The Unfortunate Captain Peirce by Philip Browne - a review

Tales of shipwreck and lives lost at sea were commonplace in Georgian England. For a maritime tragedy to grab the headlines and become talked about across the nation, it needed to pack a serious emotional punch.

The wreck of the Halsewell, an East Indiaman, off Dorset in early January 1786, had all the right ingredients. It was the captain’s final voyage, his daughters were just two of a bevy of young female passengers, even after reaching shore the survivors were in mortal danger, and there was a dramatic clifftop rescue. Added to that was the whiff of scandal, indeed several, around the behaviour of the sailors, the East India Company, and the tragic captain himself.

All of this story has been captured in the excellent book researched and written by Philip Browne.

More than just a shipwreck

I’ve read several shipwreck narratives and the problem for the author is that the wreck itself doesn’t provide enough material for an entire book.

Philip Browne addresses this by giving us the entire history of Captain Richard Peirce. It’s a thorough account of a sailor who rose through the ranks, and made his fortune, while travelling to and from India and China.

It makes fascinating reading for anyone interested in the maritime history of late Georgian England, or the operation of the East India Company. Peirce’s voyages are described in detail, and the narrative gives plenty of insights into life aboard and around an East Indiaman.

East India House from The Old East Indiamen by EK Chatterton (1914)

The career of Richard Peirce

Richard Peirce joined the crew of an East Indiaman in 1759, aged 20. He presumably had earlier, undocumented, crewing experience. Philip Browne can’t trace his precise origins, and offers various theories as to his parentage and early life.

His first voyage to India, as a junior officer aboard the Houghton, was a round trip of twenty-nine months. After two more journeys to and from the east, each time at a more senior rank, he became captain of the Earl of Ashburnham in 1768.

As he tells Peirce’s story, Philip Browne provides considerable detail around the workings of the East India Company, and the opportunities it offered its officers to earn extra money from conducting private trade. As Peirce accumulated sea miles, his wealth increased, allowing him to marry and take a house in Kingston, outside London.

East Indiamen also carried passengers to India, including young women whose families wished them to find and marry a young man who was making his fortune in the east. It seems that on arrival, these women could soon expect to receive an offer, there being few eligible English women available.

In late 1778, Peirce was commander of a fresh, new ship, the Halsewell. He sailed her to and from the east twice, before setting out on his final journey in the freezing winter weather of very early January 1786.

The wreck of the Halsewell in 1786

The Halsewell East Indiaman from The Old East Indiamen by EK Chatterton (1914)

Passengers aboard the Halsewell included two of Peirce’s daughters, both teenagers, who were journeying to India in anticipation of finding a husband. They were joined by other young ladies, including two cousins.

In snowy and icy conditions, Captain Peirce sailed his ship along the south coast and into a storm. The Halsewell took a battering and began several desperate days of attempted escape, ending with the ship being pulverised on the rocks of the Dorset coast.

The account of those final days was later published, based on the stories of several of the survivors. They told of how in the early part of the storm some of the sailors refused to obey commands to help, and how several feet of water accumulated in the ship’s hold before anyone spotted there was a problem.

As he tried to take his ship to shelter, Captain Peirce lost control of her to the weather. In the early hours of 6 January 1786, the Halsewell crashed against rocks at the base of a high cliff. There, in the darkness, the waves slowly pulled the vessel to pieces while the Captain, his daughters and many others cowered in his quarters. Survivors later described the scene, which various artists tried to capture in paintings and verse.

Those who somehow scrambled onto the slippery rocks were still in danger. No one knew they needed rescue, until some of them clawed their way up the cliff and walked inland to raise the alarm. Even then they may have feared for their lives, as local coastal communities had a reputation for being more interested in salvaging goods than caring for victims.

However, local quarrymen quickly set up ropes to lift survivors from the rocks, under the guidance of a local farmer and a clergyman. Being wrecked at the base of the cliffs meant the Halsewell offered little opportunity for immediate salvage.

Captain Peirce, his daughters, their cousins, and many others did not survive the wrecking of the Halsewell.

The aftermath of the wreck

Philip Browne continues the story beyond the wreck, exploring its impact on the nation. The loss of so many young women, presented through vivid eye-witness accounts of their fate, stirred emotions across the land.

Questions were asked about the ethics of shipping girls to India as brides, about the failure of sailors to do their duty, and about the competence of Captain Peirce. Had he overloaded his vessel, in order to maximise his profit from his final voyage?

The book explores these questions, and details how the story of the wreck was presented in various arts. It clearly made an impression on the nation, and even King George III went to visit the site of the disaster in 1789.

I recommend The Unfortunate Captain Peirce to anyone interested in late Georgian maritime history, or in the story of the East India Company and how our nation traded with India and China. Thoroughly researched and well-written, it achieves a good balance between telling a story and presenting facts.

Almost a sailing tragedy off Weymouth in 1800: a first-hand account

Portland Bill, Dorset (2016)

Overcoming adversity always makes for a good story, particularly when it involves a life-threatening situation. Charles Sturt, Member of Parliament for Bridport, Dorset, had such a tale to tell after sailing off Weymouth in 1800. Within a few days of his adventure, he wrote an account that was later published.

The story begins with King George III, a frequent visitor to the seaside town, who often went aboard Royal Navy ships moored in the bay. On 20 September, the King, with Queen Charlotte and other members of the royal family, went aboard the frigate Cambrian.

While the royals were being entertained by the Navy, Sturt sailed out into Weymouth Bay, where he encountered the cutter of Mr Weld, of Lulworth Castle. 

Weymouth, Dorsetshire by JMW Turner 1

Racing towards disaster

He decided to race Weld’s cutter, but was held back because his own vessel was towing a smaller boat. Sturt asked one of his crew to board this small boat and sail it back to Weymouth, but 

...at this he hesitated and refused. I observed, ‘You my lads, have known me long enough to be satisfied I should not order you to do a thing I would not readily do myself, therefore, reef the sail, slip the mast, I will go myself.’2

Ordering his crew to continue the race with Weld, Sturt began the task of returning his boat to Weymouth. This required him to avoid the Shambles Bank, an area of submerged rocks to the south east of Portland Bill.

A very strong ebb tide carried me to the westward, and on for the Shambles, which I wished to avoid; put before the wind, but, being under a very low sail, could not stem the tide; dared not quit the helm to let the reefs out of the sail, for fear of broaching-to; the tide hauling me dead on the Shambles, where the sea was running tremendously high, and breaking horridly, no time to be lost.

The danger from the shallows of the Shambles is amplified by the nearby Portland Race, where land forces the tides to flow fast and dangerously, just off Portland Bill. Many ships have been wrecked and lives lost because of the Race and the Shambles.

Portland Bill, Dorset (2016)

Time to take emergency action

Realising that he was in trouble, Sturt attempted to lighten his boat by throwing all his ballast overboard. 

And convinced my boat could not exist many minutes, and nothing but the interposition of Providence save me, to divert my thoughts from the horrid idea of death, I began singing the sea song, ‘Cease rude Boreas’.

Written by playwright and poet George Alexander Stevens, ‘Cease rude Boreas’ was also known as ‘the storm song’ and seems to have been a popular choice among sailors facing serious wind and waves.

As I was singing the second verse, a dreadful sea, all foaming, took my boat on her larboard quarter, sheered a-weather my helm she lost her shorage-way broached-to, upset and overwhelmed, the sea rolling over and over; recovering from my alarm without the smallest hope of escaping, I swam to my boat, which was lying on her broadside: with difficulty I got into her and held her fast.

Having been thrown from his boat, and regaining it, Sturt decided he was overdressed for the occasion. He recorded that he “immediately pulled off my coat, waistcoat, shirt, and cravat; this I accomplished with much difficulty being wet”. Now he took in the gravity of his situation.

No sail near me; above fifteen miles from the nearest land; a dreadful hollow, broken sea running in every direction, and frequently overwhelming me, gave me no hopes of saving my life.

Waves crashing against the rocks on Portland

Facing near certain death

Living near the Dorset coast, Sturt was an accomplished sailor, familiar with the hazards of sailing.

To surrender without a struggle, I considered weak; the thoughts of my wife and children, which at that period struck my mind very forcibly (I thought I saw them,) recollecting the difficulties I surmounted two years before, in saving some men from a wreck off my house, and knowing that they were saved from a situation as dreadful as my own by the assistance of Divine Providence this gave me resolution and fortitude to exert myself.

Sturt busied himself trying to organise his vessel as best he could, despite “being repeatedly washed off the boat”. While there were no other ships in sight, Sturt was not alone with the waves.

At this period, several gurnets (a large species of sea-gull,) hovered close to me, and were so bold as to come within two feet of my head. I suppose they anticipated a good meal on me; however, by hollowing pretty loud, I convinced them I was not yet dead; they took flight and I saw no more of them.

Having now spent three hours being soaked by the raging seas, Sturt was roused by the sight of two sails, but the ships were too distant for him to attract attention, so he didn’t bother. When a third, a brig, passed closer, he did all he could to get noticed.

The Pelican sailing off Weymouth Bay

A chance of rescue

I succeeded; I saw her men go up the main shrouds, and the crew stand close together, but passed me without offering to lend me the smallest assistance; this indeed was enough for me to surrender up a life which was no longer supportable; such inhumanity excited in me the strongest emotions of anger; but alas! I had no means of redress; I gave up all hopes of being saved.

Now the wind began pushing Sturt’s boat towards the dangers of the Portland Race. Prospects of rescue failing, he began preparing his body for identification once he was dead.

I took a valuable diamond watch of my wife's out of my fob, tied it securely round the waistband of my trowsers, pulled them off, and tied them round the short of the boat; when I had done this, I made a running knot with the painter, intending to put it round me in my last moments, that my boat, as the wind was, would be driven near my house, or Bridport, and that my watch and seal would lead to a discovery of who I was: having done this, I became quite indifferent, death was no longer terrible; and as I saw no chance of being saved, I sat quietly in the boat, patiently waiting for the next wave to put an end to my suffering.

By his own account, Sturt’s patient waiting seems to have involved regularly being tipped out of and swimming back to his boat, for around an hour. By now, his boat seems to have capsized.

Running out of time

Then, at about half past four in the afternoon, he spotted a further eight sails. The first few to pass by were too far away to spot him.

I reserved my strength for the only two of the eight that had not passed me; a brig came by, I hailed her, lifted up my hands and fortunately I observed they saw me, for her men went up aloft to see what I was; they then tacked and stood toward me, but did not hoist a boat out; this alarmed me.

For whatever reason, the captains of two ships had decided to ignore the shouts and waving from a man in trouble on the seas. 

There was only one more vessel to pass; it was nearly dark, a dismal sea and within two miles of Portland Race: if this passed me, all was over. I roused myself on this occasion, and hailed, her stood on the boat's bottom, was washed off, got on her again and was again washed off; however life was still desirable as long as I saw a chance of being saved.

On this occasion he was rewarded by the sight of a boat being lowered, and he realised rescue was imminent. 

At that instant I was agitated, my firmness seemed to forsake me, for I burst into a flood of tears, and was seized with a violent retching from the quantity of salt water I had swallowed.

Rescue and rewards

It seems that with the assistance of his rescuers, Sturt was able to bring his boat alongside the ship Middleton, under Captain Rankin. Once aboard, Sturt was welcomed by Colonel Jackson of the 85th. At 8pm the Middleton sailed into Portland Roads, the sheltered waters that are now Portland Harbour.

Portland Harbour, Dorset

Here he was reunited with his friends

Mr and Mrs Smith, from whom I received the kindest attention; they thought I was irrecoverably gone, so did their majesties, particularly as captain Ingram declared he saw my boat go down; however it was extremely reasonable to suppose I was lost, the sea running high and breaking in a most tremendous manner: he well knew on those shoals a boat could not long exist, and, on the whole, a most dreadful evening, it was reasonable to suppose I was no more.

Their majesties, with the dukes of Kent and Cumberland, lord and lady Cathcart, Parlet Cathcart: colonels Desborough and Wynyard, generals Goldsworthy Garth, &c, every soul, in short, in Weymouth, heartily congratulated me on my providential escape; the king and queen with their family, on the esplanade, expressed, in the kindest manner their very sincere happiness at my being saved.

Three days later, Sturt returned to the Middleton to thank his rescuers. He gave 10 guineas and a silver cup to Captain Rankin, 5 guineas each to four named crew members, and 20 to be distributed among the other sailors.

The captain and crew of the Earl of Abergavenny were less fortunate.  

 

You can read about this disastrous shipwreck here.

Rachel Knowles writes clean/Christian Regency era romance and historical non-fiction. She has been sharing her research on this blog since 2011. Rachel lives in the beautiful Georgian seaside town of Weymouth, Dorset, on the south coast of England, with her husband, Andrew, who wrote this post.

Find out more about Rachel's books and sign up for her newsletter here.

If you have enjoyed this blog and want to encourage me and help me to keep making my research freely available, please buy me a virtual cup of coffee by clicking the button below.

 

Notes

(1) From Picturesque Views on the Southern Coast of England (details below).
(2) All quotes from The Cabinet of Curiosities Vol 2 (1822) by Samuel Griswold Goodrich.

Sources used include:

Crotch, W, MacFarren, GA, and Wade, J Augustine, A Collection of National English Airs (1838)

Goodrich, Samuel Griswold, The Cabinet of Curiosities: Natural, Artificial and Historical Volume 2 (Hartford, 1822)
Turner, JMW, Picturesque Views on the southern coast of England, from drawings made principally by JMW Turner and engraved by WB Cooke and others (1826)

Portland Bill, Dorset - Geology of the Wessex Coast of Southern England by Ian West - website

The Great Gale in Weymouth and Portland

The sea off Portland 7 January 2014

UK storms - January 2014

The UK has been battered by storms this week. Strong winds and heavy rain have caused severe flooding in some parts, with ferocious seas and swollen rivers bursting their banks. Down the road from where I live in Weymouth, the road over to the Isle of Portland was closed and the siren was sounded to indicate that the sea defences had been breached. Chesil Beach has been re-sculpted. Instead of steps of shingle down to the sea, there is now a steep wall of pebbles.

Chesil Beach 7 January 2014

The storm of 23 November 1824

But this is nothing to the damage caused by the storm of 22-23 November 1824, known as the Great Gale. The storm that hit the south coast of England on the night of the 22 November 1824 is the worst that Weymouth and Portland has ever seen. Hurricane-force winds combined with spring tides to produce tsunami-like waves that topped Chesil Beach.

Chiswell village destroyed

The sea water crashed over the top of Chesil Beach, crushing the village of Chiswell with the force of the sea. More than 30 houses were destroyed and many more made uninhabitable. At least 25 people lost their lives, swept away by the water or crushed beneath the ruins of their homes.

The Gentleman’s Magazine reported:

The destruction of lives and property at Chiswell, Portland Island, Dorset, has been most dreadful; about twenty men, women, and children, were found dead and missing, and more than two hundred persons were without a habitation, and not a particle of property left them. There was scarcely a boat left out of the great number that belonged to the fishermen of the island. Whole streets were swept away in less than half an hour from the time the sea first made in, which was about six o’clock in the morning, and the cries of despair and suffering of the poor unfortunates upon whom the houses were falling, was dreadful. Numbers were dangerously wounded and bruised in their courageous and humane endeavours to rescue others from death.1

Disaster at Ferry Bridge

The Isle of Portland from Weymouth as a Watering Place (1857)

The wild waters eroded Chesil’s pebbled bank and 'the Chisel Bank throughout its whole extent was lowered some twenty to thirty feet.'2

The rope-drawn ferry that operated between the mainland of Weymouth at Wyke and the Isle of Portland, was destroyed by the storm. The ferryman’s cottage was swept away and the ferryman was drowned trying to save a horse.

The sandbank which had previously enabled horses and wagons to drive across to the Island at low water was completely washed away and the gap between Wyke and Portland was four times as big. For some days, Portland was completely cut off from the mainland.

Weymouth seafront smashed to pieces

Weymouth seafront
from Weymouth and Melcombe Regis New Guide
by E Groves (1835)

The rector of Wyke recorded:

The pier of Weymouth Harbour was materially damaged, and three fourths of the esplanade at Melcombe Regis entirely thrown down and demolished.2

The stone posts and chains were pulled from their places and destroyed. Waves poured over the road and flooded the houses on the seafront in Gloucester Row and the Crescent with sand, water and gravel. Boats were torn from their moorings and destroyed or carried down the main streets as if they were at sea.

At a place called the Narrows where the Weymouth backwater joined the sea over the road, two people were swept away and drowned.

The Gentleman’s Magazine reported:

The breakwater, and nearly the whole of the esplanade are washed away. The houses near the sea had four feet of water on their basements.1

At the Preston end of Weymouth, the sea again swept over the road and flooded Lodmor flat – where Lodmoor Country Park is today.

A stone on Weymouth seafront commemorating
the destruction of Weymouth esplanade in 1824

More local destruction

Further west along the coast at Abbotsbury, seven metres of floodwater were recorded. At East Fleet, a tidal wave picked up a haystack and other debris and crashed into the village. The church and several cottages were wrecked. In Dorchester, a falling chimney stack killed the Reverend Richman and his wife in their bed.

A post marking the high water mark
from the 1824 storm, the Swannery, Abbotsbury

Shipwrecks

The storm wrought havoc on the seas causing shipwrecks all along the Dorset coast. The West Indiamen Carvalho and Colville were wrecked on Chesil Beach.

The Gentleman’s Magazine reported:

Off Weymouth, a large ship, entitled the Colville, was wrecked, and every soul on board perished. Seventeen of the dead bodies were thrown up by the sea.1

One of those who drowned – Henry Gosling – was determined not to be buried in an unmarked grave and wrote his name and address on a piece of his shirt and tied it around his neck before he died.

The Ebenezer was more fortunate. The huge waves tossed the ship high onto Chesil Beach; its captain and one crew member were drowned, but the rest were saved. After being repaired, it was relaunched on the Weymouth side of Chesil Beach rather than attempting to lift it back over the top.

Rachel Knowles writes clean/Christian Regency era romance and historical non-fiction. She has been sharing her research on this blog since 2011. Rachel lives in the beautiful Georgian seaside town of Weymouth, Dorset, on the south coast of England, with her husband, Andrew.

Find out more about Rachel's books and sign up for her newsletter here.

If you have enjoyed this blog and want to encourage me and help me to keep making my research freely available, please buy me a virtual cup of coffee by clicking the button below.

 

Notes

(1) From The Gentleman’s Magazine (1824).

(2) From a record of the storm by George Chamberlaine, Rector of Wyke church, written in the back of the baptismal register on 16 December 1824 as quoted in All about Ferry Bridge by Doug Hollings (1993).

Sources used include:

Attwooll, Maureen, Shipwrecks (Discover Dorset series) (1998)

Ellis, George, The History and Antiquities of the Borough and Town of Weymouth and Melcombe Regis (1829)

Hollings, Doug, All about Ferry Bridge (or Smallmouth) (1993)

Simpkin & Marshall, Weymouth as a Watering Place (1857)

The Gentleman's Magazine and Historical Chronicle (1824)

Tucker (pub), Tucker's Improved Weymouth Guide (1851)

All photographs © RegencyHistory.net

The wreck of the Abergavenny

On 5 February 1805, the Earl of Abergavenny sank off the coast of Portland with the tragic loss of 260 lives. The wreck is remembered not only for the horrific death toll, but also for the loss of its captain, John Wordsworth, the brother of the poet, William Wordsworth.

Memorial to the Earl of Abergavenny
on the stone pier, Weymouth (2012)

The last voyage of the Abergavenny

The Earl of Abergavenny by T Lury

The Earl of Abergavenny was part of a convoy of East Indiamen ships heading for China, on the lucrative route via Bengal. The convoy had already suffered two collisions when it became separated from its escort vessel, HMS Weymouth. Abandoning its attempts to sail westwards against the wind, the convoy decided to return to Portland Roads to wait for fairer weather.

As was the custom, as she neared Portland, the Abergavenny took on board a pilot to help navigate around Portland Bill and the shoal of coarse sand and shingle beyond it, known as the Shambles. The pilot proved to be disastrously inept. In the failing light and strong waves, he failed to sail far enough out to sea and the ship was grounded on the Shambles.

You can read a fuller account of the last voyage of the Abergavenny here.

Portland Bill (2012)

The Shambles

The shock of the impact threw the Abergavenny on her side and water poured in down the hatchways and companionways. She righted herself but she could not break free of the Shambles. Men immediately manned the pumps to eject the water whilst the waves continued to pound at her until the hull planking gave way immediately below the pumps.

Thomas Gilpin, fourth mate, later recorded what happened:

During the time she was on the Shambles, had from three to four feet water; kept the water at this height about 15 minutes, during the whole time the pumps constantly going. Finding she gained on us, it was determined to run her on the nearest shore.1

Recent research has suggested that the iron knees that held the deck to the hull and kept the ship secure were attached to the deck and hull by copper nails. This dangerous combination, which may have arisen from a cheap refit, would have caused severe rusting which may have led to the hull disintegrating more readily.

A water-logged ship

At last, after about two and a half hours, the ship floated off the Shambles, but by this time it was so full of water that the sails were unable to carry the ship onto Weymouth Sands.

Gilpin recorded:

The ship would not bear up – kept the helm hard a starboard, she being water-logged; but still had a hope she could be kept up till we got her on Weymouth Sands.2

 Portland Roads - now known as Portland Harbour

The cutter goes for help

Desperate to rally some assistance, the ship’s cutter was launched with the purser, CH Stewart, Joseph Wordsworth and six seamen on board. The other boats were cut free so that they would float freely when the ship went down, but why no attempt was made to launch them is not clear.

Perhaps they thought that the dangers of trying to navigate the ferocious waves in an open boat far outweighed those of staying on board and trying to sail the ship onto land. Perhaps the manpower required to launch the boats would have prevented the pumps from working and the whole ship would have sunk much sooner.

According to Gilpin:

Cut the lashings of the boats – could not get the long boat out, without laying the main-top-sail aback, by which our progress would have been so delayed, that no hope would have been left us of running her aground.3

“She will sink in a moment”

“We have done all we can, Sir – she will sink in a moment,” declared the first mate, Samuel Baggot, to his captain.
“It cannot be helped. God’s will be done,” John Wordsworth replied.4

When the passengers realised that the ship was sinking, some seized planks and bits of hen coop and threw themselves into the sea. Others were swept overboard by giant waves. Some piled into a boat that had been cut loose before the ship sank but there were so many that the boat overturned. Those that were able climbed up the rigging, trying to stay above water.

Around 11pm on the 5 February, the ship went down. When she first settled, part of the main and mizzen masts remained above water and about 200 people desperately clung onto their only hope of staying out of the icy water.

Frontispiece of one of several pamphlets issued about the sinking
of the Earl of Abergavenny 

Help at last

According to Gilpin, the ship fired her guns “from the time she struck till she went down” but very little assistance was rendered by nearby ships. Five passengers were rescued by a boat from a sloop, but the waves were too dangerous for them to attempt to rescue anyone else.

 

Why no one else responded to the cries of distress or the gun fire is not known. Ships later claimed that they did not hear the cries in the noise of the storm. Maybe this was true, or maybe they were motivated by self-preservation in the hazardous conditions or even a desire to plunder the wreck.

It was not until the early hours of the following morning that rescue came. A sloop called the Three Brothers came alongside and rescued the survivors, who climbed down the rigging in an orderly fashion. Many had lost their grip in the dark hours of the night and were drowned; others died afterwards due to hypothermia and exhaustion.

An appalling loss of life

Part of the return of the ship's company
from An Authentic Narrative of the Loss of the Earl of Abergavenny East Indiaman (1805)

The total number of dead was around 260 including the captain, John Wordsworth, Samuel Baggot, who drowned trying to rescue a woman passenger, and Ensign Whitlow, who had made such efforts along with Baggot and Joseph Wordsworth to re-join the ship. The fourth mate, Thomas Gilpin, was applauded for his bravery in trying to save as many as possible.

The death of John Wordsworth

William Wordsworth and his sister, Dorothy, were devastated at the loss of their brother John. Their grief, in turn, affected their literary circle, especially Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Initially it was rumoured that John had been negligent and had not tried to save either the ship or himself after realising his own financial ruin, but the Court of Enquiry at East India House fully acquitted him of any negligence or misconduct.

John Wordsworth was buried in All Saints Churchyard in the Parish of Wyke Regis on 21 March 1805. No gravestone now exists to indicate where the remains of the last captain of the Earl of Abergavenny are buried.

All Saints Churchyard
Wyke Regis, Weymouth(2012)

A memorial to John Wordsworth was erected inside the church in 2005 to mark the 200th anniversary of the tragedy.

 

Memorial to John Wordsworth in All Saints Church,
Wyke Regis, Dorset (2014)

You can find more detail about the events leading up to the wreck in The last voyage of the Earl of Abergavenny 

 
Post updated 19/7/22

Rachel Knowles writes clean/Christian Regency era romance and historical non-fiction. She has been sharing her research on this blog since 2011. Rachel lives in the beautiful Georgian seaside town of Weymouth, Dorset, on the south coast of England, with her husband, Andrew.

Find out more about Rachel's books and sign up for her newsletter here.

If you have enjoyed this blog and want to encourage me and help me to keep making my research freely available, please buy me a virtual cup of coffee by clicking the button below.

 

Notes

1. A gentleman in the East-India House, An Authentic Narrative of the Loss of the Earl of Abergavenny East Indiaman (1805).
2. Ibid.
Ibid.
Hayter, Alicia, The Wreck of the Abergavenny (2002).

Sources used include:
A gentleman in the East-India House, An Authentic Narrative of the Loss of the Earl of Abergavenny East Indiaman (1805)
Boddy, Maureen and West, Jack, Weymouth – an illustrated history (1983)
Chedzoy, Alan, Seaside Sovereign (2003)
Hayter, Alicia, The Wreck of the Abergavenny (2002)

Photographs © RegencyHistory

The last voyage of the Earl of Abergavenny

Loss of the Abergavenny, East Indiaman, off the Isle of Portland
by R Cobbold and J Tomlinson (Dorset County Council)

The Earl of Abergavenny was an East Indiaman ship, under the captaincy of John Wordsworth, brother of the poet, William. On 2 February 1805, she sailed in a convoy of ships heading first for India and then on to China. John Wordsworth hoped that it would be the voyage to make his fortune and that of his brother, who would then be able to devote himself to his poetry. The Abergavenny never made it out of British waters.

The Earl of Abergavenny

The Earl of Abergavenny was an East Indiaman ship, a 1200 ton vessel, 176 feet long and 43 feet wide and carrying 30 guns, and manned by a crew of 160 to 200 men. In January 1801, John Wordsworth succeeded his cousin, another John Wordsworth, as captain of the ship.

Captains could make their fortunes by carrying passengers and private cargo whilst publicly acting for the East India Company. Larger vessels, like the Abergavenny, were normally given the direct route to China, but for this voyage, influential friends, in particular William Wilberforce, secured Wordsworth the more profitable route via Bengal.

A valuable opportunity

This route offered threefold trading – selling goods to the British community living in India, buying opium in Bengal to sell in China and purchasing tea in China for the English market. There was little knowledge of the ill effects of opium addiction in Britain at the time and although the very profitable opium trade was banned, smuggling was very common and Wordsworth, like many others, took a lax view on it.

By investing family money in this profitable trade, Wordsworth hoped to make his fortune. According to the ship’s manifest, the cargo of the Abergavenny on its final voyage was estimated to be worth around £90,000, including chests of silver dollars worth £70,000 to buy goods in both Bengal and China.

Tea set, Kew Palace

Gravesend to Portsmouth

The Abergavenny travelled in a convoy of East Indiamen from Gravesend to Portsmouth, arriving on 23 January 1805. When the convoy was in the Downs, a heavy gale caused it to collide with another East Indiaman, the Warren Hastings, which had dragged her anchor in the gale. The Abergavenny got off lightly, but the Warren Hastings suffered £2000 damage and the repairs caused her to miss the convoy.

The convoy

In Portsmouth, the Abergavenny took on board 108 of the Company’s troops and a number of the King’s troops, and, after uncertain weather, the convoy moved out to Spithead on the 30 January. The convoy included four other East Indiamen, the Royal George, the Henry Addington, the Wexford and the Bombay Castle, and two whalers, and was escorted by HMS Weymouth, a 44 gun frigate commanded by Captain Draper, commodore of the convoy.

They set sail on 1 February, but a further collision between the Henry Addington and HMS Weymouth caused yet more delay, and it was not until the 2 February that the convoy finally sailed through the Needles Channel. Despite the collisions already endured, the ships were under strict instructions to keep together in convoy.

What happened to HMS Weymouth?

HMS Weymouth led the convoy on a south-westerly course from the Needles Rocks, but at some point lost sight of the convoy. She burnt a blue light all night but failed to find them. Mistakenly believing the convoy to be ahead of her, the Weymouth sailed on west, eventually deciding to sail out into the Atlantic, presumably in the belief that the convoy was still ahead of her.

In reality, the convoy had spent 24 hours tacking off the Needles whilst the Weymouth sailed past them. Eventually the convoy gave up waiting for her and headed westwards, rounding Portland Bill and heading for Lyme Bay against the wind.

Latecomers

Here, Samuel Baggot, the first mate, Joseph Wordsworth, the third mate and a son of the older John Wordsworth, a Company cadet and Ensign Whitlow of the 22nd Foot, who had missed the boat in Portsmouth, succeeded in catching up with them, by means of an open boat that they had hired at an extortionate rate.

Back to Portland Roads

The coast off Portland (2012)

When the convoy was about 12 leagues to the west of Portland, Captain Clarke of the Wexford, who had taken charge of the convoy after losing contact with HMS Weymouth, decided that it was best to return to Portland Roads and wait for better weather. Accordingly, the convoy set off eastward, and about two leagues west of Portland, the ships picked up pilots to navigate them round Portland Bill.

The Abergavenny was the sternmost ship of the convoy and did not pick up its pilot until about 3pm in the afternoon. Despite, supposedly, being a local man, the pilot “did not seem well acquainted with the coast.” In fading light, the ship sailed south past Chesil Beach and the barren cliffs of Portland Island and carried on southwards out to sea.

The Shambles

Two miles out to sea to the south east of Portland Bill lies a shoal of coarse sand, shingle and crushed shells called the Shambles. It measures nearly 3 miles long and in the centre, is only 11 feet below the surface at low water. The pilot sought to avoid the Shambles, but failed to give the shoal a wide enough berth. When the fierce wind suddenly died away, the strong tide set the ship against the breakers and she was driven head on onto the Shambles about 5pm on 5 February.

Rocks on the coast of Portland (2012)

Grounded

When the ship became grounded, Captain Wordsworth was appalled. He realised that the damage to his ship would prevent her from joining the convoy and therefore he would lose out on the profitable trading he had depended upon to make his fortune. He cried out in despair: “Oh pilot! Pilot! You have ruined me!”

But it was more than financial ruin that Wordsworth was to face; it was the loss of his ship and the lives of 260 of its passengers, including his own.

Read more about the ship's fate in The wreck of the Earl of Abergavenny

Rachel Knowles writes clean/Christian Regency era romance and historical non-fiction. She has been sharing her research on this blog since 2011. Rachel lives in the beautiful Georgian seaside town of Weymouth, Dorset, on the south coast of England, with her husband, Andrew.

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Sources used include:

A gentleman in the East-India House, An Authentic Narrative of the Loss of the Earl of Abergavenny East Indiaman (1805)
Boddy, Maureen and West, Jack, Weymouth – an illustrated history (1983)
Chedzoy, Alan, Seaside Sovereign (2003)
Hayter, Alicia, The Wreck of the Abergavenny (2002)

Photographs © RegencyHistory