to the Tropics. John Moore assured his mother in 1796 that he had secured an excellent ship at Portsmouth, ‘…a West Indian trader, coppered’. George Pinckard was equally fortunate to make his voyage on the Lord Sheffield.
…a very fine West India ship…she is conveniently fitted out for passengers, and is, expressly, calculated for the West Indies, having awnings, scuttles, port-holes and all the necessary accommodations for the climate.
At the other extreme, troopships were unfit for purpose and even unseaworthy. Pinckard had earlier boarded the transport Bridgewater for a planned transfer from Portsmouth to Cork. He was lucky that there was a quick change of plan as he judged the vessel to be ancient and potentially unsafe. The Admiral de Vries, a captured 68-gun third-rate man of war on which Andrew Bryson sailed from Ireland to Barbados in 1799 was no better.
The vessel had been very leaky all the Passage insomuch that the Pumps had to be kept Going 14 out of the 24 hours. This afternoon, however, we had been pumping as hard as possible with all the 4 Pumps and Could not Get her dry. At 12 o’ clock at night Purss & I had to take the works for 4 hours & after working as hard as we could with 32 men for an hour, we could not find that the Water seemed to Get any lower…
Only when all the rank and file were called on to man the pumps was the four feet of water removed. Bryson says that the army officers remained oblivious of the problem, ‘…but on taking up their heavy Baggage it was all Rather!!!!!!’ With so many ships in similar condition, soldiers were forced to be pragmatic. When Norbert Landsheit and his comrades of the York Hussars returned from Saint Domingue they were dismayed to discover the wretched condition of their transport. ‘Our scruples were finally overcome by the assurance that other vessels were just as miserably provided…’3
Many of the soldiers’ complaints relate to overcrowding. This was despite regulations in place from the 1790s specifying the number of men to be embarked dependent on the size and destination of the vessel. More transports were required for the West Indies than for a Continental expedition as extra space was allocated for voyages over longer distances and to warmer climes. Thus, soldiers bound for the Caribbean were allowed two tons per man compared with one to one and a half tons for local and European destinations. Officers were variably allotted the tonnage of two to four privates. This all meant that a regiment of 700 men required 1,400 tons of shipping. Since most merchant ships used as transports were between 150 and 300 tons, on average six troopships would be needed.
Once on board, the troops were accommodated in hammocks or in berths or a combination of the two. The former were more comfortable and healthier but they consumed more space; a ship capable of carrying 300 men in hammocks might carry 500 in berths. Often, for instance in Abercromby’s expeditions, hammocks were recommended but subsequently rejected by the Transport Board as being impracticable and uneconomical. Such compromises are reflected in the eyewitness accounts of living conditions on the troopships. At worst, there were hardly any preparations for the boarding troops. George Pinckard was shocked to find that HMS Ulysses, a converted 44-gun frigate, had no particular arrangements for their accommodation. ‘Not a cot was flung; nor any sleeping places allotted’. He eventually found a bed and endured a difficult introduction to his new life at sea.
Our first night has been restless and disturbed – the unpleasant heaving of the ship – the creaking of bulk-heads, and other noises – the uneasy motion of the cot, and a whole host of annoyances, prevented me from sleeping. At each movement of the ship, or the cot, my feet were stuck against the bulk-head at the bottom of the ward-room; or I was bumped upon the huge cannon standing under me; or had Cleghorn’s feet roughly presented to my head.
William Surtees, departing Portsmouth for the West Indies almost 20 years later in 1814, was also aboard a crudely converted man of war. Twenty-four officers were forced to share one cabin. He complains that ‘all the discipline and strictures’ of the ship made the men’s situation even more intolerable; ‘In fact, we wished our fortune had placed us upon a transport…’
Once the West Indies was reached there were still the frequent shorter voyages between the islands and conditions were often no better than on the original passage out. James McGrigor, transferring from Barbados to Grenada in 1795, found the man of war to be ‘choke-full’. ‘We were sadly crowded; there was not room for all of us to lie down at one time, at night, to sleep; every floor and deck of the ship being crowded’. McGrigor’s medical colleague, Physician Pinckard, suffered similar indignities between Barbados and Saint Domingue. The ship, a West Indian trader, was a good one, but she was soon packed with more than 300 troops, many of them drunk. The decks were so full that it was difficult to move about. ‘Negroes, sailors, soldiers, and officers all mingled together, in one hurried and anxious mass…’ On the upper deck, soldiers were forced to lie down with no covering using their arms or knapsacks as pillows with less than a foot between them. In such conditions, it is unsurprising that vermin thrived. Norbert Landsheit’s ship returning from the Caribbean was infested with ‘swarms of rats, musketos, cockroaches and other reptiles’. The battle against the rats was a constant one; seasoned sailor William Richardson remembers that they took possession of his ship, HMS Tromp, at Martinique, ‘by their fighting and their noise night and day’. Eventually, a rat-catcher was employed. We have no record of the number of rats on voyages to the West Indies but Thomas Swaine, a naval rat-catcher operating in the 1780s, documented the killing of 2,475 animals in the hull of the 90-gun ship Duke and 1,015 on the flagship Prince of Wales.4
For many soldiers the greatest misery of the voyage to the Caribbean was seasickness. Army Physician Benjamin Moseley, who served in the West Indies, notes that the affliction often only lasted for the first day or two but that it was ‘extremely harassing’ and that some unfortunates were attacked for longer periods and only relieved by the end of the voyage. Moseley himself was so severely affected that on his arrival at Jamaica he could hardly walk. He tells us that a common remedy among sailors was a draught of seawater. Thomas St Clair, making for Demerara, experienced the ‘horrors’ of the disorder. When the sea became rougher, his fellow passengers came down to their small and filthy cabins appearing ‘as pale as ashes’. The reluctant soldier, Andrew Bryson, attended a company roll call soon after the departure from Ireland where three out of every four men were vomiting ‘till their hearts were like to come up’. Some sufferers had to have their hammocks cut down to force them up on to the deck. Although affected himself, he could not help laughing at the appearance of his comrades drawn up in ranks.5
As the sight of home was lost and the ships made for the Bay of Biscay (see illustration 26 for a typical route to the West Indies), a daily routine was established by the military officers. The primary objectives were to promote order and to preserve health. The troops were divided into three watches so as to keep one-third upon deck at one time. This was intended to reduce the overcrowding below. From 8 to 10 in the morning, the men were brought up on deck for bathing and to allow the berths and surrounding areas to be cleaned. Toileting included washing of hands and face, the hair combed and tied and clothes to be brushed and shoes c
leaned. Inspection by the officers was followed by a 10am parade. Activities during the remainder of the day were more variable and might include washing and drying of clothes and cleaning and oiling of arms and accoutrements. Soldiers were back on deck at half past six for parade, during which the floors between decks were swept. In general, the men occupied the decks less when it was raining. Saturday evening was reserved for entertainment, often dancing for the officers whilst the rank and file made their own amusement below deck. On Sunday morning, there was a religious service.
This routine was underpinned by formal guidelines, for instance, the Regulations for the better preservation of the Heath of Troops at Sea and on Service in hot climates produced by military and medical officers consulted at the behest of Sir Ralph Abercromby in September 1795 and used during his first major expedition to the West Indies. Further suggestions included the whitewashing of decks and the transfer of sick men from transports to hospital ships accompanying the fleet. We will return to the wider measures used to prevent disease on sea and land in more detail in a later chapter.
Most private soldiers apparently complied with the stringencies of the regulations but there were subversive elements. Bryson and his fellows usurped the system designed to allow only two companies to be on deck at a given time by painting an extra number on the reverse of their caps. Most officers strove to impose the rules and to protect their own and their men’s wellbeing. Captain Thomas Powell of the 14th Regiment, on a voyage to Barbados in February 1796, was proud of the low mortality among his charges compared with another vessel attended by his ship’s surgeon.
On the [other] transport there was 73 sick and they had thrown 12 overboard out of 170 which was the number at first embarked. We had in the Frances and Harriet, exact the same number, 170, we did not lose a man, nor had we a single sick man in the ship, when they came on board, which astonished them a little.
Powell describes the rigorous interpretation of the regulations including the regular fumigations with a mixture of gunpowder, vinegar and tar. William Dyott was convinced of the merits of a salt water bath, managing to give himself ‘a most complete lavage, in which I stood great need, as the dirt (I may say filth) accumulates most wonderfully on board ships…’ More significantly, he had tubs prepared and fixed on the forecastle in order that his men could also wash themselves. This, he explained, was both to preserve their health and give them relief from the heat.
The victualling of the fleet was also described in contemporary regulations. Troops were normally supplied with food and drink at two-thirds of a sailor’s whole allowance; thus six soldiers were victualled the same as for four seamen. Women and children received lesser allowances. This meant that the provisions given in one week to six soldiers on board a transport bound for the Caribbean would be 28 pounds of bread, 28 half pints of spirits, 12 pounds of pork, 8 pints of pease, 16 ounces of butter and 32 ounces of cheese. In reality, there were often deficiencies in both amount and quality. Lieutenant Thomas Phipps Howard describes the regret of all aboard his Barbados bound ship when the last potato was consumed; ‘A vegetable being some kind of relieve [relief] when nothing but Salt Provisions were issued out’. Harry Ross-Lewin says that his shipboard rations were of the worst description, the cheese being riddled with ‘long red worms’. The round of boiled beef was too large for the cupboard and was instead hung up in a cabin, its perpetual movement only serving to exacerbate the men’s nausea. When the officers complained to the ship’s captain they were informed that the food was ‘good enough for soldiers’. The salted diet was poor in vitamin C; William Dyott was lucky enough to be able to bring aboard his own cask of vegetables – carrots and turnips – and also a hamper of apples. Ordinary soldiers could not afford such luxuries and the impact of scurvy will be discussed later. Good drinking water was also at a premium, George Pinckard being forced to consume ‘putrid and offensive’ water on the HMS Ulysses. He found this to be a particular misfortune as he was averse to wine and beer. Most had no such reservations regarding alcohol. Powell says that his men had half their rum mixed with water and half not and that they drank porter with their biscuit.6
The maintenance of a good relationship between soldiers and sailors was a priority for both military and naval officers. This was a controversial subject in the 1790s. Regulations stipulated that soldiers and army officers on board transports were not subject to naval discipline and it appeared in the regulations of 1795 that this also applied to warships. Senior naval figures, notably Lord Spencer, First Lord of the Admiralty, argued that troops aboard warships should be answerable to naval law to ensure the efficient working of the vessel and to emphasise the primary position of the ship’s commander. It seems that the disagreement was partly defused at the time of the Abercromby Christian expedition when the awkward regulations were ignored and discretion left to army and navy officers. Pinckard, always observant, comments that the sailors were liable to mock the soldiers, especially those who were seasick, ‘Steward! Why don’t you give the gentleman a piece of fat pork to settle his stomach’.7
Both soldiers and sailors were understandably preoccupied with the weather. The passage could be remarkably uneventful. Lieutenant Henry Clinton wrote to his brother from Barbados in 1796 that he had just experienced ‘the finest voyage ever made’ with moderate weather and a smooth sea, ‘…a glass of water placed upon the capstan would have run hardly any risk of being spilled’. James Aytoun, a rare voice from the ranks, had an idyllic passage out on a transport. ‘I believe there is no voyage in the world equal to that to the West Indies. The weather was fine, the wind always blowing to the point where we were bound for’.
Of course, few were this fortunate and there are many graphic accounts of storms at sea. Unusually severe gales lashed Western Europe in 1794−96 and Thomas Phipps Howard’s journal entry for Wednesday 9 March 1796 is typical of many accounts.
Much wind with Rain. The Sea agitated in a most frightful Manner. The Vessel rocked so much that every wave broke directly over, so that no fire could be lighted; & the Soldiers in the Hold were almost drowned inspight [sic] of every thing I could invent to keep the Water from them. At Daybreak the Sea washed away one of the forward Necessaries while an Hussar was sitting on it; & what was almost next a Miracle, the next wave washed the Man on the Deck again. In the Even: the Wind abated.
The Reverend Cooper Willyams, sailing with the Grey Jervis expedition of 1793, describes similar events at the height of a storm. Soldiers and sailors were thrown about the deck and the sides of the vessel appeared to twist and bend as it rolled through the swell. The heavy guns hung out on one side and pressed against the other. It was, he admitted, ‘a scene of surprise and alarm to the inexperienced voyager’. Lightning could inflict extensive damage. Thomas Henry Browne, making his passage in late 1808, relates a direct strike against the top of a mast, possibly attracted by an iron cap. One man was killed on the spot and a dozen soldiers, including Browne himself, were knocked over. The mizzen-mast was split from top to bottom. After the Union Jack was raised as a sign of distress, carpenters and a surgeon came aboard from another frigate in the convoy. Browne says that the effect of the ‘flash’ was such that he had impaired vision and hearing and a shrivelled left arm. ‘One of the men who had been struck, lost his senses, and was I believe, subsequently discharged from the Regiment as an idiot’.8
Whereas death or insanity caused by lightning must be regarded as unlucky, there was a real risk of perishing from shipwreck and sinking. When the ships were crowded the casualties from these accidents often exceeded those from sea battles. In the course of the Abercromby expedition hundreds of troops were drowned in the Channel and the Bay of Biscay. We have, of course, only the tales of the survivors. Major Thomas Brisbane of the 53rd took control when his vessel ran aground in November 1795:
Our ship, the William and Mary, a Newcastle collier, commanded by Captain Gordon, separated from the fleet; and after our vessel had sailed alone for some weeks, the master c
ame to my cabin one morning at four o’clock, and awoke me, to say that they had made the land; but he was afraid it was the main continent. I immediately got upon deck, and found the ship among the breakers; and the captain upon seeing the danger said, ‘Lord, have mercy on us, for we are all gone!’ I said that is all very well, but let us do everything we can to save the ship. He ordered the helm to be put hard down; but so completely were the seamen paralysed by their awful situation, that none of them would touch a rope. With the assistance of the officers, I, with my own hands, eased off the main boom to allow the ship to pay off, and the sails to draw upon the other tack. Most providentially the wind came from the coast and filled the sails, and though we were from four till ten in this critical juncture, yet we found ourselves at length off the bank.
Death Before Glory Page 22
