The boatswain's mate was also responsible for administering the cat when a sailor was flogged
A fantastic Cruickshank depiction of life on board below deck in the 1820s. Drunkenness, revelry and ladies of the night were par for the course!
'John Collins, seaman, lost his arms, his gun going off while he was loading it'
The enemy. France suffered serious problems in maintaining its naval manpower, lacking the brutal but efficient press-gang system of 'recruitment'. Napoleon also creamed off the best and fittest men for his vast land armies.
'Commenced/continued a heavy cannonading until 7.40am when the frigate struck his colours'
The Boatswain's Call
In 1793 one of my direct ancestors, William Drake - born on 17 March 1771 - was earning his crust in Plymouth, probably working out at sea.
At that time, Plymouth was a fair-sized town; its reputation as a Royal Navy port was already long established, with ships built, upgraded and serviced in the nearby dockyards. When war with Revolutionary France broke out that year, one of Britain's immediate concerns was to bolster her naval personnel – through fair means or foul.
Welcome aboard
Impress gangs, as most of us know, were part of the government's effort to resolve shortages of manpower. While the gangs were famous for employing violent means to achieve their quotas, many of the 'recruits' offered little resistance, meeting their fate with stoic resignation. The Royal Navy, although tough, did at least offer three square meals and a competitive wage.
William Drake was 'pressed' in May 1794 and taken to the guard ship Cambridge. Within a month, he was transferred to the Perseus and rated 'able-bodied' (i.e. a first-rate sailor), suggesting he had accepted his situation with relative willingness. Achieving able-bodied status required at least two years experience of being at sea, hence he must have worked on the open waves before beginning his naval career.
On 26 November, William was transferred to HMS Anson, a 44-gun, razéed frigate under the command of Captain Durham. He was now at the sharp end of the war. It also appears that he fell into the free-wheeling sailor's life when off duty; in 1796 he is listed as under treatment for a venereal disease. Payment for the cure was a hefty sum of 15/-.
But it was not all bad news in that year, for William was promoted to the position of quartermaster's mate. His duties were to help the quartermasters, who were primarily responsible for steering the ship and keeping the time.
Meanwhile, the war on land for France's enemies had not been going according plan. French forces repeatedly frustrated or defeated her opponents, while at the same time extending revolutionary regime's influence far and wide. At sea, however, her fortunes floundered. In 1794, the British had roundly defeated the French Atlantic Fleet in an action known as the Glorious First of June. In 1796, a French fleet was decimated in an attempt to reach Ireland with soldiers and equipment.
Third time lucky?
Ireland was viewed by the French as Britain's soft underbelly. The theory was, albeit presented here in a very simplified form, that a French army - even a smallish one - on Irish soil would be supported and supplied by a sympathetic local population and would draw British attentions away from the Continent. A second effort to land troops in Ireland failed in 1797.
In mid September 1798, British ships, including Anson, were engaged in an aggressive chase of a third French fleet heading for Ireland. The enemy numbered one ship-of-the-line, Hoche, and eight frigates. On board were roughly 3,000 troops.
Playing his part in thwarting this third attempt - and now a boatswain's mate - was William Drake. It is worth noting that William's primary duty was to ensure that the commands of the boatswain and the ship's officers were followed swiftly and without fuss. Any sailor considered slacking faced being struck by a rattan cane or length of rope at the hands of the boatswain's mate.
'Starting', as this punishment was known, was deeply resented and many captains issued strict orders to limit its use. It was banned by 1809. The boatswain's mate was also responsible for administering the cat when a sailor was flogged.
Out in Atlantic waters, and closing on the coast of Ireland, the French were still desperately trying to shake off the pursuing British in atrocious weather. On 12 October, the two enemies came to blows in an action fought just off Ireland's northwest coast, known as the Battle of Tory Island. The French suffered the capture of Hoche and three other frigates. The surviving French ships took to their heels.
Prize fight
While the French were being put to flight, Anson was some way to the south attempting to catch up. Her crew was frantically trying to get their storm-battered ship in order: it had lost her mizenmast and topmasts to the fury of the weather. Captain Durham and his crew must have been surprised, therefore, to suddenly find themselves in the direct path of the fleeing French frigates, which hove into view flying false British ensigns.
Anson attempted to engage and fired on the Loire, but the effort was somewhat desultory as the British ship was extremely limited in its ability to manoeuvre. As the French sped on, Anson turned and lumbered after its erstwhile quarry.
Days later, on 16 October, the Loire fell into trouble. The French ship was spotted and pursued by HMS Mermaid and the brig Kangaroo. The latter was quick enough to sail into range of its larger opponent and start an artillery duel. It was an uneven match and the British ship suffered a fair degree of damage. Catching up, Mermaid's effort to tackle Loire ended when her mizenmast was lost to a French shot.
But the Loire had also taken damage and, despite keeping ahead of its immediate pursuers, was now vulnerably slowed. Two days later, and still being tracked by Mermaid and Kangaroo, the Loire was sighted again by Anson.
Supported by Kangaroo, Anson closed up the distance at 10.30am. The battle was a slow and sluggish affair, although made all the worse for the French by Kangaroo's effective raking of their stern. At 12.00pm, his ship now badly leaking, Captain Segond ordered Loire's colours struck.
The crew of Anson must have rejoiced that night - not only had they defeated the enemy, but they had captured a good ship and each man could expect a sizable slice of prize money (the portion of which related to the crew member's rank). Later on, a medal was struck to commemorate the defeat of the 1798 French invasion attempt and William appears on the naval medal roll as a recipient.
Almost a year later, on 9 September 1799, Captain Durham had the honour of entertaining George III on board Anson. During the evening, the King was suddenly noted as missing. His staff (presumably quite panicked) quickly found him below deck, surrounded by the ship's company and talking to an old sailor. Could William have also been there as the King listened to a good salty yarn or two?
Step up the ladder
With a major action under his belt and having climbed, ever so slightly, up the ranks, William probably felt confident enough to start something of a settled life - settled that is when compared with the average sailor's.
In the late 1790s, he married a girl called Mary and set up home in 'Dock', then located two miles outside of Plymouth. In 1799 his first child, William, was born and baptised. More children followed, including John in 1802, from whom I am descended.
In the same year, Britain and France reached a negotiated peace, the Treaty of Amiens. William was dropped from the Anson's complement and found a position as a rigger at 'Yard'. It was grinding work and was probably not a job that William would have been proud of.
The peace between Britain and France was never likely to last and in May 1803 hostilities restarted. Britain now had to fight France under the firm control of the masterful Napoleon, who cemented his powerbase in 1804 by crowning himself Emperor. On and off the battlefield, Napoleon had made his new Empire seem an invincible powerhouse.
In 1804, William returned to war, applying for and obtaining the post of boatswain on board HM Sloop Dispatch. What were his new duties? Firstly, a boatswain had to have a basic level of literacy and maths. He was charged with securing and signing off supplies relevant to the rigging and sails of the ship. He was also required to keep a stock book that was regularly inspected by the captain. The boatswain's supplies were kept in a separate store room under William's direct control.
Secondly, the boatswain was responsible for the state and condition of the rigging on deck, which William was required to formally inspect every day. He also ensured that the ship's boats, anchors and other on-deck fixtures and fittings were in good order.
Thirdly, William and his boatswain's mates - whose responsibilities we have already touched upon - were authorised to maintain discipline, particularly when the men were aloft. A great deal of activity on deck would be controlled by the high-pitched calls of the boatswain's and his mates' whistles. In battle, the boatswain's station was on deck at the forecastle.
As a petty officer, William now had the luxury of his own cabin, located next to his store room. He would mess in the gun room with the other petty officers on board.
Enemy engaged
Dispatch was a lot smaller than the Anson. She carried 18 guns and mustered around 120 men. However, she was fast and well-suited to the vital role of patrolling enemy waters and investigating ships, although it should be noted that Dispatch was never out of port for excessive periods: she would return to Plymouth irregularly to restock her supplies.
Leave for William was never very long as the ship almost always returned to sea within a very short space of time. His home life, therefore, must have been very limited indeed. But we should also spare a thought for Mary, who had to manage without her husband for lengthy periods of time with the added worry for his safety.
Dispatch's logbook and the independent logbook of Lieutenant Alexander Ingram, both covering the years 1804-1807, have survived. Meticulously noted down are longitudes and latitudes, the weather conditions, the daily routine and any actions or unusual events. Some rather unedifying details, however, were left out (click here for a short account of Captain Hawkins' court martial for murder).
On Sunday 13 January 1805, in miserable conditions, Dispatch approached Brest. 'Counted 27 sails, 20 of which I suppose to be of the line and of frigates,' notes the log. Nearing such an important enemy base would have involved a degree of danger and would have certainly required skill and determination from all on board.
When it came, direct action was usually swift and often brutal. On 5 October 1805, for example, Dispatch chased and fired on a small French convoy comprising a gun brig, a lugger and a schooner. The enemy, protected by a nearby shore battery, was confident enough to return fire. The light winds of that day then fell, which slowed the Dispatch and allowed the enemy to sail out of range. 'During the firing,' the log notes, 'John Collins, seaman, lost his arms, his gun going off while he was loading it.'
Richer Pickings
Although it had scored a magnificent successes in 1805 (including Trafalgar, of course), the Royal Navy was not about to rest on its laurels. Indeed, the French navy was still very much active and, on occasion, was still capable of causing serious headaches.
At the end of 1805, for example, the 74-gun Regulus, two 44-gun frigates, Cybele and Presidente, and a brig-corvette, Surveillant, slipped past British patrols and made their way to West Africa. Here they wrecked havoc on a number of British merchant and slave ships. In early 1806, the French squadron retired to Brazil for a refit. This done, they headed for Caribbean waters where they continued to prey upon British shipping.
In late August 1806, the French squadron made for home, but were dispersed by a hurricane during the crossing. In the early hours of 27 September, it was Presidente's bad luck to be spotted and then pursued by a British squadron, which included the Dispatch. Being faster than the other British ships, she closed in with the enemy and, at 6.30am, prepared for action.
Dispatch fired its bow gun, which, according to the log, 'commenced/continued a heavy cannonading on both sides until 7.40am when the frigate struck his colours'. Captain Hawkins ordered a boat of men to row over and secure possession of the Presidente. The French, however, had a sudden surge of courage and re-hoisted their colours. Dispatch quickly prepared to fire a starboard broadside and 'the enemy perceiving our manoeuvre, hauled his colours down the second time'.
Hawkins finally took possession of his prize, with 337 men taken prisoner.
Dispatch had pulled off an amazing coup. On paper, at least, Presidente should have been able to blow her out of the water. Instead, the damage done to the Dispatch was minimal. One man was recorded as wounded, while the topsail and topmast had been shot through. The rigging - much to William's consternation no doubt - was reported as 'much shattered'. To add to his misery, Ingram notes that there was 'water in the boatswain's storeroom'. The lieutenant also records that 'several men [are] much burnt with powder'.’
A few weeks after this dramatic action, Dispatch captured two French traders. One of the ships was found to be carrying sardines. Its cargo and value as a ship must have been limited, for Dispatch's crew promptly scuttled her. The larger ship was a far more useful prize, carrying brandy, coffee and some guns. She was quickly made ship-shape and taken back to
Battle in the Baltic
In spring 1807, Dispatch was still patrolling the waters close to
Given that the
Legally, even at that time, Lillicrap's capture and impoundment of a neutral ship probably trampled upon a good number of maritime and international laws. It was this sort behaviour by Royal Navy vessels, along with a plethora of other factors, that helped lead to the outbreak of war between
Later on in the year, Dispatch was sent to help with the landing of 8,000 men from the King’s German Legion onto the Island of Rugen - just off the northern coast of Germany - near to Stralsund, the capital of what was then Swedish Pomerania.
The Swedes were busy fighting, but being brought to heel by the French, who in turn were increasing their grip on continental Europe. Dispatch was used to help cover the withdrawal of the Swedish king, Gustavus, travelling in a Swedish frigate. She was also involved in a bombardment of French positions near Griefswald.
On 21 August, Dispatch escorted the last troops off Rugen. They were transported to Kioge Bay, Zealand, to join a larger force that had been assembled for a campaign against the kingdom of Denmark.
Fearing that France would invade Denmark and seize her navy, Britain had decided to launch a 'pre-emptive strike' against the neutral Scandinavian kingdom (Denmark had already faced the wrath of the Royal Navy in 1801 when Nelson scored a notable victory at the first battle of Copenhagen).
The plan this time was simple: a large force would be sent to Copenhagen and the Danes told to hand over their fleet. Somewhat understandably, the Danes refused. In command of the ground forces was Sir Arthur Wellesley (later the Duke of Wellington). His army surrounded the city, while the Royal Navy blocked all sea routes and positioned their ships to aid in any bombardment.
On 1 and 2 September, the British again demanded the fleet be handed over. The Danes continued to refuse. In response, the British began a bombardment of Copenhagen. On 4 September the shelling caused a large fire, which destroyed the city's main cathedral. On 6 September, the Danes agreed to all terms. The British quickly busied themselves getting the Danish fleet into a seaworthy condition and, on 21 October, they finally left Copenhagen taking the captured ships them.
So where was William in all this? Dispatch was part of the inshore squadron commanded by Captain Puget. Lillicrap's ship engaged and fought Danish gunboats almost every day until the British victory. Early on in the campaign, on August 31, Dispatch witnessed the destruction of the armed troopship Charles, which was blown up by Danish battery fire. Ten men were killed.
Who knows, however, what William must have thought about the destruction inflicted on Copenhagen? When the Danes finished counting the dead, they discovered that over 2,000 civilians had perished.
When the war is over
William remained on Dispatch until she was broken up in 1811. She had spent a great deal of her final years in the Caribbean, a region of the world where one was lucky to come back without suffering from the debilitating effects of tropical disease.
In 1814 Napoleon surrendered and was sentenced to exile on the island of Elba. Escaping in 1815, he retook control of France, massed an army and once again threatened European peace. He met his match, as every school boy knows*, at Waterloo. Following this defeat, Napoleon was sent to the desolate mid-Atlantic island of St Helena, where he died a shadow of the man who had once held Europe in the palms of his hands.
*But in this age, probably not.
In the meantime, William Drake was based in Plymouth, serving on a number of ships that were stationed in port and staffed by skeleton crews. In 1817 he was made boatswain of the ship of the line, HMS Implacable, originally a French ship, Duguay Trouin, which had been captured at Trafalgar. Implacable also appears to have been permanently moored in Plymouth. Eventually she went onto became a training vessel and survived until 1949, when a cash-strapped nation took the ship out to sea and then blew her up.
William Drake's career lasted a long time even by our standards. He finally retired in 1837. His last year had seen him move off from Implacable to the San Josef. In March he was awarded - after 32 years service - a pension of £65, with 'age and infirmity' marked as the cause of retirement.
In the census of 1841, William was listed as living with Mary and three of his children in St John Street, the dock area. In 1845 Mary died, followed by William in 1850. Amazingly, given the life-expectancy of the time and the impact his working life must have had, William had managed to live to 77 years of age.
I like to imagine - as a flight of fancy of course - the old boatswain wandering from tavern to tavern in the dock area, damning these new-fangled steam ships, and regaling any young whipper-snappers willing to listen with wild nautical tales, including a very tall one involving the capture an enemy frigate with a sloop no less…
Researching your relatives in Nelson’s navy
1) Read around the subject: Firstly it is vital when researching your ancestor's career in the Royal Navy to have a greater understanding of the era and what life on board was like. There are plenty of good books and reference works out there. The internet now carries some excellent sites too.
2) The National Archives: Kew is where the bread and butter of your research will be done. It will take time and there will be occasions when the frustration is unbearable. The trick is to keep ploughing on and to keep reading through the files in the hope that a reference to your ancestor will crop up. William is fortunate in that he made the rank of boatswain and, therefore, left a greater paper trail behind him.
That said, the average sailor is frequently listed in log books, muster rolls and, in particular, pay books. The series ADM 35 and 36 are vital in this regard. William's time as a rigger in Plymouth docks were uncovered in ADM42/919.
ADM6 contains warrant and fee books, again showing vital evidence of lengths of service and payments received. ADM 1, containing letters by captains was vital in finding added evidence backing up the data held within the musters and pay books.
But perhaps the most vital series for my purposes was ADM4 the boatswain's service book that listed his length of service with the various ships to which he was posted.
There were many more series to explore. Over time you will build up a good 'archive sense' and will quickly gain an idea of what will be use. The secret is not to be over-awed, to think of all possibilities and to think laterally. If totally stuck, it's always worthwhile to ask one of the archivists for any tips that they might have.
3) The National Maritime Museum: To fill in the picture of William's career, I researched the actions the ships of which he served were involved in. For me, this section of research was the most exciting. It is here that with the knowledge built up from background reading and the spadework at Kew really comes together.
One of the best places to find out about almost any ship that sailed under British colours is to be found at NMM, particularly in its wonderful library. It was here that I found the log books and the amazing account of Captain Hawkins trial. This last point I should stress was a real rarity, but who knows what amazing gems you will uncover! 